Journal Entry #1

June 4

You know how sometimes a writer will plan out their story step by step, plot point by plot point? They will map out their characters, diving into backstory and motivations. Long into the night, they agonize over every decision and every chapter, thoroughly researching each consequence.

And then there are some stories that seem to just jump out of the random and onto the page. They require no plotting or research. They flow from the writer's fingers as if it was dictated by fate.

I am the later writer. I research no cons and I agonize over no decision. I act. More like I react. That is just who I am. This would better for me if I was a fiction writer. But as this is a journal and not fairytale, I have learned to live with regrets.

Perhaps if I was a secretary, lawyer, burger flipper, or teacher, then I could change my way of thinking. I could become less impulsive and more calculated. I could be less hard and more trusting.

If things were different….

But they're no different.

I'm not different.

When I first found out what I was, I dropped a glass. The sound of the shards bouncing on the wooden floor was logical, comforting in the face of confusion. If physics was still in effect maybe the world would all go right again, like the way a weeble wobble toy will always straighten. Eventually it will return to its original position, but nothing was the same. I had just accepted my fate.

I grew up never knowing who my father was for 19 years. I was okay with this. I figured if the son of the bitch wanted to ditch without a word in the first place, I was better off without him. Mom didn't talk about him much, however she didn't talk much at all. When I was a baby, she started seeing things, strange shadows in the bushes and people with disfigured faces. People thought she was crazy. Doctors thought she was crazy. She's been on medication ever since. Between the pills and the scotch she regularly washed it down with, my mother was usually pretty out of it.

As a kid, I took well advantage of that.

I was always the class clown. Teachers were known to cry from happiness when I graduated to the next grade. Yeah, I was that kid. Once in the fourth grade, I had a teacher who was extremely OCD about her desk. Each day I would sneak into the classroom and move three things slightly out of place. She would walk in and immediately fix the damage. I did this every day for a month, moving different things each time. One day, with no warning, I stopped. The poor woman went out of mind the entire day trying to find what I had changed. She stopped class and sent us all home, making me the hero of Master's High. Another time, I put a thin pocket of water in a bully's gym shorts so that when he sat down to put on his tennis shoes it looked like he pissed himself. Juvenile? Of course. Hey, what can I say? I was in middle school and my mom was a basket case. Who wouldn't have a little fun?

I miss fun.

When I was 19, my mom got hit by a bus.

She died one day later in the hospital at 4:37 p.m.

And that was when I met him.

The doctor had already declared time of death and I had let go of her cold hand. It was my sign of defeat. She might have been emotionally present for my life, but she had a warm spirit and a ready smile. And now in the course of 24 hours, the warmth had been drained. She was cold.

I sat in the chair by her bed, face in my hands. The nurses had come in to pull a large white sheet over her head, but I sent her away. The sheet was too final. The sign of no hope in the movies. I knew I only had a few minutes before I would have to face the truth.

"She didn't deserve this."

It was almost a whisper. I don't think he meant for me to hear it actually. I slowly raise my head and turn to see a man standing in the doorway. He was leaning on the doorframe, playing with a something crinkly in his jacket pocket. I remember feeling this sadness radiate off him,

"You knew my mother?"

He sighed and stepped into the room. He looked like he was in his late thirties/early forties, with brown wispy hair and a rather large nose. He looked at me up and down before nodding.

"We had a relationship once."

My eyebrows went up.

"Really?"

"Yes…nineteen years ago."

I sucked my breath in quickly and breathing became difficult.

"You?"

"Yep," he said with a quirky, but sad, little smile smirk.

And that is how I met my father.

Surprisingly, that was not the most shocking thing that happened to me that day.

Without a word, he walked over to my mother's side and stroked her cheek. He started whispering into her ear, stooping low to get close. He softly kissed her, while I just stared on in utter shock. Then he looked at me, winked, and put his hand on her chest.

And then…..his hand glowed.

