The Light of an Angel – short story
A form appeared and two more as ghostly wings. The figure advanced and, in a blinding light, descended upon the crowd. The people gathered beneath the sight to watch, to admire, to bathe in this light.
This was a divine message, the words of God, spoken through the winged medium. Many more arrived every second and the sky filled with messengers. Colours reflecting from their wings; light playing on their faces. And their faces were beautiful; poignant. Expressive of only love and forgiveness. But there was one, a sexless being with coiled, golden hair that came closer to the ground. Its robes were of amethyst iridescence, and translucent, arced wings were sentinels, great and impressive limbs. They cast shadow but did not block light from the host.
The onlookers, men, children and women flocked to the site, others recoiled and some ran. A multitude acted as one, bowing at the foot of a hill near to the huge descending form. In anticipation and shock, they looked. They waited, and when the being was low to the earth, hovering or landing without effect to the soil, it parted its lips, as if to speak. Its angelic mouth opened.
'Judgment will come, you will not be forsaken'
The sky cleared and the people found themselves without reason. Doubting what they had seen and interpreting the message. Many were shocked and hysterical, a silence set in. People hurried, scattered and began to pray.
*****
One man, an old man escaped. Running away from the horde with his fists clenched and his hands clasped to his robed chest. He hurried into the town, through the clusters of houses toward the central courtyard; he turned into a cobbled street and followed it until it led to another. He followed this, stumbling on the roadside gully. Still further he went, down the road until he reached a gate. Within the gate lay a paved yard, a fountain and the entrance to a house. He stood by the gate, and within seconds a tall dark-skinned man attended. He opened the gate and stood, awaiting instruction. The old man moved to enter the property, his hands still clasped. He ordered the slave to fetch wine.
As he entered the villa, he released his hands and looked at the precious contents. A sparkling vessel lay, protected in his palm.
The man went further, concealing still the object, and entered his study. He closed the shutters across his window and sat, brooding, he was confused but smug about this new item and resolved not to tell anyone of it, lest they should take it from him.
He glanced, again at the glass bottle, dazzled by the sight of it. The light held therein spilled out to fill the small room.
The small glass container held a blinding light, that of the Angels. The light that was the substance of hope and forgiveness. He looked on the light with a fondness; light had been captured in this vessel. A precious light. And he adored it more than any of his possessions, more than any other thing. He kept this light, and spoke to none of it. Selfishly hoarding it, hiding it from all eyes.
From the moment that he had captured the divine light he never let it out of his sight. He lived his day-to-day life, becoming ever more dependant upon it. It drew him, and he yearned for it, as a drug. Still, none knew of it. And more addicted he became.
The time then came when he noticed a change. After months of this life, the light began to fade.
The light became weaker, it's effect still bewildering, but lessening each day. And the man grieved. Not knowing what to do or how to stop it. Helpless and abandoned, he searched for help, he told his friends, his neighbors and all he could find that he knew. And they were drawn in as well, the man had imprisoned the light, and his dependence upon the divine light was such now, that his fate was bound to its survival.
In panic, the man looked and asked everywhere. What could be done? The light faded still, it lost its lustrous gleam, and became but a dull light, nothing more than an ambient glow.
In the moment of exhaustion, the man clasped once again the vessel containing the precious, fragile light, and hoped that it would rekindle. The hope was in vain and as the light spent its final rays the man shed also his last hope. The vibrancy was gone, and so was the clarity.
The light died. And with it, the properties of the light were diffused; all that was left was cruelty and the evil of the new and sudden darkness.
The crystal container fell from his hand, as it hit the ground, it shattered, shards lay in a sunburst of glimmering. He made a final effort, slicing his fingers on the shards and blood flowed with exquisite pain. And the crystalline crimson droplets dried.
Dark smoke began to flood. It rose from the fragmented container and engulfed the limp body of the old man. The pungent gas seemingly devoured the area, and continued. A plume of the smoke rose to the heights, and darkness fell across the land. Blocking all light. The gas swirled with a life, all of its own.
With the darkness came doubt, and hate. These things grew more and more. The new sentiments captured the population. It turned to hate, where love had been, and mercilessness was sent forth to replace forgiveness. A damnation had arrived.
*****
A host of angels flooded the sky once again, and the souls of the world were collected, those alive were suspended, their essence plucked painlessly from within them. Great and terrible were the faces of the angels, with purpose. But they would yield to those who wanted forgiveness, those with remorse. Some were cast away and others were harvested. The sky blackened still more, and a choir began to sing, the host joined with them, the union of the choirs of angels. All singing. The music varied and became a woven cacophony of noise; the beautiful song was praise, the angels danced with light and colour, and all things. Their light, slicing the darkness. The song transcended human range and the body shells of those remaining were cast off and broken. The cores emerged and flew. Rising and rising and rising, the heights of the atmosphere were surely breached.
The angels flew. The souls immersed themselves in the song, they flocked with the angels.
The earth was covered further with the darkness and fires set in motion the destruction. The surface was purged and then, was a vast silence.
