Chapter 2
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The table was set with a humble assortment of food. Breads, fruit, cheeses, some type of cured meat. "Fruit…" she quietly gasped in amazement. It had been a very long time since she had seen fresh fruit. She picked up an apple, rolling it in her hand before setting it back down, leery at the offering. "How did you get this?"
"The Ag tower." he responded.
"The Ag tower…" She mouthed unsure of what an Ag tower was but grateful for it nonetheless.
"I don't even know if I remember what a grape tastes like. I was only a small girl the last time I tasted one." As she eyed the plump red grapes that were sitting so beautifully in a simple white porcelain bowl. She was starting to feel more relaxed with Michael. Perhaps it was the food or the fact he had not killed her yet, she could not say.
"Go ahead then, try one." Michaels expression was soft, as he watched in amusement as she carefully selected a grape and brought it to her lips. Just the simple act of watching her eat was as if he was seeing the dawn for the first time.
The explosion of sweet flavor hit her instantly. Oh how she had missed this, and suddenly the memories of her mother and stopping by the grocery store after school came rushing back to her. Her mother would let her pick out grapes each week, red or green. She would always pick red, just like the ones Michael gave her, because she found them sweeter. Quiet tears rolled down over her cheeks.
Michael tilted his head much like a bird, "Are the grapes not to your liking? I can send for something else?"
"No, they are very much to my liking," as she grabbed yet another, put it in her mouth, closed her eyes and chewed so slowly. "It's just I remembered something that I thought was long forgotten."
"Ah I understand." Michael nodded but then without skipping a beat, "Sara please tell me how did it came to be that I found you alone out there, in the cradle, miles away from any encampment?"
She looked down at the table. "I have always lived alone, for the most part. Sometimes it's better to be killed quickly by an angel than to suffer long with a human. A lesson I learned a long time ago." She paused, plucking another grape.
Michael wondered to what could have caused this woman to fear her own kind more than angels.
They sat in silence for awhile as she continued to eat. Slow, deliberate bites, careful not to over eat because she knew she would pay for it later. Her body was not accustomed to such extravagance. When you're on a diet of old can goods, stale chocolate bars and whatever wild berry you can find that won't kill you, fresh bread and cheese was unbelievably delicious. It was very hard to check herself and not stuff her face in front of her angel capturer.
A smooth pale hand, lightly cupping a glass of wine appeared before her as Michael set the glass down next to her plate. His hands looked so delicate and soft, nothing like she expected of an eons old warrior of God. Actually, what did she expect, since she'd never seen a higher angel up close. She only had the stories that others had shared with her in passing over the past 25 years.
She put her hand out, gesturing no, "I'm not sure I should do that," she sat back slightly in her seat, "I've only had a few drinks my entire life and only stale beer at that, certainly not wine."
"Please. You might find that you like it." Michaels lip turned up the slightest little bit which might be considered a smile, if you believed that he would ever smile.
Carefully as if the drink was a poisonous snake that might jump out and strike her, she picked up the glass goblet. Michael thought that this was highly amusing watching her nervousness as she raised the trembling glass to her lips.
"First grapes and now this." She spoke nervously as she took a tiny sip, then another, more hearty one.
Michael watched the way she drank the wine, how her lips touched the glass and how her throat moved as she swallowed. His eyes traveled down to the little nook at the base of her neck and watched her pulse beat close by. Much more slow and steady now he thought.
"Well, what's the verdict? Do you find the fermented version as palatable as the fresh fruit?"
Sara took another larger sip. "Oh yes, very much. You know my mother drank wine, every evening after dinner. Her favorite was red. She and my father…." She suddenly trailed off. Michael was not oblvious to the sudden shift in her eyes, the warmth of the wine quickly leaving to be replaced by a deep sorrow.
"What's wrong?" he delicately asked.
Sara set the glass down, "I'm sorry, I haven't thought about my family in many years. That time seems like it was nothing but a dream now."
Michael reached his hand out and carefully put it on top of hers. And in that simple act of compassion he triggered an emotional storm inside Sara. Tears began to well up again but this time she collected herself and stopped the tide before it could break through. She was not going to break down again. Maybe this man, no, this angel was not as bad as she thought.
"People are afraid of you, you know." She started, shifting the subject. "Where I come from, angels only kill. I do not understand why you are so different. I should still be terrified of you but now I don't know." At that she placed her hand on her temple and massaged herself. "I'm so confused."
"Do not fear me." Michael spoke squeezing her hand carefully.
"You keep saying that, you know?" Sara giggled, startled that she was relaxed enough to do that. "I knew this wine would be too much for me." And she tried to withdraw back into herself.
"I think it's just enough." He squeezed her hand once more and released her. "Tell me why you were alone. You do not seem like you are the type of human to enjoy solitude."
