Chapter One: The Fall....

There is one mortal that I feel like I may ‘know’, I say that I feel like I know him because I don’t know what else to say. I feel very kindred to him- even though, by his own kind- he would be considered senile. Ever since he was a child, he has come to see me- and only me. He comes to draw me, and he talks to me. At first- it was just simple statements, like ‘The light is perfect today’ or ‘Looks like clouds may be coming in.’, but now we have entire conversations- and I never have to say a word. He is 86 years old now- and I can still remember him when he was a mere nine year old boy here on a field trip with his class for an architecture tour. He is the only human that has paid me any mind for more than just a few glancing seconds. His name is Arthur Rikam, and his family often chastises him- mocking him, saying he has an ‘obsession’ with me. He pays them no mind.

Some days he comes with pastels, other days colored pencils, some days charcoal, others with paint or watercolors- my favorite days are those he is satisfied with his work enough to show me when he is finished. He tries to sell his work sometimes, but nobody is ever interested. Nobody wants to buy art of a stone angel they could just take a picture of themselves. Which is a shame- because the attention he pays to my wings is something no camera can imitate. He is the only human that has bothered to come close enough to even read the carving of my name on my pedestal. And every time Arthur comes to see me- he makes me feel beautiful. Happy. Almost like I was alive. That coupled with getting to watch my darling Adir- it’s almost like Adir himself is telling me I am beautiful.

Today Arthur comes with his easel and watercolors, he sets up his canvas and looks up at me. “What is that almost sad look in your wistful stare, Liora? Are we feeling restless today?” he laughs at himself, he knows I will never reply- but he likes to pretend anyway. Sometimes I wonder what my voice must sound like in his head, or what words I must say.

“These clouds look like rain today- so I’ll try to finish up early.” he says. I don’t nod. I don't move. I don’t speak. I never do.

Arthur sets about painting, his strokes tiny and precise. If I listen carefully, I believe I can hear them above the bustling and speeding of cars and people down the street. It’s sad- very sad, that people seem to have lost joy in the world. This ‘rap’ music the young generation enjoys- it could hardly be considered righteous, or good, or even pleasant at all. They drive by blaring this….this racket at the peak of it’s volume- shouting horrible nasty things to each other, and even to elderly people and parents- do they not know this is sacred ground? How could they do such things with angels looming above them, in front of them, all around them? Do they not feel our gazes upon them, disapproving and lamenting? This young generation- it is far from our lord. Very far indeed.

I feel a rain drop ‘plop!’ against my nose, it is a very large, fat drop that tells me that the storm coming will likely be a very bad one indeed. But Arthur does not stop his painting, not yet at least. He will not leave me alone yet.

“The rain almost looks like tears upon your face Liora Lihi- are you sad…?” Arthur asks. Am I sad? Well, yes, I would think I was. I don’t really comprehend sadness now that my mind is so numb- but I certainly don’t think I would be happy frozen as stone for all of eternity.

“Here- maybe a look at this will make you happier.” he smiles, his wrinkled face lighting up and his dark brown eyes twinkling as the wind whips his wispy white hair and he flashes me his latest portrait.

True- It looks, in the end, almost nothing like me. In heaven, my hair was as golden as sunshine and my eyes as blue as the sea, my wings were a pristine white and were truly worthy of praise, but seeing the portrait still makes me happy. The colors are bright and captivating, and I believe, in his own sort of abstract way, Arthur has depicted me rightfully. The way he thinks I would appear- and that in itself is all that matters.

Arthur packs up his easel and starts to leave as the rain starts to pour down in torrents. A true tempest, this is. It runs and flows and splashes, reminding the world how unfair it can be when you expect eternal sunshine and are cursed with many nights of rain. The drops are dismal, and wet, and we can never get away from them. We can not shield our faces nor cover our bodies. It is days like these when I envy those inside the museum.(At one point in time- this was the grandest cathedral of all, a worthy eternal home for us, but now it is simply a museum, and nobody cares about the stone angels around and upon it except twice a year, on maintenance days. Once they were even debating taking me down to put in a large telescope- but the city simply would not have it. I don’t see why though. The majority of the city does not even care to come see us.) The ones inside of the museum are safe from the rain, the wind, the moss, the ice, the loud troubling noises that seep from the streets at all hours of the day and night, and often disturb you from your sleep because they are so loud and vexing. Days like these I envy them- but In my heart, I also pity them. They don’t feel the fresh air of the outside, or unfiltered sunshine, they don’t get to watch history unfold before them- they only see the same history every day, repeating itself over and over. They have seen the cathedral be turned into a museum from the inside, watched as crosses and pews were replaced with blasphemous articles of science, watched as our own history was replaced with that of mortals. When it rains, snows, hails, when the wind howls- I envy them. But I still wouldn’t trade my perch for one inside.

