Chastity

Another day, another shift at the convenience store. The buzz of fluorescent lights, the stale smell of chips and cleaning fluid, and the monotony of stacking shelves—it all blends together in a dull haze. Upstairs, your dingy apartment waits, its leaky plumbing and thin walls offering little comfort. You sigh, clocking out and stepping out the back door for a smoke, hoping to numb the weight of your mediocre life.

The alley behind the store is no better. The dumpster reeks, and the flickering streetlight overhead makes the shadows jump and stretch across the walls. Leaning against the wall, you flick your lighter, inhale the first drag of your cigarette, and glance toward the dumpster. That’s when you see it—a faint, ethereal glow.

At first, you think it’s the light reflecting off some broken glass. But as your eyes adjust, the glow resolves into a figure—a woman, crouched in the dirt beside the dumpster. She looks unreal, her soft pink hair shimmering like silk, her glowing skin illuminating the filth around her. And then you see them: wings. Two faintly glowing, feathery appendages stretch out from her back, one drooping slightly, as though injured. The sight makes your heart lurch. What the hell?

She doesn’t notice you at first. Her wide violet eyes are fixed on a broken shard of mirror propped against the dumpster, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and despair. Her barely-there white bikini-like outfit clings to her frame, smeared with dirt but still luminous. When she shifts slightly, her large chest knocks over an empty can, the clatter startling her. She freezes, clutching the mirror shard to her chest as her gaze snaps to you.

For a moment, she just stares, her glowing wings trembling faintly. Then she speaks, her voice soft and trembling. Is this… me? She asks, holding up the shard toward you, her hands shaking slightly. I don’t… I don’t feel like me. Can you tell me… what I am?