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He crashed on my doorstep a long time ago. He was clutching a fiery red diamond close to his chest and appeared to be muttering to it. I had stepped out for some fresh air and almost hurt him with my door. He looked lost and confused. I gave him a room and hospitality, earning minor amounts of trust, something it appears was hard for him to give.

A few days later he gave his name as "Dark Intent, my true be mine alone." He rarely said anything as he hid in his Dark Intent facade, rarely slipping, rarely showing his true self. Also, he never left his diamond, as if it is his one refuge and person he trusts. It told me once it was his only memento of his deceased parents, who died in a huge fire. He has implied it was arson, but never definitely said if it was. As I watched the reddish orange gem, it seemed the more passion, though not necessarily emotion, but the more passion he showed to it, the more it flared up, as if to give a show of similar interests as he had.

He said once that, "once my wings have grown, I shall be capable to abandon this plain of foul, defiling mortals!" I asked him why he believes he will grow wings; he replied, “Knowledge accepts wonders, I shall." he had said nothing on the story for a long while.

He showed a great interest in two fictional characters; Inigo Montoya, from the Princess Bride and Batman. I was quite concerned over the background of these two characters, but accepted it nonetheless. I hoped that nothing serious would become of his choice of favorite characters. While he was with me, I knew of no such acts. He acted more like batman, by usually being quite cold and emotionless.

I woke one morning, and as I passed by him on my way to the kitchen for breakfast, I noticed he was excited (an odd occurrence in itself), but didn't realize why until I realized he looked slightly different. I stepped back in the living room (backwards) and took another, closer look, and realized he had grown wings; real, tangible, feathery wings!!! They were large and, black, and probably five or six foot wings. They were incredible, perhaps even impossible. I stood amazed. He had said before that he would grow a pair, but I never quite believed he would, but now, now I had to believe. He was just standing there, carefully stretching his wings out; testing them; examining them.

After we ate breakfast, he went out to the backyard and tried to fly, (I skipped work that day, my boss was furious) and soon he was up in the air, flying probably a good 10, 20, maybe 50 feet up at times, and soaring as free as could be.

After many hours in the air, he landed, walked up to me and said simply "so good, fair mortals do exist. Soon I should leave you." He walked in and slept until the next morning. I watched him sleep. I didn’t want to wake him for dinner; he appeared quite exhausted and needed his sleep. As I watched he looked barely any different from an ordinary fourteen or fifteen year old. Once or twice he winced and cringed, as if he was having a horrible nightmare, which, if what he said was true, he was either reliving his parents' death, or crashing mid-flight. I thought the former.

The next morning we ate breakfast in silence. After we cleaned up breakfast, he said "I shall stay … May I stay?" I was surprised he had to ask, I told him he could, but only if he would open up more, at least to me, “Not until my wings evolve,” was his reply to this requirement.

Dark Intent spent the next few weeks practicing flight. He was using noticeably less energy to keep himself in the air. It was starting to appear effortless for him. I would look up at him and he would look like an enormous black eagle.

It took about a month for the wings to “evolve”. They looked more wiry and sinister then the first set of wings. Some how, the visible gaps did not hinder the wing’s abilities. They were shorter, but surprisingly seemed to provide the same amount of power as first wings, if not more. The new wings allowed Dark Intent fly with almost no effort on his part. He was no longer exhausted and after just a few hours of flying. I would look at his shadow, and think of the many possibilities of what he was now capable of.

He told me he wished to depart, so as not to cause me any troubles. I asked him what sort of trouble he was thinking about but he did not say anything, except that he did not wish anything to happen to me. I knew I was becoming attached to him, but hadn’t realized how attached he had become to me. He had most definitely changed from the “mortal hater” he had been when he appeared here. At least he cared about my life, but I do not know if he cared about anyone else’s lives. But it was a start.

