AN: Alrighty, I'd just like to say I love the reviews on this story. The fact that the audience is having fun reading this, really makes this all the more rewarding. Thank you thank you thank you. Truly. I hope all of you have a good one today.
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Angel
In the back of the chapel there was a garden and within it, was the old swingset, flaking with rust. It was here, after service, he and the children would play there in their Sunday clothes. Fathers twiddle their thumbs in the parking lot. Mothers gather conspiratorially and chat over the latest scandal.
And when she's too absorbed in the frivolities, his mother will hand him this babbling, bouncing, buffoon of a baby.
Watch her head...
Her large gray eyes, the eyes of their father, looked like the clouds which made up God's kingdom. Through these big holes in her head he could see her shallow, empty, premature soul. A blank slate. Waiting to be inscribed by a careful hand.
No preconceptions.
And his sister would have been perfect...
If only…
Her wails weren't sirens in his ears.
If only…
She didn't turn from him when he kissed her.
If only…
Shutupshutupshutup. Stop crying for once!
But, he loved his sister. Or so he tried to tell himself.
On this Sunday, the clouds were stormy, churning in the sky and the children clung to their mothers' sides. They were frightened of the power God would wreak upon them.
But, a little rain never discouraged him. He wasn't scared.
His sister was dangling in his arms and her tears were falling like the sky. So he rested her on the ground— rested, never dropped—
Because, he was a careful boy—
Always careful. Always considerate. — the best son— These were words he imagined his mother would say to him.
He strode over to the swingset and stepped onto the seat of the middle swing. His hands clutched either side of the chain. Eyes averted skyward.
His squalling sister was lost to the sound of thunder. After every arc, his body disrupted the passage of the wind and he was one notch taller.
Then, he glanced down, and settled an agitated gaze on a blonde haired, twilight eyed cherub like the one in the painting which hangs with Mother Mary on the chapel walls dressed in gray clothes and standing there with a porcelain face devoid of emotion.
Cradling his sister.
This is the last memory Adam had of Michael before the angel gored Judith Myers to death…
AN: If you're a Halloween franchise lover, I highly recommend reading the Halloween comic. It's easy to find online for free in this link. /Comic/Halloween