Her head is tilted back, her hair streams down her back. The rain pours down, coating her lashes and hair, and streaming to the ground, running over her smooth coffee skin.
Natalie Kabra knows she's beautiful, but somehow, now, she feels even more beautiful. She straightens and admires herself in the shimmering puddle on the ground.
Maybe it's the brilliant white robe that flows around her body that makes her feel even more gorgeous than usual.
Or maybe it's the fact that there's not a blemish on her face, that her eyes are perfectly shaped, that her body is perfect . . . that all of her is perfect.
She wears crude sandals that show off her perfectly shaped feet when she walks and the dress swishes around her legs.
Her toes peep out from under the hem of the fabric that feels like cream against her skin.
The robe sticks to her body, showing every curve, every line of her figure.
She's happy, here in heaven. Happier than she's every been.
But her heart aches for those she left behind.
The cherubim she's surrounded by are comforting, but they cannot replace Ian, Amy, Dan . . . she even finds herself wishing to be back in the Vesper cell with the nanny, the fat Asian, the whimpering boy, the old man, and the young body builder.
Life is so precious.
Hers was taken from her before she was ready.
But God understood, and for that she was thankful.
But did those on the earth understand? Did they realize that she was ok? That she liked where she was? Did they realize that she missed them?
No, Natalie knows that they do not know.
She peeks over the walls of heaven. She can see hell, smell the stench of burning flesh, hear the screams of the oppressed, and she shudders and turns away. But she can also see earth.
She zooms in on where she knows Ian is.
Sure, enough, he's sitting at home. And he's sad, she can see it.
If he knew she were watching he would straighten up and put on a false front.
It hurts her, to know that he doesn't realize she's watching. She's taken back by the tears that are in his eyes, by the words that form on his lips.
"Natalie." He whispers.
"I'm here." She says, instinctively reaching out her hand, to try and touch him, before she remembers the gulf that stretches between them. The inky blackness that none can cross, that none would dare to cross without the help of the cherubim, or God himself.
Ian doesn't hear her, of course, as she knew he would not, but it still hurts. Her happiness is gone.
She turns away from the wall, feeling the urge to vomit. Staring back down in the puddle, with the rain running down her face, she realizes how much she looks like Ian, even in her heavenly state of beauty.
The similarities are still there.
A heavy hand rests on her shoulder, yet it is light and comforting at the same time.
Natalie turns and looks up into the face of the cherubim who has befriended her during her short time here. "Do not worry, little one." His voice is thick and creamy, and it reminds Natalie of rich pudding. "Your brother will be ok."
Natalie's heart constricts. "But I want to be there with him! I don't want him to be sad! I don't want him to suffer! I want to watch him grow up even more. I want to fall in love with Dan. I want to . . . I want to watch Ian fall in love. I want . . ."
The winged being holds up a large hand. The skin is a gold color, dark yet light at the same time. His fingers are long, and callused, perhaps because he plays the harp in Jehovah's choir.
"You want." It says. "God wants different. You must sacrifice self in order to achieve the great I AM's plan for you."
"I didn't have a choice when I died." Natalie said.
"But you did. You didn't have too pick up the metal. You were well instructed. Part of you understood what would happen. It was love that motivated you. It was love that prompted to you to give up your life." The cherubim meets her gaze with eyes pooled with knowledge. "Natalie, if you had not given up your life, all would have died because they did not learn in time the danger of the machine."
Natalie turns away. The rain has stopped and a glistening rainbow, the same one that surrounds God's throne, has stretched and expanded, covering the whole sky. She stares down at her sodden white dress, which clings to her body. She feels no shame that the cherubim can practically see her as if she were naked. Heaven is so much different from the earth.
"But does Ian have to suffer?"
"Not for long." The cherubim's face mirrors her own, sad and melancholy. "Human suffering is something I do not understand, nor will I ever. My race is not fallen, as is your own, but I do know this, and am allowed to tell you this: Ian will not suffer much longer. Amy Cahill will comfort him."
