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So Called Angel

By: Oakwood

Chapter 1, When an angel falls from Heaven, he discovers that not everyone on Earth is cold and cruel. Using all his power, he will try to preserve that small bit of humanity that is left.


Falling. It was all he could feel. Air. Cold air rushing past his wings. The earth lay beneath him, slowly drawing nearer. He closed his eyes, the sight was dizzying. His heart pounding, the wind whistling through his long white hair. Falling.


He awoke in pain. All around him the field stretched out for miles. Moving was a chore. Ho moved his arm, but a streak of pain in his shoulder made him stop. The pain reached down his back, ending with a fiery burning in his shoulder blades. He managed to drag himself a few inches before the pain over came him and he collapsed.


White. He remembered white all around him. He saw smiling faces and white feathered wings fluttering as a harp was played somewhere behind them. He remembered a bright light that he couldn't look at directly. It was The Lord Almighty. Heaven, he was in Heaven. Laughter and love radiated from all around. Then it happened. Dark clouds rolled in, thunder sounded in the distance. The angels were cowering in fear having never seen anything like this happen before. Lightning struck mere inches from him, he could feel the electricity in the air. He looked towards his friends and saw looks of fear in their eyes and on their faces. A tunnel of black cloud began to form around him; the faces of companions hidden from view. The air became cold, hopelessness and despair filled him. Suddenly his wings flared out, the majestic beauty of them stunning to those who looked upon them. The fall began. No matter how hard he tried, he could not slow his decent. The last thing he remembered was asking himself, “What have I done to deserve this?”.


The pain reached into his skull.. It was rolling through his mind. A dark, cryptic voice calling to him. He strained to hear what it said, but he could not make out the words. Just a deep growl, clutching his thoughts, pulling them apart and twisting them into nightmarish figures of themselves. Finally, he passed out in this unfamiliar place. Vulnerable. Broken. Alone.


Hands. Warm and strong wrapped around his upper arms, pulling him across the sun baked ground. Footsteps falling softly in the dust, struggling under his weight. The breath he heard was laboured and the faint smell of mint hung in the dry air.


His rescuer brought him to a small shack. Run-down and old. The stench of wood smoke was fresh in the room and a warm fire could be felt on his face. His body lay limp and lifeless on a dirty mattress, every spring could be felt digging into his ghostly white flesh. He opened his pale blue eyes and surveyed his new surroundings. The walls were wood, filled with knots and holes; as was the floor which was partly covered by a moth-eaten rug, the colour he was uncertain of. To his right a fire place had been built where a smokey fire was burning, the source of heat he could feel radiating on his face. A chair and table sat in the corner, lit by a single white candle. Scanning the room for other forms of life, his gaze came to rest on a small figure curled up in a pile of ratty blankets. He watched this figure until t moved, it made a noise like a yawn and rolled over. He could now see that it was a small girl. Her skin had a deep tan and her features were soft and feminine. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, it was a golden colour though it needed a good wash. She looked no older then twelve or thirteen but that couldn't be. Why would a child of such a young age be living alone here? He could not see anything in the one room shack that betrayed the existence of another human being. He went to sit up, but the pain stopped him. He let out a small angry growl in the back of his throat to show his disapproval of his own body. There was a rustling from where the girl lay. He quickly returned his gaze to her, her eyes were open, searching his face. They were the colour of melted chocolate. She yawned again and stretched, before slowly lifting the blankets to get up. She was wearing a pair of badly ripped and dusty jeans, and a purple tee. Running her fingers through her hair to brush it she approached him, a look of concern on her face.

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