That afternoon when John had gone back home, I sat on a stool in the kitchen. It was noon, and I was alone. The jarring sensation was still lingering around my shoulders and back. I couldn't stand it anymore.

Growing a pair of wings? This was the craziest thing that I had ever heard! Wasn't I a human? Humans couldn't have appendages of a bird!

I stared around the marble counter and saw a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. Closing my eyes, I turned my head away. I felt sick. Though I tried to force myself into making me a sandwich for lunch, I didn't feel like having a meal. The sudden news of my condition and my up-heaving stomach had prevented me from tasting that wonderful snack. But I did manage to swallow some carrots and celery.

I got onto my feet and slowly walked toward the living room. I took sharp intake of breaths as the muscles on my back twitched with intense ache. I was about to flop onto the couch when I realized that I couldn't.

Furiously, I screamed out loud in anger and frustration. Running out of the recreation room, I reached the stairs. Ignoring the pounding pain, I took two steps at a time and arrived at the top. My head was spinning. My eyes were seeing stars. I was out of breath. I accidentally bumped into a vase that was on a small table in the corridor. The glass container fell onto the carpeted floor and broke with a dull crash.

I got into my room and slammed the door shut. Sweating, I stood in front of a mirror. Peeling my T-shirt away, I looked at my back. There were two large lumps forming. I felt sick. I moved toward my bed groggily. I fell onto it, face first. I got into a coma-like sleep and did not move.

After what seemed like a day or something, I faintly heard voices downstairs. My neck was sore and I couldn't really move at all. I found the bed sheet underneath me was soaked with sweat. My hair matted against my forehead. I blinked a few times.

"He's growing what?" A male voice suddenly exploded. I flinched a little and my body contorted with agony. I stifled a cry.

More voices were mumbling downstairs. Finally, footsteps came up and headed toward my bedroom. The door was flung open and my Dad came in.

Dad was forty-two years old. Slightly bald with a few specks of white around his temple, he still had a lot of sinew. Standing five-foot-eight, he looked as if he had just returned from a war or something. His bluish eyes were dull.

He saw me staring back at him with no energy. His face was filled with worries, not to me, but to himself.

"Oh god! Why do I get such a misfortune? The stock market is falling. I am tired and pent-up from all the dealers and everything. Then I just happen to come home for once in my lifetime to find my son becoming a mutant!"

See.

Mom came up shortly. She stopped behind Dad.

"What do we do? I can't have anyone at the bank knowing that our son is a monster," she said bitterly. "Think about my reputation!"

Dad groaned as he rubbed his eyes. "Me too. I also can't have those other competitors knowing about this situation. And most importantly, we can't have those nosy reporters know this!"

"Of course, Michael," Mom touched Dad's arm. "Those news reporters will turn our lives upside-down. But now we still have a big problem. How do we take care of Tobieaz?"

"So what does Dr. Triden say?"

Both of them left as they discussed about their future plans.

I shut my eyes tightly. They hated me. They hated me! Before they were annoyed at me, and now they literally wanted me gone! I began to feel that life wasn't as fun as it seemed to be. I began to feel that I didn't want to live anymore.

I sobbed against my pillow, not caring whether if it was day or night, not caring when Jake came to my house later on, not caring about the homework or anything. I didn't care anymore. I just didn't care...

It was at night when I got woke up by this brutal pain on my shoulders and back. The discomfort was so strong this time that I felt as if someone was using a knife cutting into my flesh. I twisted and rolled on the bed. I gasped as I grimaced. I couldn't think clearly. I couldn't see clearly. The pressure in my body became bigger and bigger. I fell onto the floor, continued to get my bearings, continued to try to breathe. I tried to shout but no air came out. The dark room flashed many times, even when the dim, benign moonlight coming forth from the cracks of the blinds wasn't that compact. I shook my head. Beads of sweat dropped onto the carpet. My body was glistening.

I felt something was coming out from my back. The consistent throbbing made the whole experience scary. Something slippery was coming out, one from each side of the shoulders. At last, I couldn't endure it anymore. I screamed out loud while whatever it was continued to grow out of the two slits in my tissues.