He still had not opened up to me any more, so I inquired him to explain about himself; who he really was, what he was, where he was from, anything. He grudgingly gave a little (but not without effort on my part). He claimed to be from a sky realm, where all the denizens there would grow wings during their teenage years. The wings’ color and design gave the people an idea what sort of person they were. He did not know why his parents were on Earth, since it was arduous to travel between the two realms. He had found out that since his wings were black and spidery, he was full of negativity and concealed rage, pent up waiting to unleash it’s destruction on whatever it deemed appropriate as close to its cause. Knowing this, people would than attempt to find the cause of the pain and remedy the source before the rage and destruction were unleashed on someone or something.

Since Dark Intent was the only one of his kind in this area that he knew of, or on Earth for all he knew. He had no one to help him calm and come to terms with his anger. His upbringing had taught his that humans were violent and could not be trusted or relied on at all except to hurt or kill some one or something. He was taught that if we knew of their existence, we would hunt and kill them. When his parents were killed in a large fire, he assumed it was arson. Because of his assumption and his upbringing, he did not trust me, or anyone, at all. Slowly he saw that I was simply trying to help him and would not hurt him at all.

Just before the fire started, his parents had given him a simple (to them) toy, the red diamond that he had kept close to help him remember his parents. I decided to try to convince him that the diamond was not only reminding him of his parents, but of what happened to his parents. I was sure it was, but I knew it would be extremely difficult to convince him of this. He had been experimenting with the toy, seeing what it could do, when he felt their room grow hotter, then flames appear. He also felt guilty that he did not know where his parents were to warn them or wake them, so they could also survive. Clutching his toy, he ran as far and as fast as he could away from the site, finally tripping and crashing on my doorstep.

The whole while he was telling me this, he was jittery and nervous. His wings would flutter gently at some more stressful parts, or jerk around at a sound behind or beside him. His voice slowly got more strained and hoarser as he started talking about his parents. The farther in his tale he went the paler he became. It was depressing to see this young man who had recently been in quite high spirits, become pale and withdrawn, but I was sure it was for his own good. Don’t they say a good way to deal with problems is to talk about it, vocalize it? Right? By the end I was afraid I had pushed him too far, that he had revisited too much, too soon; or maybe too much at once. That he might come to the wrong conclusions and pervert his remaining good, become the hatred he knew was inside him somewhere.

At the end of his tale, he had been reduced to tears. I did my best to comfort this young man I had almost accepted close enough to be my son. I had never seen this level of grief and pain before in anyone, so I did not think I was very much help to him, but he said later it was very helpful and comforting to have my shoulder to cry on. And reassure him someone could still help him.

The next few days were the two of us exploring how his self-exposure had brought us closer together. The way he would talk to me, respond to me, I had no way to continue thinking of him as an outsider. He was my son. I was his father. I found out more about him and his personality in the week following his revelation then I had in the past two months. For the next weeks, I was just what he needed. Someone to hold the feelings he held, the pain built up inside this young and troubled child. We were ecstatic when, after a few weeks, his wings started mellowing out. First they were a dark, then much lighter grey. They later showed more about him when they slowly morphed into wings that shimmered like flames. Elegant, lovely flames that danced around the surfaces.

But this joy could not last forever. Once he had come to terms with himself and his parents, to the best of his ability, he wanted to once again leave for the world. I wanted him to stay, but I had no way to keep him with me. We had nothing but a family bond that had quickly formed. I told him that I wished he would stay, but he could leave if he insisted, I would not stop him. And in the end, I grudgingly allowed him to leave.

And so Dark Intent, now-named Healed Soul, left. Like any son he periodically visited, but he only stayed a day or two at a time; though he has stayed for a week before. But still, our bond has been fading, strengthened occasionally by his visits, but still dying. I wish one day, we could meet and stay together one day. One day, that day will come but now, oh now it is another relation lost in this lost world, waiting to be rediscovered. When, I ask, when will we two be a father and son again? When?


