going to get something next. Now he was waiting here in his place, still wearing a coat and sunglasses, but now he really had more important worries but also had no idea what to do and it was always better than rotting at home.Then she came back, that gossip from the day before, had she seen anything?
He looked at her angrily and went back to his book. He kept his hands under his table, he had to avoid attracting attention even if he didn't really succeed. The room slowly filled up and of course he was immediately teased and insulted again. Really such toddlers after all, they were all grown up.
As always, he put up with it and got through the class until break. Every time he was supposed to take off his coat, he talked about summer flu and when it came to glasses he meant something about visual aids with self-tinting glasses.
It only became dangerous in the schoolyard. You got tired of not wanting to conform. A group of ten thugs attacked him at once. They kicked him and beat him. It didn't really hurt him. Only when he was kicked on his wings did he roar in pain. He bit the leg of one of the thugs and penetrated his jeans lightly with his teeth.It penetrated the skin as well and the sweet blood ran into his mouth. He would have enjoyed it, but the kicks didn't stop. His coat was torn from him and then stared at as if he were a little green man. A bottle hit him in the head. Out of another corner, he heard someone calling monsters. What was that supposed to mean? He hadn't done anything but bite you. Because his blood ran down his chin in a small trickle. But that was pure self-defense. Another bottle was thrown and it didn't stop with this one. He jumped up and ran. He was afraid for his life.
He knew the thugs at his school who had no qualms about beating a hospital license if you only looked at them the wrong way.
At some point he ran again. His wings ached, they were really sensitive, as he found out. He was stared at anyway. Everyone thought he was a monster. He hadn't chosen that. He's always been a loner, but the disgust with which you looked at him tore him apart.Back home and determined never to leave his room. First he had to wash off the dirt. Again he stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. He hated how he looked now. Why him and not someone else from the people out there?
With a targeted blow with his fist he smashed the mirror and the wall also gave way under the force of the blow. Puzzled, he blinked his fist and the hole in the wall. Slowly he really wasn't surprised anymore. He began to get rid of the dirt, but forgot to lock the door. And as if he hadn't experienced enough that day, suddenly his very confused mother was standing in the bathroom. He immediately jumped behind the shower curtain, but it was too late. She saw it. The laundry basket fell to the floor and the mother stood there frozen. What did she see there? What the hell was that “Drake?” Hesitantly she asked the shower curtain, or rather, the figure behind it.
"Go away ... you should never have seen that""What in God's name?"
"God? He has nothing to do with it," he stuck his head out uncertainly.
His mother eyed him. She was afraid. That thing wasn't her son anymore, it was something, but not her son. She wanted to scream and flee from the monster, but the tortured expression of the snow-white eyes broke her heart. Reluctantly, she went step by step towards the frightened-looking figure, who was trembling and hugging the shower wall. She overcame her disgust and took her ice-cold son in her arms. She felt sick from the sight and the smell of blood that surrounded him. She could hardly suppress a choking. Drake couldn't hold out anymore. He clung to her and started crying. It was all too much for him. He didn't want any more. He hung sobbing in her arms. As she stroked her son's hair, she felt his claws dig into her arms. It hurt, but she let him go.He was really freezing cold, like a dead man, and she kept looking at him. The now drooping wings of a demon scared her, as did the bloody tears that stained her top. But this thing was still her son, even if he had changed. She let him be and talked to him reassuringly. At some point he calmed down and just looked at her weeping. He also saw the disgust on her face, but also that she would not reject him. His father would be different. He would probably have him exorcised.
He moved away from her, trembling

He pushed himself up against the wall and staggered past her. He didn't want her to stare at him like he was the devil himself. He dragged himself into his room, locked himself in and buried himself in his bed again for hours.
The mother, on the other hand, was not idle. With her presence of mind she got him a new coat. At least she couldn't let him run around like that. "It is my son" she repeated these words like a prayer, only to be able to believe at some point.She hoped this would happen soon.