Her eyes saddened and at once he wished he had not asked but he was so very curious. He reached over and poured her some more of the deep red wine. Sara gave him a brief look of disbelief but gratefully accepted. She still wasn't sure if he was going to ultimately kill her tonight so she figured that she may as well drink more. The feeling wasn't half bad, she was starting to feel warm and strangely tingly. It felt so good and she thought to herself that she now knew why her mother enjoyed the stuff so much. Wine was way better than the nasty, tin like taste of the old beer cans that were popular in the scattered encampments she had passed through over the years.
"When the angels came," she looked up at him accusingly, "I was 16 years old and I watched my parents slaughtered in my living room of my home. Their blood soaked through the carpet, under and behind the sofa like a sponge reaching me as I hid there, like a coward.. I remember it squishing up between my toes as I waited what seemed like hours before the eight-balls left."
"You were not a coward." his words were stern.
"Not a coward?" she scoffed, "What would you call it? And for the next 10 years I continued to hide behind every sofa and under every rock I could find."
He grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. "And so did all humanity."
Intending on removing his hand from her face, she reached up and grasped his wrist. Forcefully she tried to pull his hand away but he did not budge. "Stop it! Let me go!"
"Not until you understand that you did nothing wrong." Her eyes grew full and wet as he spoke. "You were not a coward. You did nothing wrong. You survived." Her hand grew slack around his immovable wrist. As she looked down at the table, a single tear dripped down her cheek, dropping onto her plate.
"Then why do I feel so guilty."
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"Alex! Come on slow poke, what's a matter? Can't keep up with a girl?" Noma teased the other soldier as they ran around the track. Her long black hair, tied into a ponytail was bouncing behind her and for a brief moment Alex thought it looked exactly like an excited dogs tail. Which of course, caused him to laugh quietly to himself.
"I can hear that you know. What's so funny? You're the one losing!" She grinned.
"Oh yeah? Wanna bet?" He boasted as he raced ahead catching up with her and grabbed her by her waist.
Noma deftly side stepped out of his grip, "No! Don't do that here Alex! Damn what if Michael sees?"
"Pffft!" Alex scoffed. "He's been up in his birds nest all day." As he grabbed her again and pulled her close into a kiss. "Silly girl!" And he pushed off and raced towards the barracks.
Noma stood for a few moments and watched him go. The air was different tonight, a storm coming perhaps, although it did not rain very often in the desert. Her back was sore and aching from keeping her wings bound up, tightly constricted so often. How she wished that she could right now, at this very moment, extend them out and let the breeze move through her feathers.
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"Noma! Do not hesitate! Father commands! Michael's voice boomed across the battlefield to her, his voice, a clear bell drowning out the sounds of dying, but she grew still. Her brothers and sisters swirled around her in a dance of death, their swords, their axes, moved as one. Their carnage knew no bounds and men, women and even children were slew down like wheat under a farmer's scythe. Annoyed at her boots that were full of blood and sand, a physical reminder of the unspeakable moment unfurling before her. She damned herself for of thinking about such a trivial inconvenience during a time like that. Her legs grew weak and she sank down to her knees, her arms grew slack and fell to her sides, sword held limply as she turned her eyes upward to the sky. Her angelic privilege, her long dark wings draped behind her like a shroud, sullied by battle.
"Stand up child. " A gentle voice this time, beckoned her to rise.
"I cannot." she spoke barely more than whisper.
"You can and you must." As Gabriel kneeled down beside her, cupping her face in his hands and raised her eyes up to his. "Trust Father's plan. I too once felt the way you feel right now. Hot blood gushing over my hands did little to warm the chilled blood pumping through my heart. I felt my soul break at the sight of such horrors." His hands moved away from her face as he gestured across the field, his eyes becoming overcast with sorrow. "I do not know why Father commands us to do such atrocities but we must obey." he paused, "Find solace in his command, find your own peace sister."
"How is it that you find peace amidst this slaughter? Aren't you tired brother? Father made humans imperfect and then he has us slay them for their imperfections!"
As the words left her lips a hand cuffed her hard on the shoulder. "Get up!" Michael commanded and shoved her again, this time pushing her face first into the ground. Her entire body, her chest, her face, her hair, became coated with the mud and blood of the battle. She whimpered, tears streaming down her face as she pulled her knees under herself trying to stand and Michael shoved her again.
"Michael!" Gabriel yelled. "Stop this brother!"
"She is weak and needs to rise up and find strength! From the mud to the sky. Get up I said! It is not your place to question our Father!" His well placed boot kicked her right in her stomach and she felt all her air rush out of her lungs as vomit tinged with blood, spewed out of her mouth all at once. She coughed, fighting to spit out all of the sick and mud, and watched as Michael stormed off into the distance. Gabriel reached down and took her arm and lifted her up. Carefully he took his cloak and wiped off as much of the filth as he could and pushed the hair out of her eyes.
"Noma, forgive him, he knows not what he does."
