Wings were never something I had had to consider, not while dating. It wasn't a point mentioned on Tinder bios. There wasn't a warning: ‘Comes with wings’, or dimensions: ‘nine foot six inches long, seven-foot wide’.

Wings.

They had never come up. I had never had to think about them. One positive of that is I never got a chance to think 'no' about them. So, when one swipe right led to a match, to a pleasant conversation, to waiting in a coffee shop, I didn't immediately say 'no'.

In retrospect, I would have quite liked golden, of bay wings. But... black was okay too? Black was okay too. A statement, not a question. And it wasn't an unfitting colour for Jay, not to stereotype. But with chokers and studded wristbands, hair gel and dark nails, it fit the look. Looks aren't what they appear, ironically. Seeing as a look only has its appearance to work with you'd think it would be rather one dimensional. But no, looks... they are cunningly deceptive. Clever enough to lull you into an expectation and then strike you with the reality, and leave you staring like a fool.

In this instance, the reality was clumsy, catlike, cute.

It wasn't the dark tones and lidded eyes, or the poor humour expected. No, Jay was... everything. She was simply everything. She arrived through the door, of course. Like anyone would. She arrived with a dark purple tank top over baggy black jeans. Not as in style as they were yesteryear. Her hair was gelled, but drooping. Boots were... imaginary? non-existent? Yes to both. What walked in their place were two fluffy... paws. Or talons. Or simply not the average human feet. She arrived through the door with the bell ringing above, and the clatter of the metal as she caught herself in it.

An odd feat, yes.

But that just made it more impressive. Not only that, she caught the bell on her...wing. Wings, they are funny things. If I weren't so sorely astonished, I would have most likely labelled Jay as 'no' along with her wings. But I was astonished, so didn't utter a word to dissuade the winged woman from sitting in front of me.

And then, when the small smile and nervous eyes slipped into a captivating introduction and calming wit, well, I didn’t have time to say ‘no’. The idea of wanting to seemed absurd. After all, at the end, when it came to putting the water in the teapot, they were only wings.

Nothing to get in a twist about.

Someone

I’m waiting,

waiting for that someone,

someone who can look at me,

look at me and tell,

tell that it’s not all ’okay’

I’m waiting,

waiting for that someone,

someone who can see,

see how much I’m hurting.

I’m waiting,

waiting for that person,

that person who looks,

looks past my lies,

past the lies to the crying child inside.

I’m waiting,

waiting for that person who hears,

hears the desperate plea screaming,

screaming for help,

trapped in my head.

I’m waiting,

waiting for someone

– anyone –

to feel my pain and comfort me with

“It’s okay” ’s

Waiting, waiting.

Hoping, praying,

for that day,

that day they come,

come and change it all.

#FreeStyle

#Poetry-ish

Dust and debris ground under Tims combat boots as he carefully stepped past under the decrepit door frame that bowed under the crippling weight of the wall it stood within. Overhead, an old wall fan turned ever so slowly - loose blades rattling together as gravity pulled them down on their wobbly bolts. It was the only sound in the cerement room.

The radio strapped to his shoulder buzzed to life with a crackle duely followed by a beep in an incoming call request - his skin prickled at the noise, overactive imagination seeing eyes peering at him from behind chunky pillars, from every tarpaulin draped crate stacked in the far corner. Maybe it isn’t overactive, considering why he was here. It is a common misconception that being a ‘hero’ means being brave, in turn, that being brave directly relates to the absence of fear - if that were true then Tim was no hero at because now, he wished he had asked for his full body armour.

He reached for his radio, holding ‘accept’ and waiting for his teammate to tune into their channel. Tim’s pistachio tinted eyes never once stopped scanning the room with a fear-driven diligence.

“Bulldoze, come in Bulldoze. We have cleared the top floors - no sign of Ace. How’s the basement looking, anything? Over.” The tinny voice was painfully loud in the bare room, seeming to reach all four corners of the shadowed space. Tim gritted his teeth and whispered briskly back into the little box.

“Alex what have I told you about that stupid nickname? I’m not going to be called Bulldoze, okay?” with a quick breath he continued in a more reasonable voice. “I’ve cleared the first floor - no sign. I’m just in the basement, It’s dark though. could you and Jazz find the power for down here if you’re done? I only have my utility light, over.” As Tim finished speaking a shadow among shadows shifted.

“I don’t know what you mean! Bulldoze is a great superhero name, you're just fussy. Jazz and I are on it by the way. Will head down in a bit, over and out.”

Tim’s breath caught audible in his throat as his trained eye caught the movement, his brain went into a panic - drawing a blank on anyway to cover his blatent slip. The best he could do was to start over to the other end of the room and hope Ace hadn’t heard him.

His stomach turned, and his heart pounded on his chest as if it were trying to claw free from his chest as he turned his back on the shadowed end of the room. As discreetly as he could, Tim made a show of searching all the possible hiding places while checking the knife slot in his belt, the pair of cuffs in his pocket and adjusting the torch fixed to his chest harness. All the while he kept one eye on the corner he had spotted motion, not wanting to be noticeable but also not being able to fight the human instinct to keep an eye on it.

