Can an angel take flight after its fragile wings have been clipped?

I sit idle, brooding, the cold inky sea wash swishing beneath my toes as it rolls inland. The foam barely soaks the edge of my foot and then recedes back into the depths. Propelled by the coastal gale and the gravitational pull of the moon, it returns, submerging up to my ankle this time.

I scoot upwards on the hill, my ankles free from the murk, but only inches away.

The steadily increasing magnitude of the waves mimics the fury throbbing through my heart. It burns, disappears, and then reverberates with an even brighter need for vengeance.

This land used to be my home. This land, overtaken by these vile waves, has been devastated. And it's all because of them.

And me.

It's all because of me.

Talk of the waves began in the spring of 2047. I had yet to have been brought to the world at that point, but all remember the fateful day when the arctic circle began to melt at such a rapid pace, scientists abandoned attempts on trying to prevent it.

They told us the process was now unrestrainable, and that the only action we people could take was to not exacerbate the thawing. And what many found quite appalling, even on the brink of catastrophe, humanity refrained from listening.

While all humankind played a role in the downfall of the earth, a particular group called the Angels assumed the most responsibility.

The particular choice of title, Angels, denotatively represents an immaculate spiritual being. However, in this world, the Angels are far, far from immaculate. They are a wretched, controlling group of people who allowed the rest of the world to have faith in them.

We will wash away any differences.

We will create harmony.

We will make you equal.

In the beginning, they were inspirations to all. Who, in this divided world, wouldn't want to have to be intimidated by those with more than you? What if we were all the same, all on the same ground, all on equal standards. With the same net worths. The same homes. The same families. The same food.

No one would ever feel envious or abandoned again, correct?

They called themselves our salvation.

And they were, until the seeds of corruption took root in their hearts.

You see, the word, "equal," can take on many definitions. Everyone in the world is living lives of lusciousness and fortune, and we are all deemed equal. Everyone in the world is living lives of mediocre quality, in the suburbs with boring, uneventful lives and moderate pay. We are all still deemed equal.

But when everyone in the world struggles daily with poverty and violence, gangs and famine, sickness and droughts, and anyone who has more than this is persecuted: is this equal?

Yes, it is. We are all suffering, but we are all enduring the same.

The Angels fulfilled their promise.

But it is not so paradisal now, is it?

Matters were satisfactory at first glance. The Angels were the overseers, our guardians, the distributors of peace and the eradicators of differences. Money was ripped from the hands of the rich and greedy and graciously donated to the impoverished. And all was well for many years. The people were happy. Resources were divided. Everyone received equal amounts, the perfect amounts, and the world lost all sense of conflict.

Until, one day, the Angels came to realize the fatal flaw in their scheme. In their domination, they hadn't seen that providing all the people in the world with the same, adequate amount of necessities was impossible. With a population of 22.7 billion, it was inconceivable.

They began to make cutbacks. It started out small. A cents away from each person's paycheck, a few calories subtracted from daily rations. Almost inconspicuous to the naked eye. Yet it when all compiled together, it saved the Angels a mighty haul. Trillions of dollars.

Trillions of extra dollars to spend on themselves. Instead of using it to preserve resources like they'd proclaimed, the Angels decided to keep it.

It only acted as a catalyst for the evil that was to infect them all.

Within a few short years, people watched as the Angels, a group that much of humankind believed providential, proved truly more demonic than anything. The world fell quickly into deep destitution. Shortages, poverty, and death were spread so swiftly, no one even saw it coming. The Angel's power grew along with it. The new wealth they'd acclaimed was like a drug, once they had a taste of it, they couldn't resist from taking more and more until the entire world fell at their fingertips.

You're all still equal. You've received what you wanted, they claim.

Equal is a relative term.

How do I know all of these things? Most of humanity doesn't know of the wicked corruption it fell to. All they know is that the earth is dying. Physically, biologically, and spiritually. So how have I been informed of the Angels?

Well, I was once one of them. I was a full-fledged Angel until approximately an hour ago.

The surf sloshes at my feet once again. The water is lukewarm, likely swarming with bacteria and lethal diseases. Good, I narrow my eyes at the notion. I allow the water to trail up to my knees. Shimmers of moonlight dance upon the surface of the turbulent sea, creating a false sense of mysticality. In reality, this water is malignant. A giant, in seeming lethargy, that could awaken at any moment and devastate this already ravaged world.

The hems of my silken shorts are soaked with water. I retreat farther up the hill.

My elder sister's name is Kyona. Kyona and Adia Anson, two Angels bound by blood, not only kin but companions so inseparable they once, as children, threatened to run away from home if they were ever to be divided.

We'd do anything for each other. Both daughters of a well-known Angel, Thindrel Anson, we received the birthright to this titanic fortune only 1% of the world was blessed enough to have. And my, did we revel in it.

Kyona absolutely adored pugs. The ugly little squashed-faced canines, fat and atrocious in manner, were nearly eradicated from this earth due to the famines. There wasn't nearly enough food to sustain 22 billion individuals, much less a horde of gluttonous dogs.