Memories of Dark Intent
Ben Schanck

He crashed on my doorstep a long time ago. He was clutching a fiery red diamond close to his chest and appeared to be muttering to it. I had stepped out for some fresh air and almost hurt him with my door. He looked lost and confused. I gave him a room and hospitality, earning minor amounts of trust, something it appears was hard for him to give.

A few days later he gave his name as "Dark Intent, my true be mine alone." He rarely said anything as he hid in his Dark Intent facade, rarely slipping, rarely showing his true self. Also, he never left his diamond, as if it is his one refuge and person he trusts. It told me once it was his only memento of his deceased parents, who died in a huge fire. He has implied it was arson, but never definitely said if it was. As I watched the reddish orange gem, it seemed the more passion, though not necessarily emotion, but the more passion he showed to it, the more it flared up, as if to give a show of similar interests as he had.

He said once that, "once my wings have grown, I shall be capable to abandon this plain of foul, defiling mortals!" I asked him why he believes he will grow wings; he replied, “Knowledge accepts wonders, I shall." he had said nothing on the story for a long while.

He showed a great interest in two fictional characters; Inigo Montoya, from the Princess Bride and Batman. I was quite concerned over the background of these two characters, but accepted it nonetheless. I hoped that nothing serious would become of his choice of favorite characters. While he was with me, I knew of no such acts. He acted more like batman, by usually being quite cold and emotionless.

I woke one morning, and as I passed by him on my way to the kitchen for breakfast, I noticed he was excited (an odd occurrence in itself), but didn't realize why until I realized he looked slightly different. I stepped back in the living room (backwards) and took another, closer look, and realized he had grown wings; real, tangible, feathery wings!!! They were large and, black, and probably five or six foot wings. They were incredible, perhaps even impossible. I stood amazed. He had said before that he would grow a pair, but I never quite believed he would, but now, now I had to believe. He was just standing there, carefully stretching his wings out; testing them; examining them.

After we ate breakfast, he went out to the backyard and tried to fly, (I skipped work that day, my boss was furious) and soon he was up in the air, flying probably a good 10, 20, maybe 50 feet up at times, and soaring as free as could be.

After many hours in the air, he landed, walked up to me and said simply "so good, fair mortals do exist. Soon I should leave you." He walked in and slept until the next morning. I watched him sleep. I didn’t want to wake him for dinner; he appeared quite exhausted and needed his sleep. As I watched he looked barely any different from an ordinary fourteen or fifteen year old. Once or twice he winced and cringed, as if he was having a horrible nightmare, which, if what he said was true, he was either reliving his parents' death, or crashing mid-flight. I thought the former.

The next morning we ate breakfast in silence. After we cleaned up breakfast, he said "I shall stay … May I stay?" I was surprised he had to ask, I told him he could, but only if he would open up more, at least to me, “Not until my wings evolve,” was his reply to this requirement.

Dark Intent spent the next few weeks practicing flight. He was using noticeably less energy to keep himself in the air. It was starting to appear effortless for him. I would look up at him and he would look like an enormous black eagle.

It took about a month for the wings to “evolve”. They looked more wiry and sinister then the first set of wings. Some how, the visible gaps did not hinder the wing’s abilities. They were shorter, but surprisingly seemed to provide the same amount of power as first wings, if not more. The new wings allowed Dark Intent fly with almost no effort on his part. He was no longer exhausted and after just a few hours of flying. I would look at his shadow, and think of the many possibilities of what he was now capable of.

He told me he wished to depart, so as not to cause me any troubles. I asked him what sort of trouble he was thinking about but he did not say anything, except that he did not wish anything to happen to me. I knew I was becoming attached to him, but hadn’t realized how attached he had become to me. He had most definitely changed from the “mortal hater” he had been when he appeared here. At least he cared about my life, but I do not know if he cared about anyone else’s lives. But it was a start.