A rusty creak echoed from above Tim, a few specks of grime floated down in front of the frozen man. From the forgotten rafters dropped a black robed person and not just any person, Ace. With thick layers of black make-up dripping under his eyes, violet lipstick applied in thick lines ignoring the lips’ natural template and stiff sweaty hair draped limply over derange eyes. He landed a few feet in front of Tim and, without pause, charged with a toothy snarl, cackle playing past pigmented lips. The light strapped to Tim’s chest showcased the pale skin and gaunt cheeks of the ‘villain’ against the vague darkness of their surroundings.

Tim’s body moved of its own volition- self-preservation coursing through his blood - anticipating Ace’ attack before Tim’s mind had comprehended his appearance. He leapt backwards with adrenaline-packed muscles, right hand fumbling to find the knife at his belt and draw it before blows where thrown.

Tim leapt into the dust hung air, kicking his foot up and around in a quick, fluid motion that spoke of countless hours practice. Ace’s hands snapped to attention like a striking cobra, catching Tim’s speeding leg mere inches from impacting his body. With his leg in Ace’s steal like vice, Tim deified gravity for a heart-stopping moment- suspended at chest height by Ace’s black painted nails gripping flesh. In that second, Ace struck. Lifting one studded elbow over the taught leg and driving it down with a blinding force just as he released Tim altogether - the combined forces of gravity and Ace threw Tim to the ground. With a barely muffled scream, he tried to roll with the throw but only succeeded in cracking his head solidly against the dirty floor.

With a gleeful cackle, Ace launched at the dazed hero, jabbing a sure fist down as he activated the spring propelled blade strapped to his slick leather gauntlet. Ace snatched the weapon as it flew past his waiting hand. Putting all of his weight behind the knife - he drove its sharp point at Tims exposed chest.

In a blink Tim had his hands up, fingers desperately seeking purchase on the seamless leather outfit, slowing the impending blade to a quivering halt above his shoulder. Tim grunted - straining to push Ace off of him to no avail. Every inch he nudged the razor sharp edge away, Ace would simple lean on it that little bit more. It was like it was a horrific game to him, only putting pressure on the weapon when Tim struggled to remove it. There was no room to manoeuvre for Tim; he was between a knife and a hard place - literally. He couldn’t risk fumbling for his own blade for fear of - well, death.

Tim’s radio buzzed.

Ace shuffled, settling over Tim’s hips, knees digging into his ribs as Ace slowly started to the oxygen from his lungs. With one hand he reached for the radio and crushed it in a shower of sparks, speaker giving off a pathetic whir as it died. Ace moved his attention back to Tim, pushing the blade ever nearer.

As the weapon hovered closer, so did Ace. He bent double, back arched and his neck was craning over the blade to come nose to nose with Tim. Ace’s face contorted into a mad sneer, violet lips peeling back to reveal pearly teeth, eyes flashing with a crazed joy above the tears of black paint that stained his under-eyes. What sliver of sanity Tim could try to appeal to evaporated as the tip of steel pierced flesh.

Tim cried in agony s the blade slowly, tortuously crept into his trembling shoulder. Tears of desperation and pain seared down his stricken face, with every muffled sob out - Ace crushed Tim’s lungs a little more between his knees.

Ace giggled, sweet breath mingling with the acrid smell of fresh blood in Tims' nose. His arms trembled as the blade reached halfway and his breath echoed in his ears, sticky blood dripped down his shoulder and pooling around his hair and head.

Black spots peppered Tim’s vision as hot pain rolled through her arm and torso. His white-knuckled grip on Ace slackened as Tim threw his head back - bracing against the blade, his mind trying to disconnect from the torture that was currently being inflicted on his body.

Ace began to hum lowly as he sat up straight again, the sound at odds to the stale quietness that filled the dusty room - only broken by the monotonous click of the wall fan and the anguished whimpers coming from the body below Ace. As his voice grew louder so did Tim’s panicked, irregular breathing.

Ace started to croon softly, hum graduating to a stomach churning song, clear voice lending a sharp edge to the words.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree-tops,” His voice was smooth as silk over tempered steel. Ace’s eyes blazed with unabashed delight, his mouth trembling with undisguised eagerness for the pain he was inflicting.

Tim’s grip slipped, jolting the blade even further into his flesh. His vision blanked, he couldn’t tell if it was because his eyes were closed or because the pain and oxygen restrictions were starting to take a more profound toll. He didn’t have the wherewithal to put much brain power behind the quire, he was otherwise occupied.

Tim’s cries turned into whimpers as Ace reached the next line, cruelty making a well-worn home on his face. From the curl of his lip to the furrow of his brow.

"When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”On ‘rock’, Ace shoved the hilt of the blade up, making it dig deep enough to slip in-between the blessed ribs that protected Tim’s rapidly beating heart, slicing through flesh and severing muscle. Tim’s blood-curdling shriek filled the room – echoing off the solid walls. His arm went limp, and his vision flashed white in torment.

Okay, so that was worse case scenario...right? Tim, all of a sudden did not want to be in the basement alone. Cursing his insane imagination - he surreptitiously activated his radio, requesting to talk with his team. Almost immediately the call was accepted, and Alex’ voice radiated from it.

“Hey Bulldoze, what’s up? We were just on our way down; we couldn’t find the power switch up here. Over”

“Um hey, just checking where you were,” Tim whisper laughed nervously into the radio while keeping an eye on the dark corners behind him, “I think I’ll meet you on the way up - we seem to be pretty good down here, over.” Before he had even finished speaking, Tim was on his way to the decrepit door, untamed eyes followed him from the corner.

Maybe his imagination wasn't so aburbe cre