My head lies slumped against the window, a glass stained with many years of spit, tears, and grime. My hands lie in front of me, wrapped in cold metal, cuffed to the seat in front. Past the grilled partition that separates us, a woman’s sultry voice drifts through, the radio turned up uncomfortably loud, the driver tapping his calloused hands against the leather wheel. He occasionally looks up at me, bushy eyebrows slightly crinkled, catching a glimpse of my face besides the cut-out photograph of a little girl taped on the rearview mirror. She smiles, a big, toothy smile, pink braces shining against the dark blue of the school picture background. My temple starts to feel frozen, sticking to the glass, and I pull away, toying with the loose bits of skin that fray around my nails, peeling them down. Little strips of skin sliding down like a stubborn piece of tape on a roll, gradually thinning out before ripping off, leaving behind soft seashell pink. I imagine the strip continuing down my hand, passing the fragile blue veins, winding around my forearm, crawling down my arm, pouring down my back, pooling into the two angry gashes carved into my shoulder blades, dragging down to my ribs. Wounds carved by bitten nails surrounded by loose strips of fragile skin. The bandage pokes through the front of my shirt and I lurch forward. 

Pull it away. Fly. Be free. 

The thoughts rush into my brain at the sight of the thin strip of cotton, and my fingers scrabble against the metal bar that keeps them away from me. The cotton glares at me, shining in the grimy darkness, and I swallow bile, my jaw trembling, teeth biting down, grinding against one another, cold sweat on my brow.  

“Son, do you need me to pull over? Catch your breath for a bit.”

The man driving in front turns down the radio, heaving himself around to take a look at me. His eyes are dark; kind but wary, and his hand rests behind him, hidden from my view. 

Don’t look. 

He waits patiently for a reply, eyes blinking, pupils flecked with yellow staring at me.

My breath catches in my throat, and I scrabble against the seat, sweat pouring down my forehead. 

He mumbles something beneath his breath and shifts, unfastening his seatbelt without taking his eyes off me. 

 Black flecked with yellow. 

Two eyes.

Waiting patiently. 

Fly. 

My head slumps against the frozen glass, mouth hanging open, fog softly gathering on the window.

.

I’m in a small room, clean white light stabbing down my spine, back hunched over, looking down. My heartbeat thunders in my brain, and my throat is dry, images from the car flashing in my mind, his eyes staring at me. 

“Alright son, let’s go through this together.”

The officer in front of me looks down at a folder, setting a small black recorder between us. It clicks and he looks up, sunglasses propped awkwardly on his hooked nose. He pushes them up with his palm, and I can smell lemon lozenges on his breath, the bad ones that bring with them a sickly medical smell. 

“I know school’s rough on all of us, so just help me understand this for a minute.”

He smiles, leaning forward, and I’m hit with the scent of lemon wafting down my throat, syrupy tar coating my lungs. 

“It says here you were found outside the Dean’s office at 6 AM with two tanks of gasoline and a lighter. Mr. Fleming found you thanks to those two big marks on your back. A whole trail.”

He glances up, waiting for me to say anything, then continues.

“So how did it happen?” 

The curiosity seeps out of him, his eyes watching me beneath cheap sunglasses. Everything about him is wrong. The stains on the light blue collar, the hair that shines with grease under the bright white light. 

“I need to fly.”

The words slip out from my lips and I shudder, feeling him lean back in his chair as the plastic table shakes.

“Go on.”

“I saw them first two weeks ago. It was dark, wet, and miserable, I remember being completely soaked through. There was a streetlight that flickered on and off, I guess the rest were broken.”

“Them?”

“I don’t know. Bugs. Moths. The big ones you never see around here.”

And there it was. On. Off. Light and then Dark. And for just a few seconds there it was, taking up nearly half a side. Light, and four eyes stared at me in the darkness, coated in a dusty powder, flecks of gold. A being that soaks up light and warmth, eyes blinking as they watch me. On. Off. 

“I started seeing them more after that, I guess.”

Tuesday. Morning and two crawl on my desk lamp, blinking slowly. 

“They would just be there, randomly.”

Thursday night and when I walk home every streetlight blinks in silence. Golden eyes stare down at me, the rustling of angel’s wings.

“When? Oh. Sorry. I don’t really know.”

Friday and I do not sleep. Thousands of wings beat under the cold light of moon. The sun comes and with it the moths will fly away, nestled in its warmth. But first they must live throughout the night. 

Saturday, Sunday, the walls rustle like sheaves of paper, golden staring down at me, millions of dusty bodies blinking on my skin. They soak up my heat. They promise me wings. 

