Why Do The Angels Weep?
A dark a night as ever, snow amidst leafless trees; the glimmer of light from the city glazing over frost tinted windows only overjoyed the younger masses. Fresh glints of frozen water fall from the darkened skies, landing upon cold, freezing statues. Some looked as if they were enjoying the snow. Some stood by others. Some were grouped as if they were friends. Yet one single statue always stood there. Alone. It was always there with no companion, no guide. It stood there, at the corner of the coffee shop; its face, buried in its hands, its wings shielding itself from the cold, masculine features shielding themselves. It was an angel: a stone angel sitting alone at the corner of a coffee shop, with no man or woman paying attention to it. Once in a while a child would find its intricate sculpting interesting and go up to touch it.
"Alexander, may you fetch me a bit of water from the well?"
"Yes, mother!"
It was only the start of the century, during the colder months; the year that the royal family had sworn upon to protect their colonies. Alexander himself had dreams of seeing untested shores, to meet the native people, to learn a new culture. The brunette, blue eyed, lean built teen was overall a new kind of child. He sought to learn, not to destroy and although going to the New World was his dream, the thought of endangering those that he sought to learn about truly did hurt him. It was a pain in the lad's side but he brushed it off. The London countryside was still a big place and he liked it.
The teen walked through a few yards of brush from his parent's estate, in his hand carrying a tin pail. He of course knew the way to the well. He knew every turn, every tree at every season, during every sort of weather, at every day of the year. His attire, though matching the season, did not match who he was. He was a nobleman, the son of a very rich man and as so he was expected to wear the finest of things. Only thing is, Alexander was not that type of child. He wanted to be a commoner, to be a man with little to no regard of high society. But things cannot be the way as planned. Turning a slow corner, the teen finally comes across the well, to find things were out of the ordinary.
Tucked within the forest was a rather tall, big blue box, a rather odd thing to see within a forest. The next thing the teen saw startled him: a rather lanky fellow, wearing clothes that would fit a dapper gentleman running across the clearing that led to the brick well, and towards the big blue box. The doors of the box opened and let the man in. Then, it disappeared slowly, materializing into nothingness. The teen merely raised a confused eyebrow, wondering what is happening. Then he hears it. A slow whining of something mechanical; the forces of pure energy that seared though air. Sensing a bit of danger, Alexander tucks himself into the forest, using his coat to hide himself. He hears a rigid voice, something that human ear have not even began to comprehend to hear. Its screeching, tin echoing through silent, snow covered forestry. Two outbursts of energy, complete with the glow of a small explosion ring out.
"The Doctor has escaped!" a high pitched, staccato voice shrieks.
"No matter. We shall report to the Strategist," a much lower, yet similar voice booms. "Our objective has been completed. The creature has been released! Prepare for temporal shift!"
The sound of energy, pure energy being extensively used fills the air, mixed in with the staccato voices screeching out, "Victory!"
Then, nothingness. Silence. Feeling that is it already safe, Alexander weakly steps out into the open, his long brunette locks covering his sweat stained brow. He looks at his hands, shaking and relentless. He gulps, seeing two burning holes within a tree where the blue box had been. He had never experienced such a thrill before: the unknown bursting out of emptiness, the dangers of the world following close behind. It was amazing, to the young man. He excitedly smiles, jumping up and down, laughing. It was almost bliss. After what seemed like either seconds or minutes of elation, he quickly gets back on track, shaking his head and taking the pail over to the well.
He rolls his eyes, wondering again why his mother would make him do such a task as he starts to lower the bucket. It was always like this whenever that banker was over at the estate and when father was gone. He laughs at himself and his mother, which was then cut short. He hears something within the darkening forest. It's like the animals had ceased to exist, paving way for this noise. The slow, crunching sound of fallen leaves and snow. It made Alexander's heart race once more. He drops the bucket into the well, and turns quickly, finding nothing out of the ordinary. All, save for one thing.
A lone, stone angel, blocking the path to the estate. Alexander raises his eyebrow in suspicion, forgetting about his menial task and walks over towards the statue. It was beautiful. The amount of work and intricacies put into its design looked like it would take a millennia. It looked masculine, in contrast to most angels depicted in his texts. Alexander found this intriguing as to why someone would sculpt a male angel, let alone leave it here. In that question, the teen also wondered as to why someone would bring it here and whom? His fingers brushed along the statue's hands, which were covering its face. It looked like it was crying, snow falling from the heavens melting upon its face.
"A crying angel?" Alexander mumbled. "Anything as beautiful as this should not weep. Nor should it be alone."
Alexander blinked a few times, his weariness and tired frame adjusting to the weather. The young man was quick to notice, though, that the statue had moved. Alexander stood aghast, a bit pale, to find the statue's hands almost touching his face, its eyes looking down at him not with an expressionless gesture, but with a sad, warm gaze. Its wings were flared up to shield the boy from the falling snow, but spread a bit apart to how the angel's face. Alexander was neither scared nor interested. He was curious. How did the statue move so quickly? How was it so…handsome? The teen was afraid to admit it. He was scared to admit it, but he did fancy men. He sighed to himself, curious as ever at the moving statue as he caresses its face. He blinks once more.
The angel moves closer, his eyes stone cold yet burning with a hidden desire. Its eyebrow was cocked upwards, in a dazed confusion. Alexander giggles, closing his eyes and feeling a small rush of wind against his cheek. He opens his eyes to see that the angel was inches from his face, its eyes closed, lips puckered. An invitation? Of course. Alexander sighs as he leans forward and kisses the stone statue. He retracts and blinks, seeing as that's how he can get the statue to move at all. The statue was now all but in a pose of shock and disbelief, earning it a small laugh.
"Funny how a boy as simple as me could earn a response like that from an angel..." Alexander smiled.
The boy blinks, and then sees the angel pointing towards the ground. Alexander looks and finds what seems to be writing. Ragged and primitive, yet the boy could still be able to figure out a few words.
"You are no ordinary boy..." it read.
"Well thank you. I like to be extraordinary!" Alexander beamed, then blinked.
"Funny. People usually are scared of me ever since I fell from the heavens."
"Well why should people be afraid of an angel?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
"I'm not from this world."
"That I can gather."
"I'm an alien from beyond time and space."
"That I did not expect...tell me more..."
Thus began a series of rather joyous events, the angel revealing itself to Alexander and explaining everything. The boy found out about the creature's needs and wants, sparking some rather warped ideas. Even so, everywhere the young man went, the angel itself followed. The two started to experience the boy's ups and downs, his pains and sufferings and through it all, the boy could only wonder why. Why had this creature been brought upon him? What was it? Who was that man entering that police box all those years ago? Yet it didn't matter now. Upon a hospital bed, the man lay down sick. He wearily looks up at the ceiling, wondering what had happened so many years ago. Fortunately for him, his bed was near a window. And out of that window, he would stare at a lone, stone angel. Whenever he blinked, the angel would move and watch over him. He didn't mind, unlike some people. He was, different, after all. And so was the angel.
Years passed and the toll of time took the hospital and the countryside. Buildings were erected, the shadows of the past dispelled, all save for one angel at the corner of a coffee shop, his hands covering his face.