The whole room filled with light, blinding my eyes. Power seemed to surge in the very air. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth. When it stopped, the man staggered back, breathing heavily. I sprung to my feet and pushed him against the wall.

"What did you do to my mother, you sicko?!" I screamed in his face. His look of utter surprise faded into an amused awe, which did not deter me. He pointed behind me with a little smirk on his face.

I turned around to my mother sitting upright, eyes open and breathing.

The machines went crazy. The beeping was loud and chaotic. All of the sudden doctors and nurses came crashing into the room, yelling orders and scrambling around like ants trying to fix a leaking anthill. In all the confusion, I saw the strange man slip out. I ran after him, pushing my way through the crowd of confused professionals.

"Wait!"

He stopped and looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

"I…I need answers. I need to know who you are….what you are."

He winked at me again and turned to leave.

"Please!" I lunged after him.

He stopped and it seemed like time stopped with him. The few people in the hallway were frozen in that second. I experimentally moved my arms to see if I too was stuck in place, but they moved without a problem. He slowly turned around and stared at me for several seconds.

I don't know if I can accurately describe what happened next.

A light so bright it should blinded me instantly exuded from his skin as his eyes burned with a holy fire. A momentous shadow rose from his shoulder, extending in two wing-like formations. He seemed to grow several feel and a loud booming voice pushed into my ears.

"I AM THE ARCHANGEL GABRIEL AND I AM YOUR FATHER."

My mouth hung open in shock and I didn't know if I should run or bow.

The light seceded and time began again, but it felt like I was now the one stuck in time. Gabriel had a smug, self-satisfied look on his face.

"I've always wanted to do that," he quipped.

And with that he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

I don't know how long I stood there. I think a doctor pulled me away.

"Were you with your mother?"

"Did you see what happened?"

"Was it sudden or did she wake slowly?"

"Was anyone else in the room?"

"Did you give her any drugs?"

I was bombarded by doctors surrounding me asking me questions and genuinely being confused. I didn't blame them, but I also had no answer for them. What was I going to say? Oh yeah, Doc, it was an Archangel who just happened to be my father? I just stood there with a dumb look on my face.

"Can I see my mom?" I blurted out. The doctors almost looked ashamed and nodded, stepping aside to allow me in the room.

"Mom?" Her eyes were closed, but her breathing was relaxed and steady. Her eyes blinked open and a smile formed on her face.

"Hey, Baby. How are you doing?"

"How am I doing? Mom, you are the one who died. How are you feeling?" I sat on the edge of her bed and took her bony fingers into mine, rubbing the back of her hand in small circles.

Her smile grew wider. "I feel better than I have in years. Gabriel has a habit of doing that, as long as he is switching your foundation with itching powder." I raised one eyebrow and she laughed. "Don't ask!" Her tone was playful, her eyes were bright, and she was laughing. I had never seen her like this. She had never been this happy.

"So…Gabriel….is….an….." I drew out each words hoping she would jump in so I could confirm what I had seen.

"He's called an archangel, dear." She said this as casually as if was a plumber.

I took a deep breath. "And you found this out…how?"

"Accident, really," she laughed. "The poor dear accidently walked into a holy fire ring that was charmed to light up as soon as a celestial being was detected."

I straightened up in confusion. "Holy fire?"

"Yes, it's used to trap angels."

"But…you knew? About…'celestial beings' before Gabriel?"

She sat up and sighed. She clasped both of her hands around mine.

"Honey, there is something you should know about your family."

Then she proceeded to tell me how my family have been hunters for the last four generations. She spoke of the monsters under bed and the things hiding in my closet. Monsters, demons, angels, and evil became all too real in her words.

I left the hospital in the hour.

I left the state within a day.

I didn't go back.

It wasn't until I was out of state and settled in a cheap motel that I began to research into my mother's words. I was surprised on all the information I found. People had dedicated their lives to things that went bump in the night and I eagerly pored over the pages. Then I came across a page titled "Nephilim In The Bible."

I clicked on the page like any other.

And that's when I dropped the glass.