A form appeared and two more as ghostly wings. The figure advanced and, in a blinding light, descended upon the crowd. The people gathered beneath the sight to watch, to admire, to bathe in this light.
This was a divine message, the words of God, spoken through the winged medium. Many more arrived every second and the sky filled with messengers. Colours reflecting from their wings; light playing on their faces. And their faces were beautiful; poignant. Expressive of only love and forgiveness. But there was one, a sexless being with coiled, golden hair that came closer to the ground. Its robes were of amethyst iridescence, and translucent, arced wings were sentinels, great and impressive limbs. They cast shadow but did not block light from the host.
The onlookers, men, children and women flocked to the site, others recoiled and some ran. A multitude acted as one, bowing at the foot of a hill near to the huge descending form. In anticipation and shock, they looked. They waited, and when the being was low to the earth, hovering or landing without effect to the soil, it parted its lips, as if to speak. Its angelic mouth opened.
'Judgment will come, you will not be forsaken'
The sky cleared and the people found themselves without reason. Doubting what they had seen and interpreting the message. Many were shocked and hysterical, a silence set in. People hurried, scattered and began to pray.
*****
One man, an old man escaped. Running away from the horde with his fists clenched and his hands clasped to his robed chest. He hurried into the town, through the clusters of houses toward the central courtyard; he turned into a cobbled street and followed it until it led to another. He followed this, stumbling on the roadside gully. Still further he went, down the road until he reached a gate. Within the gate lay a paved yard, a fountain and the entrance to a house. He stood by the gate, and within seconds a tall dark-skinned man attended. He opened the gate and stood, awaiting instruction. The old man moved to enter the property, his hands still clasped. He ordered the slave to fetch wine.
As he entered the villa, he released his hands and looked at the precious contents. A sparkling vessel lay, protected in his palm.
The man went further, concealing still the object, and entered his study. He closed the shutters across his window and sat, brooding, he was confused but smug about this new item and resolved not to tell anyone of it, lest they should take it from him.
He glanced, again at the glass bottle, dazzled by the sight of it. The light held therein spilled out to fill the small room.
The small glass container held a blinding light, that of the Angels. The light that was the substance of hope and forgiveness. He looked on the light with a fondness; light had been captured in this vessel. A precious light. And he adored it more than any of his possessions, more than any other thing. He kept this light, and spoke to none of it. Selfishly hoarding it, hiding it from all eyes.
From the moment that he had captured the divine light he never let it out of his sight. He lived his day-to-day life, becoming ever more dependant upon it. It drew him, and he yearned for it, as a drug. Still, none knew of it. And more addicted he became.
The time then came when he noticed a change. After months of this life, the light began to fade.
The light became weaker, it's effect still bewildering, but lessening each day. And the man grieved. Not knowing what to do or how to stop it. Helpless and abandoned, he searched for help, he told his friends, his neighbors and all he could find that he knew. And they were drawn in as well, the man had imprisoned the light, and his dependence upon the divine light was such now, that his fate was bound to its survival.
In panic, the man looked and asked everywhere. What could be done? The light faded still, it lost its lustrous gleam, and became but a dull light, nothing more than an ambient glow.
In the moment of exhaustion, the man clasped once again the vessel containing the precious, fragile light, and hoped that it would rekindle. The hope was in vain and as the light spent its final rays the man shed also his last hope. The vibrancy was gone, and so was the clarity.
The light died. And with it, the properties of the light were diffused; all that was left was cruelty and the evil of the new and sudden darkness.
The crystal container fell from his hand, as it hit the ground, it shattered, shards lay in a sunburst of glimmering. He made a final effort, slicing his fingers on the shards and blood flowed with exquisite pain. And the crystalline crimson droplets dried.
Dark smoke began to flood. It rose from the fragmented container and engulfed the limp body of the old man. The pungent gas seemingly devoured the area, and continued. A plume of the smoke rose to the heights, and darkness fell across the land. Blocking all light. The gas swirled with a life, all of its own.
With the darkness came doubt, and hate. These things grew more and more. The new sentiments captured the population. It turned to hate, where love had been, and mercilessness was sent forth to replace forgiveness. A damnation had arrived.
*****
A host of angels flooded the sky once again, and the souls of the world were collected, those alive were suspended, their essence plucked painlessly from within them. Great and terrible were the faces of the angels, with purpose. But they would yield to those who wanted forgiveness, those with remorse. Some were cast away and others were harvested. The sky blackened still more, and a choir began to sing, the host joined with them, the union of the choirs of angels. All singing. The music varied and became a woven cacophony of noise; the beautiful song was praise, the angels danced with light and colour, and all things. Their light, slicing the darkness. The song transcended human range and the body shells of those remaining were cast off and broken. The cores emerged and flew. Rising and rising and rising, the heights of the atmosphere were surely breached.
The angels flew. The souls immersed themselves in the song, they flocked with the angels.
The earth was covered further with the darkness and fires set in motion the destruction. The surface was purged and then, was a vast silence.