Angel Wings
by Fred Warren
Linda was up to her elbows
in tax records--she didn’t have time for this. She switched off the computer monitor and swiveled her chair around to confront her teenage daughter.
“No, young lady, I absolutely forbid it!”
Cyndi was in full-court-press mode, arms waving, purple hair flying, piercings jingling all over her body.
“Mother, you’re being ridiculous! Everybody’s doing it! I’m going to be the only kid at the dance without one. I am going to look so lame!”
That argument hadn’t worked back in fourth grade, and it didn’t work now. Linda countered with another time-honored chestnut.
“I suppose if everybody decided to jump off a cliff, you’d do that too?”
“You realize you’ve totally destroyed my social life,” Cyndi seethed. “This is my senior year, and I won’t be able to show my face at school on Monday. I will be a netvid star, and not in the good way. I’m going to be so scoffed.”
She crossed her arms, skewering Linda with a poisonous stare.
Gotta be firm, Linda thought grimly. She hardened her tone. “Listen. I said okay to the hoverscooter, I said okay to the tats, even the one on your...”
“Mother!”
“I even said okay to that sketchy boyfriend of yours, what’s-his-name, the screamo with the garage band? Does he have a job yet?”
Cyndi rolled her eyes. “Devon is not a screamo. He’s New Grunge, and you so do not appreciate his finer qualities.”
“Yes, I’m sure they’re hiding somewhere inside that greasy trench coat. This is all beside the point. Chimaeric augmentation is brand-new biotech, Cyndi, and I don’t trust it. Remember the vids of the animal trials? I almost lost my lunch.”
“That’s yesterday’s flash, Mother. It’s fixed. They’ve been doing this on people for over a year now. All my friends have an augment. You’re just trying to control me. You are so out of touch with reality.”
Linda tried to de-escalate. Maybe the “loving mom” approach would get through to her. It was the truth, after all.
“I’m just trying to protect you. I love you, and I don’t want you hurt. You could be permanently disfigured, or worse.”
Cyndi’s angry glare softened a bit, and she changed tact. “I just want a small one, little angel wings on my shoulders. If there’s a problem, I’ll have it reversed.”
“No, Cyndi.” Linda wouldn’t negotiate, not this time. “You will not go to an augment parlor, I will not authorize it and I will not pay for it. That is final.”
“I’m almost eighteen, Mother. You can’t stop me. I’m not going to become a social outcast because you’re afraid of the future!”
Cyndi stomped out of the house, miniskirt swishing, combat boots leaving nasty black smudges on the entryway tiles. The door whooshed shut behind her, sending a puff of chilly winter air into the house.
Linda watched her daughter storm away, and she shook her head. Augments were becoming tremendously popular, particularly among young people who wanted to stand out from the crowd. Adding wings, antennae, fur or claws was edgy and sexy.
She remembered the fights with her mother over tattoos and piercings. She hadn’t wanted to get into this kind of conflict with her own daughter, but here she was--Cyndi firing the same arguments Linda used years ago, Linda following Mom’s script to the letter.
She knew what Cyndi wanted. So many desires, each one a contradiction. Be unique, but fit in. Grow up, but stay cool. Take control, but avoid responsibility. She’d been there herself, but eventually it had dawned on her that if everybody was doing it, she was just conforming to the status quo all over again, and the harder she tried to take control of her life, the less in control she felt.
The scar on her shoulder itched.
Linda pulled up the sleeve of her blouse, revealing the discolored, puckered blotch, the remains of her first tattoo. She’d had a knock-down, drag-out fight with Mom, then run off to the seediest downtown shop she could find to have it done. It took three weeks for the doctors to find an antibiotic effective against the resulting staph infection. She was lucky it hadn’t been worse.
At least the government has regulated this augment nonsense, she thought, turning back to the computer. Cyndi won’t be allowed the procedure without my consent and she certainly can’t pay for it herself.
Later that night, Linda stretched and yawned, checking her chrono. It was 2 a.m. Cyndi should have been home half an hour ago. After the fight they had, it really didn’t surprise her that curfew was already out the window.
She flicked through channels on the vid. “Three thousand of ’em,” she grumbled, “and nothing to watch.” Something caught her eye, though, and she paused on a late news bulletin. The banner headline read, “Mad Science.” She turned up the volume.
“Reports of problems with bootleg augments are surfacing--unlicensed operators injecting strains of chimaeric DNA not approved by the Food and Drug Administration for cosmetic use. Several hospitals are treating individuals for a variety of side effects associated with this illegal process, including...”
There were pictures. Gruesome examples of augments run out of control into full-blown mutations. Teenagers with marred bodies, scarcely recognizable as human. Linda’s stomach knotted. She checked her cell phone’s GPS tracker and was relieved to see Cyndi’s blip on the move, traveling toward home.
Fifteen minutes later, the door burst open. Linda gasped in horror as her daughter emerged from the darkness. Every exposed part of her body was covered in downy white feathers.
“Mama,” Cyndi sobbed, “I’m so sorry...there was this guy Devon knew, and he helped me pay, and I didn’t think it would...I didn’t think...”
“That’s right,” Linda snapped, grabbing her coat and briskly ushering her daughter back outside and into the car, “You didn’t think.”
The sight of Cyndi in feathers might have been comical if Linda hadn’t seen that news report. There was no telling how far this would progress if she didn’t get treatment immediately. Even then...
She’s smarter than this. What in blazes compelled her to run off to some back-alley quack to do something she knew I’d never countenance? Does she hate me that much?
The scar on her shoulder itched again.
Linda’s eyes filled with tears. Instead of starting the car, she reached across the seat to take Cyndi into her arms. “Forgive me, baby,” she whispered. “You didn’t think...but I didn’t remember.”
They drove in silence to the hospital. Cyndi pulled a feather from her arm and watched it flutter about in the breeze from the air vents.
“Mom?” she said in a small voice.
“Yes, dear?”
“Do you think we could...”
“Anything you want, Cyndi.”
“Do you think we could have them leave just the wings on?”
The engine roared as the car surged ahead for an instant.
Linda took a deep breath and put her hand gently on Cyndi's. “Never in a million years, sweetheart.”
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~~~~~ <~
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Fred hails from the merry old land of Kansas, and his short stories have appeared in a variety of online and print magazines, such as A Fly in Amber, Beyond Centauri, Every Day Fiction, Mindflights, and Residential Aliens. You can find links to his other stories in print and online at his writing blog, http://frederation.wordpress.com. The Muse, his first novel was published by Splashdown Books in November.
