Decided to pull some Storymatic cards and even decided to do it properly. So if done properly, you actually pull 4 cards to use for your prompts, and the character cards build your main character. The cards I pulled were “person with wings,” “person who should not be in charge,” “shocking announcement,” and “safety deposit box.”

I feel there is a lot that is kind of unsatisfying about it but it skewed a bit longer than I wanted to write. Not too bad for an hour’s plunking and 15 minutes of edits, I suppose. Anyhow, here’s some bullshit:

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          Everyone thought he was special because he had wings. He was born with them – a strange modern miracle. Scientists wanted to study him but his mother would never allow it. They had noticed the strange wing-like appendages during the ultrasounds. She was single, very young, claimed it was a virgin birth and that there was no mortal father. That she had consorted only with angels. She began wearing clothes that resembled nun’s habits, preferring tones of black and purest white, and kept her hair covered. She kept her eyes downcast, her hands clasped gently in front. She spoke softly and smiled sweetly. Everyone that knew her before remembered something very different. But when your child is born with pure white wings, it is easy for those rumors to fall by the wayside.

          The religious fervor was instant. Passionate preachers and pastors, some from very renowned mega churches, instantly hailed the child as divinely significant. The messiah, the second coming, the king of kings. She traveled often, so that his followers could see him in person. The pictures of his infancy always reflect this – a bundled babe, held in the arms of a girl that seemed much too young, with hands reaching to touch his holiness. His mother always smiled, always seemed to have eyes only for him, like a painting of the Mother Mary. The onlookers and true believers gasped and cried tears of joy to be in his presence.

          The more notorious pictures and videos were of his mother holding him on stage, his bare back facing the crowds. Sometimes his wings fluttered on their own. Sometimes someone else would hold the tip of one, spreading the span of it out for the crowd to see as the boy wriggled and cried.

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          The less religious often wondered if it was a sign of a change in human genetics – a mutation, like out of a comic book origin story. But there was a distinct lack of other examples. Even as the years passed and he aged, grew from infancy to childhood, there were no other winged babes. Scientists pleaded and begged for a chance to take a little bit of blood or a swab of saliva, but his mother always refused. She also refused media visits and interviews. She kept him secluded, in the mansion of one particular pastor who she held in high regard. He was home schooled. He was not allowed internet access, and his mother had expunged most of her own social media history, deleted every account across every platform. People were paid to silence old tales of her life before his birth. It was a wonder what could be cleared away with money. What he was taught, what he thought, what he might share with the world could only be guessed at. But the true believers waited patiently, knowing only that it would be great.

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          The years passed and he was mostly forgotten, locked away in that mansion. The especially favored amongst his flock were allowed to visit, though they were suspiciously wealthy and it was suspected they paid their way in. They signed NDAs for the privilege and never spoke to anyone of what they saw or heard during their time in the mansion. He was supposedly hale and hearty, kind, and well educated. What little was shared with the public was that when he was of age, he intended to make strides in leadership positions. That he would change the world.

          His 18^th birthday came and passed with no change. The world still saw and heard very little directly from him, beyond the occasional picture of a pale, dark haired youth in bulky cloaks. There was the occasional rumor in the town near the mansion of a winged man flying overheard, but those often proved to just be tall tales. He was so rarely seen that many believed him to be dead. The media and the scientists made fewer and fewer requests to meet with him and even his church of true believers grew smaller. Many joked amongst themselves – so much for the messiah. So much for a new leader.

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          When he turned 37, it was announced that he would be running for president of the United States that year. His true believers rejoiced, but everyone else was shocked. He had never held any political office, had never had a job, had never attended a school. He had never even spoken in public. Was he even remotely prepared for such an important role?

          The political rallies were even worse – they were secluded and private affairs. They didn’t allow media coverage, which seemed to go against good sense. How could people vote for a candidate that wasn’t getting his words out to the public? There were pictures of him flooding the internet and the media now, and the people that attended the rallies spoke with delirious devotion to him. He was handsome – tall, with a well chiseled jaw and striking sky-blue eyes. He had well coifed jet-black hair. He was thin, almost waifish.

And the wings. Brilliant white wings.

          His tailored suits were cut to allow the full spread of his wings. It certainly made him appear angelic. And it turned out they weren’t just for show, because he could fly. He flew at every rally. His mother and the pastor seemed to be all the voice he needed. Those that attended these private rallies spoke very little about his policies or his politics. His true believers cried with joy as they spread the word of what wonderful changes he would make for the world, and many other devoted religious individuals found themselves swayed by the possibility.

          His popularity rocketed, even amongst non-believers, who simply enjoyed the spectacle. Many liked the idea of a strange third-party candidate that was somehow trouncing the usual two picks. He smiled handsomely enough from magazine covers and social media memes to win over frivolous hearts.

          He won the presidency in a landslide. A first for a third-party candidate.

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          Nobody thought there would be any harm. After all, if he was a good person, he would try his best and possibly even get a little good done. And if he was ineffectual, then certainly the system of checks and balances in place would keep him from fudging the entire thing too badly. And many suspected that a strange and mutated societal cut-off would be nothing but that – completely ineffectual. A joke of a presidency, during which time nothing might change, but at least nothing bad would happen. At worst, the world would laugh at them a little and things would go on as they always had.

          Nobody suspected that he would purposely set out to dismantle and destroy it all.

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          The survivors studied it for years after. It was hard to find the favored that had signed NDAs, hard to find the tutors that might have taught the boy before he was the man that ruined the world. It was hard to find a reason for WHY, though it was a question often on everyone’s minds. As those that remained rebuilt the world piece by piece from it sundering, they had few answers. His life, his origins, his entire being was a mystery.

          One day, while sifting through the remains and records of a bank, a young historian found a safety deposit box listed as belonging to the mother. With great care, he opened it, hands trembling. Whatever he found inside would be historically significant. Even if it was nothing, but he hoped for an answer – finally an answer.

          Inside was a single slip of paper. He unfolded it. A strange script scrawled across the paper in a language he could not read. The letters glowed strangely bright as if lit within by the fires of hell, and before his very eyes the script faded – along with his vision. As he cried out for help, he dropped the paper, though it held very little of interest anymore. His colleagues found only a mostly blank page. Remaining at the bottom was the signature of the mother.