Anyone interested in reading the beginning of something I've started?

I've been looking at writers forums, but they have some weird rules about critique and stuff so feel free to ignore this completely but I figured I'd just try to get some opinions here.

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Falling. Feathers splinter and burst pathetically from the decaying formation of wings they once nestled on delicately. Golden hair pounds upwards and flickers like a candle flame. Obscuring the features of the creature falling so gracefully and yet with a pace so rapid - as it hurtles downwards with apparently random, sharp turns - that make its limbs lash out in a way that was both mesmerizingly beautiful and lethal.

Crashing. The bases of the wings seemed to crack as the Angel hit the earth’s atmosphere, creating a ripple through its body. Intense pain pulses every sense it has as the feathers disintegrate further, a blaze fiercer than a million fires consumes the being gasping for something she would no longer find. For the second before the illusion is filled anyone looking from the earth’s soil would see only a shooting star.

Burning. Feathers are blown through miles in less than a second and as the wings burn tragically to their end they scorch a scar of ever stinging heavenly fire onto the perfected skin of the angel. Skin that loses its shine - dry like any other human’s as the beautiful being hurtles ever closer to the ground.

The second all signs of the wings are gone, aside from the scar, the angel felt weightless and empty. Landing harshly in the gutter of a city caught at dusk, people continued around her, for now they wouldn’t see her, but the angel saw this space as what she had left it. It was broken and scarred the way her body was now, the way the world was always scarred when an angel fell from heaven. She stumbled unevenly to her feet, the gesture feeling strange to her body. Tussled golden hair fell in knots down her back, slowly beginning to get plastered to her skin from the steady pour of rain.

The angel turned slowly and took in the loud and vicious sights of the city, trying to decide if she was in the right country. Gradually, people began to bump into her and the illusion began to filter the damage she had brought, they cursed as they tripped on her flowing white dress that stuck to their person due to the drizzle that dampened it.

The angel quivered and felt the pit in her stomach that had started this, as she faced her decaying hope in humanity, much more her own kind. The desire to crawl into a ball and beg the lord to be taken back or to try and block out any recollection of why she was here and dismiss the torturous pain she had brought upon herself pounded her veins. She knew she had gotten herself here for a reason though, as the prayers in her head faded and died she started through the crowd. She would prove the angels wrong; she would fix the problem yet to rise. Even if she knew it meant the apocalypse might as well start now.

​

***

Present day

Lucissa Strange guided herself through London using all of her senses rather than just her sharp eyesight. She could smell the dimmed sweet of pollen still drifting in the air, which - for her sense of smell - shone like a light in fog through the pollutions that engulfed the city around her. Harsh and sharp whizzes of traffic broke through the slow and rhythmic music she blasted into her ears. Despite its full volume, the brown hair that flowed down to the middle of her back that she had matted over her ears couldn’t quiet suffocate the ever present stalemate rush hour of the capital city. It was useless, she knew, her perfect hearing couldn’t get any better, but it didn’t mean she was used to the skull shattering noises.

She kept at the same speedy pace all through the crowds and barely broke stride to glare at the busy people walking just as quickly home who bumped into her. The music was the same as it always was; she kept barely over twenty songs either of a blasting rock or depressingly haunting melody on repeat continuously. To her it was not just down to a simple and yet rather odd choice of music taste, it was mainly to possess at least one thing in her life of which she could basically control.

It wasn’t as though Cissa didn’t know more than everyone else on the street, but that was exactly the point.

Cissa knew for a fact she had left her brother behind in a room completely blocked from whatever light had been fading since noon which formed his own pit of self-harm he subdued himself to most nights. He was sixteen, Lucissa was eighteen; she doubted he’d grow out of it in two years but mainly because it wasn’t strictly something you grew out of. It was practically a certainty that her sister, Libitha, would be in her room with some boy getting high or drunk. Lucissa had never cared much for her sister. As siblings the Strange family had two years between them each, and Lucissa had always been more attached to Lukas; the love she had for her brother was special, something nobody else would really understand.

Lucissa was protective but begrudgingly let her little brother hurt himself the way he did because she knew it was futile and that it was what her protection had brought him in the first place. She was also fully aware of how foolish it would be to see him as her little anything, but she was there the night she ruined his life and remembered how small he had looked at the age of six. Ten years, She thought. Ten years her life had been like this, whatever had come before it seemed insignificant.

Cissa made a beeline for the cash machine stuffed into the dull bricks threatening to swallow it. Her haunting music started to slow and the traffic became more prominent, almost to the point of nausea. The machine bleeped and green text appeared on the murky screen. If it weren’t for Lukas she’d empty her bank account of all the money she’d scraped up from the odd jobs she’d managed a temporary employment with and make a break for it.

Every eighteen year old thinks they’re different, have probably considered running away from home as Cissa did, but to them they’d be getting away from whatever they felt trapped them soon and starting their own life in the big bad world. But most eighteen year olds didn’t have Lucissa’s parents, who were apparently only capable of their maliciousness to Cissa and her brother when they praised Libitha for what Lucissa saw as accomplishing nothing but draining her head of any brain cells with drink and drugs. Most teenagers weren’t Lucissa, and Lucissa knew she was the big bad world.

The machine stalled as it processed her request. It beeped again and Lucissa felt her breath catch in her throat. It was the same green boxed down text that had appeared as the normality had done before, but she took an empty step back and daren’t blink with her big grey eyes glinting in denial when she read it.

In a fortnight 182 people will die.​

The text read and Lucissa’s heart hammered in the way it only ever could when something like this happened to her again. Her hands trembled with her wallet and she tried to yank out her debit card desperately, as if trying to run away from it, but she knew that would be pointless.

Good luck, and have a nice day.​

The song was reaching a powerful crescendo and Lucissa’s body was going into meltdown. She could read it in his voice. Hear his mocking drawl; she had only ever heard it once, and doubted it had been as it should, but it had haunted her for years. Lucissa stepped back stubbornly. Pushing through the flowing pedestrians and stumbling in a daze across the road far too hastily to meet road safety guidelines.

She heard it before she saw it, and despite everything she couldn’t escape it. Her mind was too rattled and escape would have been unlikely even if she had been paying attention. The looming lorry hurtled forward and sounded its horn as if that could do anything. The classic music still blasting was forgotten, it came to a dramatic climax before the truck smashed into Cissa and shattered her seemingly relentless frame into a million pieces.