Angel's Fall

Much credit for this piece should be given to Alezunde McCrary who drew a picture which inspired it. The picture may be found here.

A fall. A fall from a cliff. A fall from glory. A fall from grace. A fall. They all are the same, you know. The first stumble of uncertainty as your body looms of a precipice, the following moments of anxiety as you feel nature take its course, the rush of exhilaration as your body accepts its new downward trajectory, the feeling of absolute freedom as your body proceeds through the lofty air, a moment of sheer terror as you see the ground growing beneath you, then a moment of blackness as the fall engulfs your body – the anatomy of a fall; all falls are the same.

She felt so righteous, so sure of herself. At every turn she was certain of the path to take, feeling that it was the path she was destined to take. “How did this happen… why me?” The solitude of silence stares at her from a bleak expanse. The harsh ground heated by a cruel sun casts a light over her broken form. Her mind still buzzing with curiosity and anxiety, does not fully capture reality but lurks mired in a realm of fantasy.

Recalling those decisive moments, the decision to strike out against the rules, the sheer wrongness they contained. She was an angel, a Valkyrie, a cherub. Was it not her duty to help those in pain? Was it not her job to help those in suffering? Was it not her oath she swore before the almighty being himself to take care of those living under her: to watch the soldiers in battle, to guard over women and children, and to punish those who might transgress sacred bonds? If not that, then who was she? What was she?

The looming expanse mocked her. The burning sun a laughing at her broken form. Who was it to tell her who to save? Should it matter if they were black or white, men or women, heathens or believers, are they not all sacred children flung out to the wolves? Some cower under a holy light but others are bold enough to seek their own path to glory. Those poor fools took a chance, they took a chance believing that they might be wrong searching for faith instead of blindly following it. They sought god on their own not mimicking the actions of others, so we should let them rot in the dark?

The sun beat down on her again. The air cooked her bones. The empty blue sky mimicked the expanse of white sand. By gods, she was right not them. The laws were wrong. It was her duty to protect the innocent. It was her duty to defend the righteous. What should it matter if they believed in the spirits of the lakes, or another divine? It was her duty to defend those who can not help themselves. By the Almighty himself it was her duty…

She sighed, and moaned. She gazed at the bleak expanse surrounding her. A hallow moan escaped her cracked lips as she tried to move. Her body was broken; her glorious wings were shattered. Here she lay, one of the protectors of mankind, a lonesome wretch on a solitary spot of desert. Cast down from the pearly gates of heaven for an infraction against the laws of God. She was an angel, a savior among men, the white ghost of the battlefield, cast onto a hellish plain for the saving of a heathen girl stoned to death.