He still had not opened up to me any more, so I inquired him to explain about himself; who he really was, what he was, where he was from, anything. He grudgingly gave a little (but not without effort on my part). He claimed to be from a sky realm, where all the denizens there would grow wings during their teenage years. The wings’ color and design gave the people an idea what sort of person they were. He did not know why his parents were on Earth, since it was arduous to travel between the two realms. He had found out that since his wings were black and spidery, he was full of negativity and concealed rage, pent up waiting to unleash it’s destruction on whatever it deemed appropriate as close to its cause. Knowing this, people would than attempt to find the cause of the pain and remedy the source before the rage and destruction were unleashed on someone or something.

Since Dark Intent was the only one of his kind in this area that he knew of, or on Earth for all he knew. He had no one to help him calm and come to terms with his anger. His upbringing had taught his that humans were violent and could not be trusted or relied on at all except to hurt or kill some one or something. He was taught that if we knew of their existence, we would hunt and kill them. When his parents were killed in a large fire, he assumed it was arson. Because of his assumption and his upbringing, he did not trust me, or anyone, at all. Slowly he saw that I was simply trying to help him and would not hurt him at all.

Just before the fire started, his parents had given him a simple (to them) toy, the red diamond that he had kept close to help him remember his parents. I decided to try to convince him that the diamond was not only reminding him of his parents, but of what happened to his parents. I was sure it was, but I knew it would be extremely difficult to convince him of this. He had been experimenting with the toy, seeing what it could do, when he felt their room grow hotter, then flames appear. He also felt guilty that he did not know where his parents were to warn them or wake them, so they could also survive. Clutching his toy, he ran as far and as fast as he could away from the site, finally tripping and crashing on my doorstep.

The whole while he was telling me this, he was jittery and nervous. His wings would flutter gently at some more stressful parts, or jerk around at a sound behind or beside him. His voice slowly got more strained and hoarser as he started talking about his parents. The farther in his tale he went the paler he became. It was depressing to see this young man who had recently been in quite high spirits, become pale and withdrawn, but I was sure it was for his own good. Don’t they say a good way to deal with problems is to talk about it, vocalize it? Right? By the end I was afraid I had pushed him too far, that he had revisited too much, too soon; or maybe too much at once. That he might come to the wrong conclusions and pervert his remaining good, become the hatred he knew was inside him somewhere.

At the end of his tale, he had been reduced to tears. I did my best to comfort this young man I had almost accepted close enough to be my son. I had never seen this level of grief and pain before in anyone, so I did not think I was very much help to him, but he said later it was very helpful and comforting to have my shoulder to cry on. And reassure him someone could still help him.

The next few days were the two of us exploring how his self-exposure had brought us closer together. The way he would talk to me, respond to me, I had no way to continue thinking of him as an outsider. He was my son. I was his father. I found out more about him and his personality in the week following his revelation then I had in the past two months. For the next weeks, I was just what he needed. Someone to hold the feelings he held, the pain built up inside this young and troubled child. We were ecstatic when, after a few weeks, his wings started mellowing out. First they were a dark, then much lighter grey. They later showed more about him when they slowly morphed into wings that shimmered like flames. Elegant, lovely flames that danced around the surfaces.

But this joy could not last forever. Once he had come to terms with himself and his parents, to the best of his ability, he wanted to once again leave for the world. I wanted him to stay, but I had no way to keep him with me. We had nothing but a family bond that had quickly formed. I told him that I wished he would stay, but he could leave if he insisted, I would not stop him. And in the end, I grudgingly allowed him to leave.

And so Dark Intent, now-named Healed Soul, left. Like any son he periodically visited, but he only stayed a day or two at a time; though he has stayed for a week before. But still, our bond has been fading, strengthened occasionally by his visits, but still dying. I wish one day, we could meet and stay together one day. One day, that day will come but now, oh now it is another relation lost in this lost world, waiting to be rediscovered. When, I ask, when will we two be a father and son again? When?