Fallen Angel: Sorrows of Heaven
By nelchael
Chapter I: Sin
What I am about to tell you is, to say the least, difficult to believe. After all, what sane human mind could possibly accept the possibility that everything he knows about the world around him is a lie? I warn you, it is not a tale for the rational mind. It is a tale of paradise lost, a fallen angel, sin, sorrow and emptiness. It is a tale of a hell that exists on earth, and heaven that exists… at least in the hopes of those around me. My story begins three weeks ago in a place forgotten. It was another ghastly Sunday and not a soul in sight. I shouldn't have been surprised – I hadn't seen a visitor in over ten years – but like always, that cursed human emotion of hope lingered in my heart.
I had been living in that gray cathedral since I came to this town in my early twenties. I was a lower-ranking member of the clergy at first, but as time passed I watched a terrible shadow fall upon the church. Church attendants had dwindled down rapidly along with the clergy. One by one, my friends and colleagues abandoned their duties at the church until finally, even the wise priest who'd educated me in the ways of the clergy left.
I, however, wasn't about to abandon my place in the church, especially not with my four-year-old daughter living with me. I had gone through a terrible marriage not long before joining the church. It was the kind that neither husband or wife enjoy but take part in anyway. Unfortunately, our daughter was caught in the crossfire. I was thankful that she was put in my possession, and even more thankful the church bent their rules so that she had a place to stay. Naturally, I requested that I be put in charge of the building. My teacher was surprisingly willing to hand it over to me, as if it were a cursed possession of which he wished to be relieved. I didn't know why life had so swiftly faded from the church, but I definitely wasn't going to leave behind the only home I had.
At first, I thought I'd be able to breathe new life into those majestic walls. No matter how I tried though, not a soul was to step through those doors again. The last glimmer hope faded from my eyes however, when my daughter died on a cold Sunday morning. I never knew what caused it. I screamed into the heavens, cursing them, resenting them. I soon painted each and every window of the cathedral black, cursing the very light of the god that had taken from me all that I ever held dear. So there I sat within my sanctuary, quickly becoming my hell. The chapel became decrepit and cold, littered with cobwebs and dust. Still I say there day by day, as cold and motionless as one of the marble statues adorning the church's exterior. Not a soul entered my private hell for over ten years.