Finch hated his wings. They had kept him from having a normal childhood, highlighting him as an outcast from the very day he was born. Dark brown and golden feathers covered the wings that came out of his back. He often had to keep them folded in close to his body, since at full length they would spread out to about twice his own body length. His room was practically bare, besides his bed and a lamp, both nailed to the ground.

It was quite a dull existence. Day in and day out, the only things Finch had to occupy himself were his books and his paintings. By the time he had turned twelve years old, however, he had read all of his books multiple times and had grown bored of painting. He wasn’t allowed any technology or anything that could even possibly be a pathway to the outside world. He didn’t even have a window, since it was too risky and someone might see him. Finch thought he would never be free of the monotony of his everyday life. 

That was, until the fires began.

It was the first day of the week, a fresh start for all of the people of Northbury who were running about in the bustling town square, selling and buying their wares. The most important thing on their minds being how much they could talk the vendor’s prices down. The Ones, the people in the role of the government in Northbury, hadn’t conducted any raids recently. It was a beautiful world.

Finch had seen this world once before. When he was ten years old, his parents had gone out for the night, leaving him with a family friend who was watching over the house to make sure that Finch couldn't leave. However, Finch had waited on the stairs for about two hours before the friend took a call in the kitchen. With a burst of speed that he had never had before, Finch sprang off the stairs and practically, although not actually, flew out the front door.

It was dark, and Finch couldn’t really tell where he was going. Most likely there would be people out in town having parties, and he knew he would get in immense amounts of trouble if he was seen. Besides, he preferred to be by himself anyways. So, he moved slowly towards the distant mountains.

Eventually he reached them and began to climb a steep slope. The cool air brushed through his wings as he realized that he finally had room to stretch them out. The feeling was freeing. He walked and walked until he reached a ledge overlooking the town. Lights were shining in most of the houses, and just as he had thought, there was a group of people dancing and enjoying themselves in the town square. And in a single moment, Finch realized that he didn’t care about the risks. He went barreling down the way he had come, as fast as his legs could carry him.

The sounds of laughing and music were growing closer as Finch raced towards the town. There was something in him that just wanted to be a part of something normal for once. Just as he was about to reach it, however, something hit him in the back of the head, and he fell, completely knocked unconscious. It wasn’t until he woke up in his room and his mother came in that he knew what happened. His babysitter had seen him run out and immediately called his parents, who had searched for him. Luckily for them, they had found him just before he was about to show himself.

This stunt had earned him weeks without dinner.

It would obviously take more to get out of his house than just walking down the stairs and out the door. After his escape, there was always someone to watch Finch and the front door was always locked. They also had a space to put Finch in case any of the members of the Ones came to investigate, since there were rumors of a winged boy that broke out after the escape. Apparently, an older man had been out in the woods gathering more firewood when he said he said a ‘winged angel’ running down the mountain.

Finch honestly didn’t think there was any way he would ever get to go outside. He was sure that he would die in his room in the future or get found and killed by the Ones. Sure, he could try to fly away, but since he had never been allowed to use them, they were probably weak and wouldn’t be able to hold him up. Not to mention, he didn’t really know how to control himself. He often wondered what it would be like if he lived in a world without the Ones, but he knew that idea would never come true.

That early Sunday morning started off like any other day of the week. Finch woke up to a meal already in his room, courtesy of his mother, and ate it while he re-read one of his books. It was hard for him to focus on one thing for too long, so without even realizing it, after a while, his attention had turned from the story to gazing longingly at a painting he had made earlier that year. The painting was of the outside, or at least what Finch had learned about the outside world from his stories. Bright green fields stretched for miles with yellow flowers growing out of the ground as the sun shone down in golden rays. It was like Finch’s own personal window.

Finch’s routine continued on in the normal way until exactly twelve thirty three. Finch’s mother always brought him lunch at exactly twelve thirty three, and it had been that way for as long as he could remember. So, when the clock on his wall struck twelve thirty four, he became confused. There were no sounds that he could hear that indicated the movement of anything alive in the house.

There was, of course, always the option to open the bedroom door to see what was going on. However, if Finch’s mother was just simply waiting outside, she wouldn’t bring him food for a day or so as punishment.

When twenty or so minutes had passed, Finch decided to open up the door, as he was getting hungry. In the air, there was the smell of something burning. Possibly his lunch, although it didn’t seem like it was necessarily coming from the house.

Finch was inwardly debating with himself whether he should open the door or not. He would most likely be punished if his mother found out, but on the other hand, if there was truly something wrong, he was curious.

