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He did not remember the last time he had seen his own reflection. But he knew he looked different now.
Human.
Some of the bruises were changing colors. He had cuts on his face. It was still handsome but no longer the most glorious. He was still much taller than an average man. He took out his knife and first sheared his hair.
Then he began hacking at the wings.
And experienced pain for the first time in his life. It spread through his entire being-coursed through his veins like a jolt of light. Blood oozed where he had tried to cut the them out.
With every touch of knife to skin he was becoming more human than before. Experiencing more pain than before.
Pain.
He could almost fathom why the humans did some of the things they did. To avoid pain.
He continued slicing away at the wings. Sometimes he would double over , sometimes pause to catch his breath. But he continued.
Continued hacking off the wings till they lay at his feet. The flesh and blood stained the impeccable white tiles of the washroom.
He then lit up the lighter lying in a corner and began cauterizing his wound.
He was now free.
He was falling.
g=9.8 m/sec^2
The wings were dead weight bringing him down faster than ever.
This was going to hurt. If only he knew what physical pain meant.
The impact sent shockwaves ripping the tarmac in a circular fashion and he lay at the centre of the broken tar and concrete. He wasn’t human yet because no human could have survived the free fall and stood up after that, brush off the bruises and look around.
He was in the middle of the financial district-deserted at 11 PM on the Sunday night.
He broke into the nearest building. There was no guard, no nightwatchmen to stop him. He kicked open the door of the nearest room down and entered the mens room. He needed a mirror to get rid of the dead weight.
And to see how human he looked.