Who I really feel bad for though, truly and heart wrenchingly feel bad for, on days like this- is Adir. From his position on the roof he has no shelter from the elements. There is no wall to block a portion of the wind, or slight enclave to shelter his head, even if it was just a small amount. I would gladly have spread my wings over his head before being frozen if it had struck my mind at the time that he would be left out to face such brutal elements all alone.

Then the thunder kicks in, which of course, only comes after bright flashes of lightning. It seems like the loud crack gives the heavens the permissions they require to open up and let the buckets of rain flood to the earth with no hesitation. No hesitation means no holding back- and that means that all of us trapped outside are being covered in the rain that causes mortals to screech and duck for cover, as though bullets were falling from the sky. We can’t tell if the rain stings- after all we’re made of stone. It’s for that same reason that we don’t feel how cold this winter rain must be, or the harsh heat of a summer day. God may be punishing us- but at least we aren’t suffering. It’s a numb sort of punishment. All you feel is numb- inside and out. Sometimes we fall asleep (or at least I do, I imagine we would all be the same) and wake to find that months, maybe even years have passed. It is a numb punishment, which is much better than a punishment of eternal suffering- or so I tell myself.

After Lucifer’s betrayal, there was the purge- which is also another name for the fall, the freeze, whatever you want to call it. He purged all of the angels who had sinned. We were supposed to be immaculate and holy, beyond reproach- and yet even among us, some, many, in fact, were flawed. He called upon us one at a time and he would look into our eyes- I remember this, because it was my last time seeing heaven’s light- he would look into your eyes and he knew immediately, he knew the wrong things you had done. And the next thing you knew you were falling. And falling is a terrible and horrifying feeling for an angel- one so used to walking on clouds and flying. But you didn't fly, and the clouds didn’t catch your fall, you would crash through them one by one, twisting and thrashing as you tried to find something, anything, to grasp, anything that would stop this horrible feeling of plummeting to earth. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever experienced, my wings failing and flapping uselessly as if they too were just a part of the wind, the wind that used to carry us so gently, now ripping past our ears and stealing our voices in it’s howl as we called out for mercy, my heart beating so loudly in my chest it was like a drum, the only sound I could possibly hear above the howling of the wind. Seeing your fellows fall beside you though- that was one of the most horrifying thing of all. Watching them flail and fall and knowing that it wasn’t just you, that they were experiencing the same horror that you were.

None of us could ever tell you how long the fall lasted, minutes, hours, days. All we can tell you is that, when we woke up, we were on this cathedral. God gave a speech, he had said that those of us who had asked for mercy would not be condemned to hell, and we were so happy. And then, it was a matter of seconds, minutes maybe, just enough time for us to get comfortable, to relax, before he told us what would really happen to us.

And that was it. We were frozen. And we have been ever since.

We are not completely fallen, but do we really have the right to call ourselves angels anymore either? I would think not. I feel guilty, horribly so, for what I did. And yet I do not have the ability within me to take any of it back. If mingling with humans was a sin- I wouldn’t trade the days I wasted. If wanting to help Adir was a sin- I’m still not willing to change it. He is forever mine now. I see him, I am the only one that watches him. And yet it hurts- because I know that he will never turn his head, and he will never see me. Even if he were free, what would a strong Archangel like him want with a weakling like me anyway. Adir is to be admired from afar, adored until your stone heart aches- But Adir will never look your way.  Adir is mine- and yet he will never be mine.

A never ending circle,

A cruel dance of fate,

The one you wish to help the most, the one so close-

Is also the one you will never be able to help,

The one you will never be able to touch or to hold.

Watching always in silence-

And knowing that he will never look back for you.

Reviews

[Adam Crate]

I am becoming increasingly enthralled with this story. The concept is incredibly unique and the way that it is written gives life to the stone characters. It's amazing how much personality you have given a statue. Definitely keep writing; you have natural talent that really shines through here.

Excellent work.

[K. Hicks]

Just wow! OMG I feel bad for the Angel telling the story but not as bad as i do for the one she wishes to help! At least she has the old man, Adir has no one he is up on the roof alone... Can't wait to read more please keep it coming

[Catherine Frain]

This is very good. :D I want to read more