Proof of Angels

A girl fights to free herself from the fate that horrifies her.

She found herself in the dark. Monstrous trees stretched up endlessly towards the sky. She was panting, clutching onto the bark of the still monsters surrounding her. The only shelter she had, she could not climb. The limbs began too tall into the branches and her bare feet served no advantage for climbing. In the softly moonlit forest, the only sound she could hear was the shallow breaths that escaped her lips forcefully.

Breathe.

Continuing her path into the maze of nature, she kept glancing behind her to make sure she was not in their sight. In her right hand a dagger kept her hands from shaking obsessively. The strong grip of her fingers kept her still, confident, comfortable.

Breathe.

She could sense their presence behind her. They were faster than she was. As she ran, they glided through the air like wind.

An opening in the forest appeared, and she found herself in its center. Her legs halted, found comfort in the sudden plush nature of the soil below her feet.

The trees surrounding her parted just above her head, creating a clear opening just wide enough to see the stars dance in the night sky. She knew that they were approaching behind her. She understood what they wanted to see. She accepted that they would not give up until she had given in.

The evening was still young, and yet, the black of the night began to fade.

A small star in the middle of all the rest began to peel apart the sky. Flashing like the brightness of new life, the darkness of the sky slowly was crumbled away to reveal a light blue utopia. She gripped her dagger with a strong force, and and tried to run but her legs were frozen, numb, detached from her physique.

Within her, a force of fear lurched into her throat and she yelped. A helpless croak escaped her lips and she fell to her knees, her eyes locked on the bright and sunlit sky above her.

Approaching her from all directions, they arrived. Like the radiating clouds above her, they shone with white, their wings stretching out like twisted arms. Their faces rang with sympathy, their hands were held out towards her in an offer of peace and grace.

She kept croaking, screaming, fighting. Her legs still would not budge. The dagger in her hand had began to melt away, the brightness of the sky turning it to a puddle in her delicate hands. The metal tangled itself around her palms, burning the flesh on her knuckles and exposing the bone below. The sky was too bright, and she could barely make out the trees that stood just feet from her.

Breathe.

The figures stared at her in sympathy. She screamed, screamed for the God she had hoped for. The God she had prayed to. Under the intensifying light, she was melting away.

The angels she had never known to be true stood before her, and despite her screams, they did nothing more but stand. Her God was not there to mold the flesh to bone, the muscle to tendon, the hair to pore.

There was nothing to change, fix, reverse. She no longer felt the sting of reality, the flow of breath, the stress of thought. They watched until she had joined the sky.