The eyes don’t blink anymore. Golden eyes stare at me, angrily beating thousands of wings. They crawl over my back, golden dust coating my back, ribs, shoulder blades. 

Fly with us, a million voices cry. Drink the syrup of warmth and beat your wings as one born anew. 

Fly. 

He crosses and uncrosses his arms, pushing around a piece of food caught in his teeth with his tongue, tobacco stains poking out between his thin lips.

“Moths, huh. Do you think there was any reason why you saw them in particular?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Before this event, were you at any point considering self harm?”

“No.”

“Did you think you deserved pain?”

“No.”

“Did you think Mr. Fleming or anyone on the school board deserved it?”

“No. Sorry.”

“How about the stress? Exams? At this time of year things can get hectic over there.”

He keeps pushing for an answer, trying to get any explanation out of my icy lips. I want it too. It’s cold here. Empty. There’s no warmth in a room that seems to be growing colder by the minute. But every letter coming out of my throat feels like chalk, and my skin trembles in the bitter air. His questions rushing through my mind, I think about the night I saw them for the first time. Walking aimlessly, staggering in the darkness, replaying Mr. Fleming’s words over and over in my head. 

He told me I wasn’t good enough. But I was. I am. He’s wrong. 

“Kid?”

I glance back up, watching the officer as he waits for me to reply, his gaze lingering on my bloodshot eyes, sallow, puffy skin. 

“Sorry. I don’t know.”

I can see what his eyes say, even hidden behind dark lenses. But he’s wrong. He didn’t see them, didn’t feel millions of wings beating against his skin, didn’t feel the cold as it seeps into his skin, didn’t try to grasp warmth as it fades further and further away. The scent of lemon drops grows stronger and stronger, and everything around me amplifies, the sweat pouring down my brow a river of melting ice. It’s cold, and I stare at the light above me hungrily, feeling nothing but the frozen clasp of metal all around. 

Eyes bore into my back, thousands of legs crawling over skin. Wings flutter against my bare back, cold though surrounded by light, hundreds of bulbs, lamps, flashlights gathered around me, feet rocking back and forth on a powdery floor. Fires burn in empty soup cans, papers once scattered on floors now curling up in tiny clusters. I can hear the millions of tiny bodies crawling on the lamps, draining the warmth, whispering to one another in a quiet delirium. Four eyes crawl onto my knee and blink angrily, golden bits of black swirling around and around. I grow cold and they grow satiated, but now I know not a life without warmth, even as my back is drenched in frigid sweat and icy tears run down my face. I beg the impassive eyes, beg for the beating of my heart to join with the beating of wings. It watches me, eyes swirling, blinking over and over again, screaming in my head. It crawls onto my back, two powdery lines traced on my shoulder blades, eyes blinking against my ribs. 

Warmth, it begs me. Heat. Let the sun scorch through you and purify you, let flames birth you anew. The powder feels heavy on my shoulders, and my legs shake as I stand. My muscles feel stiff, frozen in place, and my eyelids droop downwards, the blurred bodies on my floors drifting in and out of sight. 

My arms wrap around myself and I shiver as frigid skin rubs frigid skin. I feel my nails dragging down my spine, tracing jagged lines down my back, jutting outwards as I fumble across the floor. On my neck, crawling beneath my jawbone, four eyes blink slowly, urging me on. 

My breath catches once again, and I hit my chest, trying to choke out air. My fingers are frozen and cold, the knuckles bright red and swollen, images multiplying before my eyes. 

“Could you make it a little warmer in here?”

I want to say more but I can’t, planting my feet on the ground in an attempt to steady myself, eyelashes sinking slowly. He doesn’t move. 

“Please.”

I feel my body trembling, and I wait for him to reply, begging him in my mind. I feel the cold behind my eyes, in my lungs, through my skin. I drag myself upright and gasp, looking directly into the dark frames of his lenses. His face hovers a few inches from mine, frozen. His lips move upwards into a smile and I can see that piece of food, still squirming madly between his yellowed teeth.

The glasses slip down his crooked nose, and his face hardly moves, still stuck in that stained smile. Dark bags line his eyes, the skin beneath a deep purple, small blue veins bulging beneath his skin. Blacked flecked with gold stares back at me, blinking slowly, wings rustling all around me. His eyes are large. Too large for a police officer with food stains on his collar, too large for the man who sat there just minutes ago toying with food caught between cigarette yellow teeth.

My jaw trembles and I smile back, feeling the warm kiss of four wings beating gently on my forehead. 

“You did well.”

It tells me, golden streaks swirling endlessly in the darkness. My lips freeze in the same smile, purple with cold, and my shoulder blades crackle, wings unfurling around me, surrounding me in a gentle golden light. 

“Now fly.”