The door banged opened as Dad rushed in with a bat. Mom came running later on. She stepped on her gown and fell onto the floor.

"Oh, my, god." Dad's eyes were wide as he stared at my new form.

Mom got up disorderly. She froze in terror when she saw me.

Panting, I got onto my hands. My limbs were quivering. I was drained and was dripping perspiration. The rub was wet. I felt something running down the side of my chest. I wiped my left hand against my skin and brought it into the shine. It was covered in blood and some slick, sticky substances, milky in color.

My back didn't hurt anymore. Subconsciously, I jerked the muscles on my back. A gentle wind blew through the room making papers fly all over the place and toppling things down. The numbness flowed in.

Mom screamed as she shielded her face while Dad shouted with surprise. I stopped in alarm. My brain was working very slowly, taking in information bit by bit. At the end, I panicked.

"No... No... I... This can't be!" I stammered as I tried to get onto my feet. I was wobbling slightly. I took a fearful look in the long mirror on the side. Two, massive wings were extended out from my back. They were dripping liquid, mixed both in blood and those unknown elements. Were those feathers?

"I feel sick," Mom walked away immediately. Dad just stood there, in his underwear, speechless. The hand that held the baseball bat hung limp against his side. The weapon fell onto the carpet with a blunt thud.

"God, Tobieaz. What's happening to you?" He whispered.

I turned to look at him. My eyes were filled with tears.

"Dad... I-" I whimpered. I started to walk toward him when he held up his hands.

"Just hold on there, Tobieaz. You might be contagious. It's better if you stay away from us for now, until Dr. Triden can analyze you and give us a complete report."

I halted in mid-stride. This... indescribable feeling abruptly surged through my heart. I took a step back. Then two. Finally, I turned my back... my wings, on him. I was shaking. My fists clamped and unclamped. I heard the door closed with a click.

I was alone.

The next day, I spent the whole morning and afternoon in my bedroom. I didn't eat anything, I didn't want to eat anything. I didn't want to do anything else. Sitting on the bed half-naked, I flipped through the magazine half-heartily. Then the bright, blue sky turned red-orange. Crows outside yelled as they hunted for the last bit of food before night settled in.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when it was Dad who took me to see Dr. Triden. He used his pickup truck to drive me there instead of the van, since it had a bigger room for my wings. After a whole afternoon of drying up, the silvery-gray feathers hardened. Now I could create enormous amount of forceful wind by flapping those tedious wings. But both of my parents ordered me to stop flapping "those ugly things."

We sneaked into the building with Dad's huge overcoat nearly covering up my entire body. I still didn't wear a shirt, since Mom needed some time to modify my clothing. So I was shivering in the freezing, autumn evening. Once inside the old hospital though, the air warmed up, and the all-familiar medicine smell rushed into my nostrils. I sneezed.

The hallway on the first floor was colder than the second floor. I used my wings to cover myself up. I still didn't have a shirt on, only a pair of blue jean.

"I... I am fine, I guess. Something... really strange happened..." I stuttered, trying to find the right words to say. "I feel lonely... my Dad-"

Then the phone went dead. I looked up and saw Dad glaring at me. He snatched the phone out of my hand and smashed it right into the holder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He shouted at me. He would have clobbered me had I not have my wings around me.

My head was below his shoulders. He was like a giant to me.

"I..." My throat felt as if something was stuck there.

He pointed his large finger at my nose and said: "From now on, no telephone! From now on, you are going to stay in your room and remain there, always! You understand?" His deep, rough voice trembled.

I had never felt such terror in my whole life. I nodded obediently.

"You are going to keep yourself up there on the second floor, and you are not to come down here, ever again! Until we get rid of those monstrous things of yours. If you disobeyed my orders, I swear to god I'm going to lock you up! Now get out of here!" He stomped away furiously.

My knees were shaky. I wiped at the cold beads of sweat away from my forehead. Gathering myself together, I left the dining room and went into my cell once again, leaving a trail of feathery wind behind.