She wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to this at all.

This was nothing like Africa. There was no true beauty in this place; there were no colors of freedom or fluttering skirts or dancing around.

This place was a prison and she couldn’t take it.

Her hands gripped on the bars, her heartbeat in her ears. She was so scared, so nervous. What would these people do with her? What do they want? Why can’t they let her be?

She slid to the floor, staring at the thing in the cell across from her. It was large and muscular, hitting the concrete walls and making dents; dust on its fists.

It turned around and looked at her with black eyes and she looked away, letting go of the bars and sitting against the wall, staring at the floor.

She was taken from her home a week ago. Not even her family was brought. She was all alone in this cold and isolated place and she wanted nothing more than to be free again.

She jumped, a young voice speaking to her in a language foreign to her. She scooted away from the person in a fright until her back was against another wall far from him.

He was a young Asian boy; maybe fifteen. He was crouched at the bars, his face quite too serious for a male his age. He was tapping on a bar with on hand, the other pulling up the military hat on his head.

He spoke again, cocking an eyebrow.

She held herself, shaking as she shook her head, trying to signal to the person she had no idea what he said. She wasn’t from here, she couldn’t understand!

  “You are odd,” he spoke a more familiar tongue—English. That was poor English in her ears.

  “H-Huh?” she managed out, cringing back as he sat on the floor, staring at her.

  “You are scared,” he pointed out blandly, “Everyone else fights.”

She shook her head again, feeling her nails break the skin on her arms, “I do not be . . . belong.”

He gave her a hard stare, fingers flicking at the bars, “You are demon.”

She knew that word—it was most familiar to her. Even though she was scared to death, the insult caused her to hiss, “I am human!”

The boy shook his head, pointing at her, “Daegrent.”

She thought he was speaking the foreign language again, cringing back at the acid in his voice, “I do not know what.”

  “Not know?” he barely asked, “Get angry.”

She pulled her brows together, leaning her head forward to pull her black rough hair in front of her face, “I am scared. Not angry.”

  “Your family,” he shot at her, “Your family dead.”

Her head snapped up, eyes shooting a glare at him.

The English word death. That was a word she never needed to hear. It was the most dreadful word for any language and to hear her family . . .

The tears gathered in her eyes, but her body was tensing. She was feeling all the despair in the world, but her body was boiling. Her blood bubbled yet her heart ached.

She grew hot and she didn’t know it. She focused on the tears falling from her eyes, the images of her family dead passing through her head.

Her Mom, who always put her hair into a ponytail in the morning for church.

Her Dad, who taught her to fist fight with a lurking stranger.

Her sister, only ten, who danced around and crawled into baskets.

Her baby brother, only one, who never cried when she held him.

She, only fourteen, stuck in a cell while everyone else was in Heaven.

No. No.

  “Not dead!” she wailed out, gasping as she felt a sudden heat wave over her body, “Not—what?”

She looked down at herself, screeching in complete fright as she saw white marks spreading around her body. She screamed and clawed at herself, not knowing what this was. It was a sickness, a virus, spreading through her! Get it out, get it out, get it out!

  “Help!” she cried, gasping and clawing at herself, “Help!”

Her vision was shape shifting, scattering everything around as if she were looking left to right without stopping. Everything shook and everything was draining of color. She screamed and cried, holding her head and closing her eyes, shaking as if there were something in her brain, trying to force it out.

  “Help me!” she cried out, coughing madly as she was dizzy, palms hitting the ground as her back shot out pain at her shoulder blades. She felt something coming out of her skin and hurt. It hurt so much that she cried louder, the tears falling from her eyes faster than before.

There was something wrong with her—something was growing out of her and it wasn’t normal! Humans aren’t this way! Humans are human! Not plants! They don’t grow like this!

She could hear wet gushes from behind her, and she felt she was being stabbed with a six-inch scalpel that was stuck into a fire pit. That wet noise was her blood no doubt.

 She could hear weak flaps behind her, the wet sounds clashing with the sound. She felt wet, but not on her back. On something else. Something she never felt before and it wasn’t natural.

She had her forearms to the ground, removing one to reach behind her, screeching as she felt whatever grew out of her covering in something that was thickly wet. It gushed when her fingers touched it and she cringed.

She sobbed, crying for help, for someone to tell her what was happening.

They felt heavy on her back and they fell right on top of her. Her body hit the ground, and she slightly peeked behind her to get a look at—

No no no no no.

Those were not wings!

  “Help!” she cried out again, looking up at the straight-faced boy, “Please! Please help!”

She was quieting down, almost out of breath, every kind of thought processing through her mind until the point she couldn’t think anymore. She couldn’t give herself answers.

  “You never knew,” he pointed out again, gripping on to the bars, “You never knew what you are.”

She brought her face down to the floor, taking a few breaths before putting the effort to look at him again, “Please.”

They both heard a slam and the boy looked down the hall, quickly looking back at her, “My name is SangJung. Remember that name with your life, you get? Sang. Jung.”

The boy stood up and left her alone to sob on to the floor, shaking in fear.

She had to remember the name SangJung. She let it wander through her, but it caused her a deathly chill to spread through her heated blood.

The name couldn’t even matter at that point. She didn’t care who he was.

She cared about who she was.

Because she didn’t even know.

----Note~----

I ACCIDENTALLY PUT THIS ON THE ACTUAL STORY.

OOPS?

God, I had a panic attack. My computer was going so slow to delete that. asdfghjkhgfdsdfghjk.

So... sorry. xD

BUT ANYWHO.

Know who this is?

I told you I'd deepen her story.

Look, I know, I know. Their English. It's crap. Hear me out: imagine you learned a language and haven't spoken it in like, THIRTY BILLION YEARS. Now, you don't have the intelligence of a computer to keep it somewhere stored, so it'll get really... rusty. That's all I'm trying to do. English isn't their native language, and it'll stay that way.

Sorry about posting it on ETR. ^^;;

I've tried to write another chapter but... procrastination doesn't like typing. I swear, I'll get to it.

... And I have AP work to do... x.x

I have so many bts chapter written, but 75% of it can't be released because the story has to progress first. asdfghfdsgh

I need to stop getting ahead of myself.

So... yeah. Thanks for stopping by~ <3

~FlaMinhoe