Storm Debris

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The tornado was over, but the real storm was just beginning.

Submitted: November 20, 2014

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Submitted: November 20, 2014

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Judith Hansen peered warily from her shelter in the cellar. "Is it over?" she wondered. The winds were still blustery, but they were nothing compared to what she had experienced overnight.

The storm had been monumental, so much so that reporters were exhausting their vocabulary of superlatives. They eventually settled on calling it the Monstrous Mid-Continental Vortex, or MMCV for short. It had ravaged the Great Plains from Manitoba all the way to the Texas Panhandle. On the composite radar images, it appeared much like a hurricane, only it was driven by winds approaching tornado strength.

Judy emerged from her hiding place and fell to her knees, weeping. The farm had been blown away, everything above ground anyway. It was the last straw. With the death of her husband earlier in the year, her debts had mounted to unsustainable levels. Selling the farm had been her only option for starting anew. Now even that had been ripped away. Her last hope had vanished, carried away by the cruel wind. Then, through her fog of despair, she heard her daughter's voice.

"Can I keep him, Mommy?" Vickie asked. "He has a broken wing."

"It's 'May I keep him.'" her mother admonished. "And no you may not."

Judy was exasperated. The child was uncontrollable, and the situation was growing worse year by year. It really wasn't her daughter's fault. There had been complications during her birth. It was a minor miracle that she had survived past the first couple of hours. She did, but the damage had been done.

The doctors were incapable of diagnosing her problem. They had never before seen anything quite like it. Vickie seemed unable to learn anything in the traditional, schooling sense, yet the child was hardly stupid. In fact, she showed signs of genius in unconventional ways.

Vickie's talent was centered around the critters, great and small, in the countryside. It seemed as if wild creatures were her kin rather than her own human species. Some intolerant people, every community has a few, whispered darkly that the child was possessed and that she could speak to animals. A time or two, it had reached the point where her mother feared that the neighbors might come for them at night with torches and pitchforks. It was definitely time for Judy and Vickie to move on to new lives. 

"Please come and have a look." the child begged.

Judy followed her daughter to a depression in the ground not far from where the silo used to be. Shocked, she froze in a state of something between disbelief and terror. The creature laying there was at least 70 feet tall, and its wing was definitely broken. It had a form similar to a dark skinned man, not African and not suntanned Caucasian, but rather unworldly. In it's hand it held a 25 foot long, solid brass (or possibly gold) trumpet. In slack jawed wonder, Judith Hansen stared down upon a fallen angel, and not just any angel but an archangel.

"His name is Gabriel," Vickie whispered, "and he needs our help. Won't you help him, Mommy? Please."

"You can talk to him?" Judy asked. By then, nothing could surprise her anymore. "What does he need?"

The little girl knelt reverently beside the archangel and tenderly caressed his long, silken hair.

Using her unnatural powers, Vickie translated. "There has been a revolt in Heaven. Over the eons, the angels learned the secrets of omnipotency and become all powerful just like the Creator. Jehovah has been reduced to a status akin to the first among equals. The angels, using their collective strength, offered God a power-sharing proposal similar to Magna Carter. He refused, and a fight broke out. I, the last of the angels loyal to the Lord, was cast out of Heaven in a mighty whirlwind. I had hoped to summon the powers beneath the Earth, but alas I am too weak now to blow the horn."

"I can do it!" Vickie exclaimed.

Without awaiting permission, and much to her mother's chagrin, the precocious little girl blew hard against the solid mouthpiece of Gabriel's horn. It made not a sound, at least not one the ear could hear, but Earth trembled all the way to its molten core. The twelve sleeping cherubim and the 20 slumbering seraphim awoke and pushed their way to the surface from beneath mountain ranges and the depths of the oceans. Countless generations of the faithful arose from their graves, billions strong. The armies of Jehovah gathered for the Storm of Storms. The battle for Heaven and Earth has just begun.

Copyright © 2014 W.C. Bell; All rights reserved.


© Copyright 2019 Whiskey Charlie. All rights reserved.

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