However, despite the desperate pleas of the remains of the Modern Species Conservation Association, I spent my portion of my inheritance purchasing one of the last living pugs for my dear sister.

Trivial, we were, wasting the currency that so many prayed for on petty pleasures, like a grotesque little dog. Or a swimming pool of canned peaches. Or chandeliers carved from raw diamond.

We knew no better.

Trapped in our own frivolous world, we knew little of the suffering and anguish occurring around us. No one informed us of the billions of innocent people in states of severe malnutrition, while Kyona, our relatives and I feasted on caviar and ice cream sundaes enveloped in gold. We thrived, blissfully unaware.

Around age 16, I took my first step of the Anson family estate. Our plot of land was dozens of miles in length; I had never considered the thought that there might be a world beyond it, as I was so caught up in my lavish affairs.

I'd been exploring the outskirts of the gardens. Kyona had been with me, but the hour had come to feed Pearl, the dense pug I'd bought for her. So I was alone.

There were guards at the gates to the estate. I would later come to know that it was Mother who commanded them. I was lost in the endless mazes of elegant gardens. I'd never wandered such a distance into the estate before.

After many hours of trying to trail my way back, a handsome guard had discovered me breathless and exhausted. I, being a typical hormonal teen, was immediately smitten. He led me to his station and we began to talk.

Alas, the conversations we held were not flirtatious. Damien, as he was called, pried open my stubborn eyes to the ruin just past my pre-ordained walls.

Perhaps that's what compelled me to disobey Mother's restrictions. Her philosophy was that we had everything we could ever need and a surplus more. What grass could be greener on the other side?

My answer? Because there were others out there, that have nothing of the sort. All that they need has been robbed of them. We, the Angels, were the thieves.

With no romantic interest in me whatsoever, Damien led me outside the gates and showed me the world we had left in our wake. I was aghast. If I'd known we'd caused this, I'd have refrained from filling a swimming pool with peaches I knew these people would kill for.

I couldn't be more ashamed of my roots.

I was soon introduced to the Crew Xenocrates. It was one of the survival gangs that had banded together, with the intent of taking down the Anson family of Angels. Hostility was prominent at our first meeting. But I carried no grievances with them. I couldn't ever understand the crosses they've had to bear, but I did all I could to help ease the pain.

At night, with the assistance of Damien, I smuggled food from our estate to pass out to starving civilians of our city. Hostility eventually faded to wariness. Wariness evaporated to trust. In exchange for the nourishment and money I'd provided them with, they painted the tale of the lie I'd been living. They told me of the Angels' crimes to the world. Disgusted, I found alliance with Crew Xenocrates.

It stung to betray my family as I did, especially Kyona, but what could I do but what was right?

No one ever noticed a bit of food missing from our grand pantries. No one noticed a few million dollars that vanished from the vaults. My Mother cared little for me. She never noticed my absences.

Kyona did.

The subject remained mute for almost four years. At times, when I would return home in the dead of night, covered in soot and the stench of rot, she'd poke her nose out from her room like a little mouse and watch me, eyes wide and dismayed. But nothing was ever said. And nothing was ever done.

My dear sister, who'd always been so loyal to me, never betrayed me once. She must have known where I was off to. There was no other explanation. Yet still, despite my own betrayal of her and our kin, she sealed her lips.

I plotted with the Crew of Xenocrates to infiltrate my own estate and seize the Anson family fortune. We built an army, raised weapons, and strategized the best way to perform the deed.

Only one thing barricaded my dedication to this cause. My relation to Kyona. But Kyona's silence had led me to believe that there was a chance she'd seen the horrors of the outside world as well. Perhaps she'd understand.

Perhaps she'd join us.

It was the night of the attack. Kyona was sound asleep in her pink feather canopy bed, Pearl the dog snoring obnoxiously adjacent to her. I creaked open the ornate wooden door, heart thumping.

"Adia?" Kyona awoke immediately, sitting up sharply. Her chestnut brown eyes were wide with fear, and her long, spiraled, rose-tipped hair was matted and frizzy with lack of sleep. "What are you doing up?" She whispered in her delicate voice.

"I know, it's late, I'm sorry," I murmured. I was donning plain, simple clothes, much unlike the graceful nightgowns I'd grown accustomed to.

"Is everything alright?" Kyona was clearly uneasy, as she leaned over to clutch Pearl, who uttered an exasperated growl.

I knew I couldn't console her. I couldn't assure her everything would work out. This could all go terribly wrong. "Kyona, I'm...I'm here to make a confession."

"What is it?" She asked meekly, though I feared she had already foretold what I was to say. She seemed to shrink before me.

"I'm..." the words felt like poison in my mouth to be saying them in front of my sister, "I've been working with Crew Xenocrates. One of the survival gangs, outside the estate."

Kyona's gaze dropped to her bedsheets and the stupid dog. "I figured as such," she muttered, "You know, you haven't been exactly subtle."