A few more minutes passed, and Finch was becoming restless. Something had to be wrong. Perhaps his mother was passed out in the kitchen. Or maybe someone had broken in, discovered that he was there, and arrested her. The agony of not knowing what was going on was practically too much for the boy to bear, so in a moment of weakness, he put his hand on the doorknob and threw open the door.

The hallway was eerily quiet, and once Finch maneuvered his wings in such a way that would allow him to get out of the door, he stepped out into it. Thick silence enveloped him, as well as the continuous smell of smoke, which only seemed to get stronger the farther down the steps of his house that he went. Yet, he still had no idea where it was coming from.

There was no one in the kitchen. The preparations for Finch’s lunch were on the counter, but hadn’t been put together yet, and the boy’s mother was nowhere in sight. There were items strewn across the floor and a glass of water had been spilled, as if someone had left or been taken in a hurry. Finch called out for her, once, twice, and a third time, but there was no answer.

This was when, out of the corner of his eye, Finch realized that door front door of his house had been ripped off of its hinges. He inched closer towards it, being cautious, just in case this was a test from his mother, which he wouldn’t put past her to do. However, as he got closer to it, the smell of smoke got stronger and there was still no sign of his mother. So, in a moment of instinct, he stepped outside.

It wasn’t really what he expected. Instead of bright green grass and blue skies, there was a thick layer of gray smoke in the air. There were no open pastures, but only tall metal buildings that reached up into the sky. However, there was something else that Finch had not expected. Everything was on fire.

That was where the smoky smell was coming from, as well as the gray tint to the air. Now, Finch didn’t know much about the outside, but he was relatively sure that it wasn’t constantly on fire. Especially since it seemed like only the city was on fire, not the neighboring mountains. So, that was where Finch decided to go.

There were no people. It was strange, almost as if everyone in town had suddenly disappeared. If, of course, there had ever been any people at all.

It occurred to him suddenly that perhaps his mother had been lying to him the whole time. The Ones might not even exist. It had all been a lie.

Finch walked towards the mountains, his wings stretching out slightly. It had been the first time in his life that there was enough room for him to move them, and just as he had expected, they were weak and fragile. He was perfectly fine walking, though, and it didn’t take very long for him to make his way to a trail leading upwards.

He stopped at a small ledge overlooking the city. The fires were still going strong, but from up high, the smoke was clearer and Finch could make out the outlines of the buildings. If, perhaps, he had been standing there at a different time, he would have been able to see bustling streets and a blue sky like his mother told him about. But since he couldn’t, Finch made up his mind that he would head to a place where the grass was green.

As he turned around, expecting to head farther up the trail, the boy gasped and froze in fear. Three men with white cloaks and masks, moving without sound, (blue, black, and grey, respectively), were standing behind him. The Ones.

“So, it was true,” the farthest left One said in a nasally voice. “The boy with wings is real.”

“It appears he is,” the right One said. The first One began to laugh, shaking Finch to his core.

“Too bad we had to burn down the whole town just to find him,” the first said.

“Yes, too bad,” the second said. The monotone voice he spoke with, however, seemed to scream he meant the opposite. “Although I suppose that it doesn’t really matter. There are always more people.”

“Why would you do this?” Finch could feel his hands physically shaking. “You could have just taken me. There was no reason for you to do all of this.”

“We had to send a message,” the third said. “The likes of you will not be tolerated.” Finch began to step backwards, trying to distance himself from the Ones.

“There is no point in trying to escape,” the second said. “We’ll find you, no matter where you go!”

The Ones began to come closer to Finch, pushing him further towards the edge of the cliff. There was nowhere for him to go. His only option…

“I have to try,” Finch said, digging his heels into the ground. His wings were now fully extended, giving his figure the image of an angel.

It all happened so suddenly. The third One practically launched himself towards Finch, while the other two were close behind. At the same time, the young boy threw himself backwards, right off the edge of the cliff.

Finch tried to flap his wings with all of his might. For a second, it seemed to work, as he hovered over the fire. He let out a laugh and looked back at the Ones, still on the cliff. However, he should have known that it would be too good to last.

Never using his wings was already taking a toll, his entire body was sore from keeping his entire body weight in the air. He attempted to rise higher, but the wings weighed him down as he flew slowly into the fire, his agonized screams being the last thing that anyone would ever hear from him.

The Ones watched from the edge, looking down as Finch’s body disappeared into the smoke. After a few minutes, they went away, confident that the boy was dead.

They ended up being right.

Weeks later, the new town had been set up, with all of the remaining people that had managed to escape the fires, Finch’s mother not among them.

No one knew the cause of the fires, but assumed it was the Ones punishing them for something they had done. No one knew about the young boy with the wings, just as the Ones had wanted it to be.

And they never would.