Feather of an Angel: Chapter 2.4

Note: Being an idiot, I posted everything as Feather of an Angel. The title should be An Angel’s Feather. For sake of continuity, I’m gonna keep it like this on the posts though….

The town of Burenville, Illinois was a small and obsolete town in the middle of nowhere. It was known for being a terribly violent town. No one ever moved in because no civilized human would ever throw themselves into an uncivilized world and no one ever moved out, because then all of a sudden, punching someone would get you arrested. It was just simply there, not forgotten, just ignored, and allowed to do whatever it wanted as long as no one died.

It was also the perfect place for a runaway fugitive on the CIA’s most wanted list to reside.

Now, when they say most wanted, it’s more like “we need to capture you or else we’re going to lose face”. There was no huge crime committed, no mass murder, no large destructive weapons, just simply a few stolen documents that if released to the public would really embarrass the CIA.

The idea was that as long as the documents stayed secret, there would be no problem.

Burenville looked rather like a city, with many more tall buildings than any other usual town. It prided itself in being probably one of the only towns with a skyscraper, but that achievement was of course immediately the moment anyone was reminded of the fact that, oh right, this was probably also the most violent place in the US.

Burenville was notorious for its gangs. These gangs popped up all over the place and almost everyone was in one. Those who weren’t usually lived their life in hell. These gangs had ridiculous names, like “The Flame Perkers” and “Daisy Dragons”, but no one dared laugh any of these names. Any opposition usually ended in some form of horrible torture.

The streets of Burenville were dark and usually always littered with trash. On one of these dark streets, two of those gangs were currently in a long drawn out fight.

“Finish him off!” A tall gangly kid, maybe 18 years old, shriek, flailing his arms and somehow still managing to look tough. Not far from him stood a little 10 year old boy, covered in blood and panting, a bony boy four years older than he was lying at his feet. His eye’s were closed and blood was pour out of his nose.

“No.” The 10 year old boy suddenly spat. “Is this not enough?”

“Finish him Christian!” The tough kid shriek again.

“No, I’m not going to finish him off.”

“You coward! Wimp! Chicken! I’m telling you to finish him off you bastard! I am the leader. You listen to me, you hear that?”

Christian only stared at him flatly, hiding the fury and annoyance in his eyes, before he leaned down and inspected the boy on the ground.

“One broken nose, a couple loose teeth. A black eye and quite a lot of bruises and cuts. Is there anything else I should also do?”

“Break a bone, you dimwit!”


His fist slammed into the tough kid’s face, sending him flying backwards and his nose flapping the wrong way on this face.

“There. I broke a bone.”

In the silence afterwards, he picked up the boy on the ground and both gangs watched as he walked away. The only noise was the tough kid’s screams, both of pain and of curses.



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