Bladed Wings by Jarod Davis Read Free Book Online Page A

worrying about what you didn’t know or how you were wrong and maybe have some fun.”
    “Fun?” Timothy asked.
    “Yeah, fun. Enjoy yourself,” Isis said. “Play.”
    “How?”
    “Well, you’ll heal better, so maybe go get really drunk. You’re in college. Isn’t drinking supposed to be your favorite hobby? The alcohol won’t hurt nearly as much and you can regenerate through most hangovers, so savor these moments. They’re supposed to be the best times of your life, right?”
    “Not really my thing.”
    “Then go skydiving. You know, do something stupid.” Isis cocked her head and considered him as though he were an annoying math problem. “What do you want?”
    “I want to get my life back.”
    “Nah,” she waved him off with a flick of her hand. “No, you want something else.”
    “Seriously, I just want my life back,” he repeated and hoped she might listen.
    “You’re too high strung. Seriously. Relax. Enjoy yourself.”
    “There are shadows squirming on my hands, and you want me to enjoy myself?”
    “No one else can see them, just demons,” Isis said.
    At first Timothy was quiet. He didn’t have an answer or know what this would mean. Life was supposed to be about parties and midterms. Shadows weren’t supposed to grow out of his hands. When Isis pulled through The Verge’s gates, Timothy finally said, “That doesn’t help. Things are different.”
    But she just smiled with a happy “Bye!”
    Timothy got out of the car with his backpack and started for the stairs to his floor. Passing through the lobby, he noticed some college students in the arcade. They had their plastic guns and fired at monsters trying to invade Area 51. Some of those monsters might’ve been demons, a thought which made Timothy check his hand again.
    Lines of shadow still squirmed along his palm and around his fingers. It didn’t matter that none of the regular people saw them. He did, and he knew actually existed. Timothy felt them. Cordinox said he could live his life, go to school, and do everything else. Then why did anxiety twist at the back of his neck? Because he had a choice between realities he’d learned and realities he’d experienced.
    Back in his apartment, Timothy found Jeremiah basking in the glow of their TV. Sprawled over the edges of his lounge chair, Timothy’s roommate looked pretty happy in the light. He hit mute and asked, “What’s going on?”
    “Not a whole lot.”
    “You look like hell.”
    “You have no idea.”
    “Hard day? Did one of your professors decide to beat you for something you said?” Jeremiah asked. “Maybe you suggested peace studies is a waste of time because the universe is all about bloodshed, struggle, and cannibalism?”
    “Not quite.”
    “Well, sit down. Enjoy the ambrosia that is TV.”
    “You don’t think it’ll rot your brain?” Timothy dropped his backpack by the door. The clock over their TV said he had a couple hours before he had to wake up for his morning classes. Stifling a groan, he wished he could stop time. That’s the power he wanted.
    “I need to ask you something,” Timothy said. Jeremiah glanced over, waiting for the question as he tried to think of the best way to ask, “When do you know you’re insane?” Timothy had his hands on his knees. Darkness played over his knuckles, squirming like fish swimming under a pond’s surface. Jeremiah didn’t seem to notice anything strange.
    “It’s this late and you’re thinking philosophy?”
    “Just curious. Any thoughts?”
    “Does your insanity harm you?”
    “I guess not.”
    “Then continue as though you’re not insane. Crazy is only a problem if it makes you make big mistakes.” Timothy thought about running out into a street of traffic. That could be a big mistake, but then he couldn’t explain not getting hit. “Everyone’s perceptions are screwed up, dependent on mood, blood sugar, sleep, and a bunch of other factors. Add interpretation to the mix and realities become