No copyright infringement intended. These characters are currently not based on any existing ones. They reside in my mind for now.
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HELL DESERVES NO ANGELS
This isn't a chapter, it isn't a prelude, actually it's nothing but a few words spun into sentences, making up a whole which, I suppose, you could call a story. It's the captured memory of one night of brutality, depending which point of view you choose.
The night was dark and the house even darker still. Sounds were muted but for the crickets and owls, the soft rustling of the leaves as the wind brushed against them. The moon lay silhouetted on the sky – a ring against black velvet scattered with diamonds.
He sat high up in one of the trees. Not appearing overly large but, then again, this would be difficult enough for a human to decide. He was after all, perched on a slim branch. No animal sounds stirred near him. They shied away from him, fearing the menace of his birth and the smell of nothing that surrounded him.
His head cocked to the side, as if listening to a sweet melody or a lovingly composed opera. To him the night held no wonder. He'd lived through too many nights to even notice the changing of time. Once the sun was stolen by the horizon, all that mattered was the knowledge that he could never fall into a deep slumber again. To him eons has passed since time, previously measured in hours, seized to exist and were replaced with eternity. This was his horror to live.
It was during these hours that he could walk among people and who really paid no attention to him. Of course, they never got close enough to him to allow for anything else. Humans were like animals, they avoided his contact or his proximity. Maybe it wasn't just their inherent fear of what they could not see, but rather that they instinctively knew …they had to avoid him.
A crow's shriek broke through the night and pulled him out of the longing that had come over him. Was it a crow? He leaned forward on the branch, just perching on it, slightly swaying forward. He tasted the air. It tasted of fear, anguish and hate. It was dark and malevolent and he knew that there was something far darker than him in it. He heard the sound of the crow again. This time he knew it wasn't a crow - nothing that scared could be compared to a crow. It reeked of pain, a cry for help rather than attention. If he had a heart, it would have broken; that would make sense. But then, he had not had a heart for close to 200 years.
The scream came from within the house. Glass shards tinkled on the wooden floor as a lamp was overturned. There was scuffling. He was familiar with the sound. It was the sound his prey made as they tried to scamper away from him, trying to drag itself into a dark corner where he could not see it.
A cracking sound reverberated through the garden. It came from a window that had been left open on the second storey of the house. The echo through the leaves reached his ears as he held onto the branch. His grip tightened at the sound, so tightly that the branch disintegrated into powder in his hand.
He had been coming to this house for the past three months. Every night, he held vigil hoping that the light would not be extinguished, that it would shine through that window on the East side of the house. In the mornings, he'd seen the light of the sun touch the room painting it in yellow rays. At night, it was brightly illuminated. Not by a heavenly body, but by the brilliant light which shone from the ethereal being who occupied that room. Her hair a flaming mass tumbling down her back and her green eyes as fresh as a bunch of newly cut sage.
At least twice a week there would be screaming, ornaments being broken, doors being slammed and the endless echo of scuffling feet. He could feel the tears welling in her eyes. God knows he'd seen her shed them enough times streaming down her cheeks. He heard her hands wipe it from her face. He listened to her screams and longed to reach out to her, but held back.
He had to hold back. He could not interfere. This was the law made thousands of years before. It was prudent that his kind not become involved in these human squabbles. For him, it was harder every day.
The small voice coming from the radiant being pulled at his soul. He ached to comfort her. He was drawn to intervene and yet, he stayed outside. Entering a human's home was no easy task. Permission had to be asked but more so she would have to invite him into her home. She had to physically want him inside her sanctuary.
He had seen what reflected in human eyes before he stepped in to rescue victims; they were filled with revulsion. The fact that he saved them was overshadowed by their fear. And in this lay his dilemma. He knew that once she saw him for what he was, he must leave. He would have to find another place to keep vigil during the long nights when humans slept. He would have to give up being around her. And this was part of his horror, he could do it but he did not want to give up this joy.
And he could not enter – not without her permission and request.
Another crack!. He knew this sound. In his mind's eye he could see the monster's hand hit her face. He knew the brute strength put behind the blow, even if it appeared to be no more than a simple brush against her cheek.
Before he had time to convince himself again that he could not get involved, he dropped from the tree, so graceful and smoothly that nothing stirred. In a matter of seconds, he stood at the front door of the house. The big oak panels splintered away as he pushed them open. His eyes were wild as he scanned the inside of the house. From upstairs he heard her, she called calling to him with her mind. He reached out to her, willing her to say his name, to give him entry into her prison, perhaps to free her.
Then he saw it. Sinewy, silver threads running along the passage, weaving in and out of itself, rushing,, flowing, down the stairs as if reaching for his heart. He watched as it ran up his legs, forming bands around his chest and finally weaving into his fingers. He heard her voice pulling him in. Suddenly, the barrier to the house fell away and he entered. He moved so fast that the rooms blurred past him. The stairs proved no hindrance to his feet and her voice was a compass to his heart. Even in the dark of the unlit house, he knew where to go. He would know this even if he had no sight.
Under the third door, he saw her light, much weaker than it had ever been in the months he had come here. It was almost a dying flicker now as he kicked down the door. He entered in time to see the monster raise his fist high above the angel. Her green eyes drowned in tears and her cries were silenced by fear. As she saw him, her fear of her attacker turned to fear for her savior.
It was in that moment, love became defined. It was the thing that gave you reason to stop caring about yourself, to completely immerse your mind and body into saving another being. And iIt filled him as wine would drown a cup.
Getting rid of the monster proved easier than any human would have thought. For him, it was a brush of his hand; an outsider would see that he had merely pushed the monster away from the angel.
He reached down to her. As he picked her up into his arms, golden rays pulled from him and were woven through her silver strands. They melted into one being. She looked up to him. The bruises on her face and body began to form dark blotches of black and purple beneath the skin, visible only to his sensitive eyes. He felt her ragged breathing, he heard the bones broken by the monster rubbing against one another, bone fragments splintering and tearing, ringing in his ears. Her eyes fell closed, and she hung like a marionette in his arms. Taking one last look at the dying monster, he gave a low growl and effortlessly sped out the window, rushing the angel away from hell.
He fled with her in his arms. He had prepared a place, hoping this would never become necessary, but braced and ready if it did. He spent weeks praying she would be safe from "him" - the monster, the man she was bound to by human laws. He prayed the monster would disappear. He prayed the monster would relent. He prayed the monster could not squeeze the life from her. All his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. She hung limp in his arms, broken, torn, hurting beyond anything a human should ever have to suffer.
At the cave, he laid her down on a mountain of quilts and blankets surrounded by moss covered stone. She twisted in pain, crying out to him, beseeching him to make it stop. He brushed his lips over her ear and whispered "My Angel, my love, I am going to make it go away" and bent to her neck.