"Mother never noticed," I joked half-heartedly.

"Adia, Mother didn't notice when you filled the backyard pool with canned peaches, I highly doubt-"

"But that's because I ate them all." I interrupted.

And then Kyona let out a laugh. Her eyes still glimmered fearfully, but my sister laughed in the face of terror. She prods me in the stomach, "And consequently, you added about 20 pounds to your figure!"

"Hey, it was worth it," My smile then faded into darkness. I couldn't stall any longer. The Crew was waiting. "Kyona..." I couldn't articulate. She stared at me for ten seconds. Finally, I exhaled sharply. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes. How could I do this?

"Kyona, the Crew Xenocrates, with my assistance, is plotting to take down the Anson family of Angels."

The dog fell from her grip with an oomph. She lifted her chin up slowly to meet my gaze. Her jaw quivered. "No," Kyona whimpered, "N-no. Adia, it isn't true! Please, tell me it isn't true!"

"Join us," I said with a fervency she'd probably never heard from me before, "You'd spare yourself. And for such a good cause. Join us, Kyona, and help restore the world."

But Kyona was in no way swayed. "Adia. I...I trusted you. Y-you're my sister! You're an Anson! An Anson Angel! How could you?!"

"See, that's the thing, Kyona. I don't want to be an Anson Angel. If you'd just open your eyes, you'd see the ruin we've caused. Billions of people, we're the dealers of their pain! Angels. We've taken the name of perfect spiritual beings and run it through the dirt. We can't do this anymore! We have to make up for what our past generations have done to them!"

Kyona was silenced. Ignoring me, she began to stroke the dog. Pearl snored beneath her. Finally, she found a raspy voice. "But...what if I don't want to?"

"Don't want to what?" Sweat beads at the top of my forehead. This was not going well.

"I don't want to help the people," Kyona snapped, "I want us! Our family! Me and you! Why do you care so much about people you're not even related to? All I want for us to deal with is each other. Why should I worry about the ones I've never met? I love you, Adia, and I want you to love our family!"

I took a step back, struck by her words. "I love you too, Kyona," I say, "But I don't love what our family has done. Which is why I have to do this. I'm sorry."

Kyona looked as if she was about to protest, but then her mouth melted to a grim line of determination. "Then I'm sorry, too. I wish it didn't have to be this way."

"What do you-"

Suddenly, Kyona let out a piercing wail. "Mother! MOTHER! MOTHER, HELP!" The dog in her lap leaped to its feet and began to bark frantically.

"No, Kyona! No! Please!"

"HELP!"

I debated leaping from the window. However, at four stories in the air, it'd surely be the death of me. I heard footsteps approaching the room. Mother was upon us in seconds. My mother, hazel eyes wide with bewilderment at the commotion, her long lavender gown swishing behind her, gazed down upon me.

"She's trying to kill us," Kyona sobbed.

The sting of betrayal is wet in my eyes as I realize I've crested the hill. The shining moon has tugged the water all the way to the peak. Pulling my ankles out for the last time, I stand high, a silhouette against the luminous shine.

Another shadow appears from behind. He hands me a towel. "Thank you, Damien," I rasp.

"The tide is at its highest," He observes, motioning to the risen water on the cliffside.

I sigh, tugging at my ruggedly sliced hair. "You think I can't see that?" Wrath radiates off of me in ribbons. Damien knows this. He knows that my anger is key to our victory. Any weakness from my part would compromise our plan.

"I'm stating that it's time," He says, deadpan.

"Okay. Is the Crew prepared?" I take the towel and sponge the dripping seawater from my thighs.

"They've been prepared. Weapons loaded. They're merely lying in wait for your cue at high tide."

"Alright then. I'll head down to them now." Dropping the towel, I turn my back to Damien and begin to pace down the hill.

He clutches my shoulder. "Wait. Adia, are you absolutely certain you can do this? This is your family we are taking down."

My fingers trail up to my hair, which was once cascading golden brown locks down to my waist. It was now jagged strips, chopped and sliced cruelly. The tips of my ears are still moist with blood.

I don't present Damien with the gashes down my back. I can't even bare the image, still so fresh in my mind, of the whip thrashing down upon me. It aches, but I push it down. Mother and Kyona beat me. Disowned me. Humiliated me beyond reason. They stripped me of my hair, my one marking as an Angel. They took away my fortune. They banished me from the estate, my home, my world.

And Kyona was the one who slammed the gates behind me, a look of pure hatred on her face.

They've doubled the guards around the estate. Kyona's last words to me were that if I ever showed my face at the place again, she'd be the one to kill me.

"Definitely," I respond without a second thought. I tear down the hill, into the valley where my army was waiting. It's time to seize what had been stolen from me, and the remainder of the world.

So, that brings me back to my initial question. Can an angel take flight after its wings have been clipped?

No, probably not.

But I know quite well that the Angel isn't done fighting.

Tonight, we rise.