Thread of Hope

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 5 (v.1)

Submitted: March 27, 2013

Reads: 64

Comments: 1

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Submitted: March 27, 2013



Morrie’s mother was passed out on the other end of the couch. She had insisted that Morrie and I be seated together, so we obliged her and here we were. Two teens, well one, sitting next to one other virtually alone. I smiled at myself. I smelled her Honey Suckle scent and was nearly intoxicated by it.

I leaned into her, my lips just barely grazing her ear. I felt her dense and smile. “I like you better without your braces.” I watched her tremble, her hands curl into tiny fists and I knew that I got her right in the gut. I grinned to myself again.

“How did you know I had braces?” she whispered to me. I leaned away, not bothering to answer. “How?”

“Old yearbook photos.” I could not, for the life of me, quit smiling. Her reaction to me, however involuntary said it all. Deep down, Morrie was attracted to bad boys, and I was as bad as they came. She gave me a side ways glance and that was it. I had her. She was going to be mine. “Where is your bathroom?” I asked.

“Down the hall to the left.” She answered. I got up and followed her instructions. I looked myself in the mirror. Black eyes stared back at me; black hair hung loosely about my face. I looked what I was. A fallen angel.

I had fallen because I disobeyed a direct order. Never leave heave unless given permission. I flew from my pedestal and  watched a human woman thinking, maybe, I could figure out what love is. I clenched my fist. I know what love is, now. Love is Morrie. I was tied to her by fate.

I fixed my gaze back on the person in the mirror. My eyes soon went from emotionless to anger, then horror at the thought of losing Morrie, then back to the emotionless. I walked out of the bathroom and took my seat next to Morrie. I stretched my arm out behind her, crossed one leg over the other.

At the end of the movie, Morrie’s mother was still sleeping, and Morrie was getting there. It was only eight thirty. “Want to watch another?” she asked, a yawn consuming her last word.

“Only if you think you can make it.” I teased. She got a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Oh, I can!” she said, putting on the recent Star Trek. Twenty minutes later, her head was resting on my ribs, a soft snore escaping her. I moved my arm around her, and drew her just a little closer. She stirred for a moment, before settling. I watched the rest of the movie. When it was over, I gently lifted Morrie away from me and put a blanket down on her and her mother. I shut the TV off and went into the kitchen. I was beginning to look for a piece of paper when Morrie’s mother walked in.

“Hey, Dante. Leaving?” She rubbed her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am. Morrie and I watched one last movie, but she fell asleep.” She laughed a little and sat down at the island.

“Call me Denise. That’s my Morrie. You know, she told me she told you I had cancer.” I nodded. I figured Morrie would tell her. Denise looked back at the sleeping figure. “I have two months.” She said suddenly. I stepped back. Denise watched me. “You seem like a real swell guy, Dante. Do me a favor?”


“When I go, protect her.” Denise got up and walked over to me. “I know what you are.” She said, simply. “I know you can’t be hurt. I know you’ll live forever. Protect my baby.”

She had gripped my shirt to make me bend down and look her in the eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nobody can live forever.”

“Fallen angels can.” I twisted away from her. “I know one when I see one.” She tapped her head. An Intellectual was a person was gifted by the Archangels to see Fallen angels. Many eons ago, the archangels gifted one person the ability, but what the higher-ups didn’t know is that the trait could be passed through the generations. “Morrie doesn’t have the trait. It skips a generation.” Denise said. She turned her back on me. “Protect my baby.” She said again and went to her room.

I walked out to the living room where Morrie was still asleep. I picked her up and held her close before taking her to her own room. I laid her under the covers and gave her a quick kiss goodnight before fleeing the house.

Intellectuals were a rarity. There were only a few dozen, if that, on Earth anymore. Fallen angels killed them. They posed a threat if the Fallen angels wanted to possess human bodies. Every year, at the Summer Solstice, fallen angels get two weeks to feel. Two unbelievably wonderfully addictive weeks to feel again. It was simple, get a human to fall in-love with you and you have your body.

I looked back the house as Denise’s light winked out. Morrie’s mother, her children, were wanted dead. Morrie was wanted dead.

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