Back she knocked on his door, but it wasn't opened, so she put the leather coat in front of his door and started to prepare dinner. Absently she chopped the vegetables and sighed. She didn't even greet her husband when he got home from work. What would he say? He, the extremely devout Christian?
Would he cast him out? And what about you in the end too? After all, she had squeezed this beast out of her. No, she didn't want that, she loved her husband and this monster was no longer her son. Still, she said nothing to him and watched the man go through his evening rituals and start reading the newspaper.
In the meantime, Drake had calmed down and laid his coat neatly on his bed and padded down the stairs ignorantly. He did not know that his father was already home. The guy who despised him because of his way of life and his music.He was one of the people who thought he was a Satanist.
He was about to say something when he saw him. How he sat there with his newspaper and ignored him. He backed out of the kitchen, hoping to go undetected. This was once again not granted to him. Because one of its wings apparently had nothing better to do than reflexively spread out and throw a vase to the ground. The clang jolted his parents and he stopped dead. His father put the newspaper aside and followed the clink. His wife did not dare to oppose him. She knew who it was. First he saw the broken pieces and then he looked higher. He stared at his son without a word. The jaw opened and closed like the mouth of a fish. Then he caught himself again, looked at him strangely and went at him. "Monster" he growled. "I always knew you were obsessed". He choked his son and if he had breathed he would probably have suffocated.Drake didn't even feel the choke, just tears streaming down his cheeks again. As if he could help it, for his condition. He wasn't asked. Suddenly he felt a hard blow in the pit of his stomach. He went down on his knees and groaned, holding his stomach and not seeing the following blows coming. It was his father, but he didn't want to hurt him. And yet this fanatic beat him up. Like the people at his school. He wanted to get away, he didn't want to live like that. He wanted to die, what could he do if everyone hated him? From watering eyes he saw his mother, who just stood by without a word. He silently pleaded for help, but she stopped and didn't move an inch. He was fed up, he felt an unfamiliar anger rise in him. This anger wanted to kill his father, but he wouldn't let it. He pushed him away and stumbled battered up the stairs. Back to his room, which he carefully locked. Everything hurt him.He felt as if he had been run over by a truck. He wanted to get out of here. He grabbed his new coat, some money, and his boots. Suddenly there was a cracking noise. His father was about to break the door. What should he do? He was in the attic, he couldn't jump out of the window, couldn't he? Why not?
It was better than being humiliated by a madman. He was in a hurry and didn't pay much attention to the protruding metal edge on the window sill, which he had long wanted to remove.
He opened the window that was much smaller than he could have just got out of there and looked around again. He had cracked the door and was staring at him. Again and again he called him with a demon. He hastily pushed through the window and caught on the piece of metal that bored into his hip. He wailed in pain, but he didn't have time to worry about it now. He left it in and broke it off before throwing himself out the window.With his coat firmly in his arms, he only fell for a very short time, because his wings spread reflexively and enabled him to land reasonably softly in the garden. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his hip, he began to run, he didn't look around, didn't want to see her anymore. After a while he was too exhausted to run, he didn't dare to pull the metal from his hip, because it hurt like hell and who knows what he had injured himself. He put on his coat and ran to the next bus stop. Where should he go The main thing is to get away from here. Best in town. There was food and lots of places to hide. Around the corner he was waiting for the next bus and when it was parked, he skillfully climbed, as if guided by an invisible hand, on the roof and pressed himself firmly against it. It was no problem for his claws to dig into the body of the vehicle. He was cold, hungry and in unspeakable pain, but he persevered. On the one hand he wanted to die, but on the other hand he was attached to his life.When he arrived in London, he jumped off the bus and was immediately reminded of his problem. But before he bothered about it, he wanted to eat. But where do you get it from in the middle of the night?
This question answered itself when he was molested by a hooligan who was demanding his money. As if by reflex, he yanked the guy aside and pushed his head aside. There it was now in front of him, his bare neck, he could literally see the pulsating blood underneath. But he