Natalie turns her face away and looks up at the rainbow. "I was mean to Amy." It sounds so foolish, so silly now.
"I know." The cherubim's eyes meet hers. "God has forgiven, because you were taken so soon."
Natalie turns back towards the earth and looks at Ian. He's fallen asleep on the couch, curled up in a ball, clutching himself as if in great pain. "Please." She turns away and falls into the cherubim's strong arms. "I can't watch."
"I'm not making you." The cherubim says. "You are making yourself. You're still attached to your earth. It will pass."
"Am I . . . am I allowed to go back?"
The cherubim nods. "To your gravesite."
"But . . . that's under tons of rock now!"
"To your grave site. Where your headstone lies."
"Oh." She pauses. Does she want to go back? "Take me!" She cries, because she knows if she thinks for too long that she will not go.
The cherubim pulls her to himself, and then they are hurtling through the blackness. The blackness is colder than anything she's ever felt, colder than ice, colder than pain, colder than loneliness.
The cherubim's arms are a distant memory. Her eyes are wide open, but there is no light for them to find. It's terrifying, realizing your eyes are open, that you cannot see.
There's suddenly a weak light in the distance. A foul stench invades Natalie's nostrils. She gags, but is grateful for the light.
The light is polluted, specks of refuse float in the washy light.
And then she can see herself, can see the cherubim's arms around her waist. She recognizes the graveyard where her ancestors are buried. She realizes with horror that the large gravestone that is awkwardly hovering over them is hers. She sees with the hazy vision one gets after being outside in the sun for too long without sunglasses.
Her eyes scan the headstone and her heart constricts. She doesn't want to be dead. She wants to be alive.
She wants to live, to breathe, to laugh. She wants to go shopping, she wants to sit in a boring class, she wants to eat brussel sprouts.
She wants someone to hug her.
A great longing for the little things of life envelops her.
A figure stands above her, shadowed in the dim light. "It's so dark. Is it night?"
"No." The cherubim says. "The earth's light is polluted."
"Is that . . ."
It's Ian. He falls down in front of the headstone, and Natalie can see his stomach, pressed on the translucent (to her eyes) ground above her.
His chest heaves and she sees his tears fall, watches the ground hungrily suck the moisture in.
"Take me back!" She says. "Take me back! I can't!" Her voice cracks and she grips the cherubim, waiting for the chilly darkness to envelop her.
Blinding light and warmth surrounds them as they are suddenly back in heaven.
Natalie's enlarged pupils quickly shrink. She covers her eyes and sinks to the ground. "They don't . . . humans don't appreciate life, do they?"
The cherubim doesn't answer, just stands next to her as she stares at the dark globe spinning in cold space.
Natalie's thoughts spin. What is life to humans? The value of little things is not appreciated, or even noticed. She remembers fondly the wrinkled ocean, crawling and teeming with life.
All she'd been worried about was getting too much salt in her hair.
She turns away from the wall. "I can't look." She says. "If I look, I'll remember how I failed."
If she could live life again, she knows she would be different. She would appreciate the greatness in the small things.
Just a quick note: I do not believe when you do you go straight to heaven or hell. I do not believe
that a loving God would force his beloved children to watch their family members grieve over their loss.
I also do not believe that one burns in hell forever. The Bible portrays God as a loving God.
So why would a loving God force his children to burn in hell forever for one lifetime of sin?
I have a Biblical foundation for what I believe. I'm not relying on blind "huh, I wonder..."
But anyways,,, I just wanted to say that because this story goes against my beliefs.
But it was really fun to write. To get Natalie's pain in there as she watches Ian grieve, as she
realizes that she wasted her life.
Tell me... was it good? It kind of came to me on a whim and I wrote it in less than an hour yesterday evening and now I'm editing it and publishing it...
There's probably a million grammatical and punctuation errors... and my spell check isn't working,
so I had to wing it and hope I spelled stuff right.
Love you guys. Thanks for reading.
Addict