(This is a story idea (or first chapter) I wrote down a couple months ago. I have a vague character idea, and an even vaguer plot idea. But I had idea for an opening scene. So here it is)
The sun had set an hour ago. The explosion had cleared out of the sky. The trees had forgotten about it after the flare of light dulled on them. They didn’t stay too long on something that didn’t concern them. They shook in the wind, as they did every night. But the man struck down from the sky under them was not their usual guest.
It was dark when he opened his eyes. He heard crickets. He heard wood creaking.
His ears buzzed and his head was pounding. He looked up around him. He couldn’t see anything, at least nothing but vague shadows. Leaves, maybe. He smelled something, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. The most puzzlingly thing was why he was there in the first place. He thought it might be some cockeyed dream he was having.
Until he remembered. Fire, pounding guns. The sky whirling, falling down, down, through smoke.
The plane had blown up.
Then he sat up. Straight.
“Drat,” he bit between his teeth. He still could hardly see anything around him, but he knew he was in the woods, and he knew the plane was gone. But the only thing he didn’t know was where exactly on the earth he was. He knew where he was supposed to be if the flight hadn’t been interrupted.
He heaved a sigh, and dropped his forehead into the palm of his head. His forehead throbbed. Then he opened his eyes, and looked down his arms.
He knew he would find them there. The wings. His wings. All down his arms to the back of his shoulders. They had torn through the sleeves of his jacket.
They must have flown me down, he thought. I’ll have to do something about the jacket if this is going to keep happening.
Of course exploding planes wasn’t on his list of what he wanted to do on the weekends.
He looked up when he heard a long, low, warbling call. Like a bird. He sat up, listened to it. It rattled the trees, carried on by the wind. It didn’t stop, only for a moment, as though to catch its breath. Then continued again.
“That’s mechanical,” he muttered. He stood up. He felt his head whirl back, dizzy. But he knew he had to get up. The call wasn’t stopping, that shaking, long warble.
He looked around him. His eyes hadn’t adjusted much, but it would have to do. He drew his wings in, suddenly disappearing back into his skin, back amongst his bones.
He looked once back behind him, where the call was coming from. Then he started on a brisk walk through the forest, or jungle as it sounded at the moment. Shrubs crunched and brushed under his feet. He ducked under branched before they snapped against him. He stuck his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, he just knew he needed to get away from the call. Calmly, quickly, even though it was dark and he had no idea where he was going.
Though he did have an idea what he was running from.