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- Genres
- Psychological, Modern, School Life, Paranormal
November 4th
Every angel was created by God, and every time after their creation, he abruptly plunged a hole in their side.
It was not an excruciating experience, but it seemed there was nothing to truly fill the missing component left inside of their being. As depicted by humans, they were magnificent creatures with silky white robes and mighty wings that could very well command the winds by one beat. They carried harps, and good tidings, and cherubim danced around them, harmless, jovial, and naked. Sometimes they were warriors in a war humans had no business partaking in, and they directed a chorus of fire to wipe out an entire demon fleet. Humans marveled at the image of angels, but it was amusing to Heaven's inhabitants of how little they knew.
Angels were indiscernible beings who lived an eternity to desperately fill a void God bestowed upon them.
Rahatiel was sure God never plunged a hole in his side. Rather, he did something far more despicable. Ever since the beginning -- Rahatiel's beginning -- he'd been chained to the stars and forced to watch the plights and joys of God's precious human race. Every century, his torment multiplied. Every human who caught his eye only hardened the truth of his bondage. When they collapsed in the dirt, Rahatiel could not descend onto Earth and pick them up. When they cried, he could not brush away their tears. When they laughed, he could not laugh alongside them. Every triumph and tragedy was something he could never personally bask in with his human.
It was the worst of times when they met their end, horrific or peaceful. If they did not have the desire to cling to life, Rahatiel certainly did for the both of them, and how he agonized on his perch for centuries because he couldn't breathe life back into them.
When God had finally brought his suffering to a close, Rahatiel discovered that other angels were lacking in his passions. While he was more than eager to wrap a miserable child in unwavering light, other angels turned away. Most of them didn't share Rahatiel's fondness of humans. It was never about humans in Heaven or an angel's mind -- everything revolved around souls. Souls were what the angels believed would fill their void, and yet, a soul was something they could never have. It seemed carrying them around, though, parading with a new batch to Heaven every now and then, was a worthy substitute. Rahatiel was foreign to the subject of souls, and frankly, if they were something he could not have, he would never bother yearning for them.
After all, he had no void. God didn't give him one. He wasn't lacking in anything. Earth filled him enough. It was an intoxicating place.
Rahatiel was expected to adopt a new identity before transferring in to a troubled high school. He rarely touched Heaven anymore, as he moved from one life to another, aiding humanity whenever he could. This problem, however, seemed minuscule compared to the others he'd handled. Now, he'd never complain about a task -- if God told him to do it, there was fair reason behind it. So, the angel inhabited an apartment along with a vessel contrary to his previous vessels. Rahatiel habitually took on middle aged vessels or older, simply because they were more durable in a spat with some demon. While this vessel more or less possessed strength about him, his demeanor was... not threatening at all. Meek, even, and Rahatiel was not used to using his spirit alone to persuade humans to a better path. They had the habit of listening more to an older, larger person, so Rahatiel figured it was wise to play along.
It was a minor setback. He didn't mind. In fact, as he stared at his reflection on the black TV in his new home, he couldn't stop smiling. He even chuckled when he found a noticeable gap between his two front teeth. It reminded him of an encounter with a wily young boy in 1963 with a red shirt and brown trousers that previously belonged to his big brother. He'd always say...
"What's up, Doc?"
The angel's eyes trailed down to his lap. His lips parted. Tears stung his eyes, and the pitter patter of rain started replacing the silence of his brooding. Suddenly, a laughter as bright as new bells roared throughout the apartment, and the angel stood, placing a hand on his chest.
"Hello, everyone, I'm Madoc Herschel, but my friends call me Doc!" He proclaimed through his laughter, and while his introduction in front of a high school class would be vacant of those sort of dramatics, he enjoyed his brief rehearsal.
The next day, he arrived to the high school (not even bothering to glance up at the name before he entered), and a woman with chestnut hair and a penchant for model behavior. Doc was more or less impressed by how still and straight, yet pleasant she kept her face. It made him question just how disturbed this high school was, but the minute he entered the building, a devious presence struck him in his spine. So, this is what He was talking about. While Doc was unsure of where the presence festered, he was sure he was doomed to find out. The task wouldn't be a walk in the park, he surmised, and instead he'd have to deal with this dubious setback as well.
The woman walked him in a class full of unenthusiastic high school students, and a teacher with two half-full coffee mugs on his desk. Judging by the equations on the blackboard, the angel assumed it was a math class of some sort. No wonder everyone appeared half-dead -- he hated math too.
"Ah, is the new transfer student?" The teacher's voice was rugged, as if he didn't wake up in a timely manner.
"Yes, Mr. Baldwin, this is the new transfer student." The woman smiled.
Mr. Baldwin's face attempted to take on a lighter visage, but Madoc immediately saw through him -- he was defeated, in some small manner, that his lesson was interrupted. "Well, son, how about you introduce yourself? What's your name, and where are you from?" He tried to sound as pleasant as possible.
Madoc cleared his throat and turned to the class, his eyes reflecting his vicarious nature. It was evident that he was, unlike most humans in the room, happy to be there.
"Hello. I'm Madoc Herschel, and I'm from Louisiana. Everyone calls me Doc, by the way." The angel laid out an infectious smile throughout the classroom, and he could sense the students who weren't sleeping and/or completely disinterested took a small liking to him already. No one ever seemed to smile in this high school after all, and, finding that entity that so shook him when he entered the premises sitting in a desk, he could see why. Doc didn't make eye contact with him -- it -- instead choosing to smile and look at the woman who escorted him to the room.
Well, this life will be full of twists and turns.
Doc found himself smiling again, but it was by no means a manifestation of his readiness to delve into a school of humans. Sometimes even angels appreciated the rush of conflict.
Every angel was created by God, and every time after their creation, he abruptly plunged a hole in their side.
It was not an excruciating experience, but it seemed there was nothing to truly fill the missing component left inside of their being. As depicted by humans, they were magnificent creatures with silky white robes and mighty wings that could very well command the winds by one beat. They carried harps, and good tidings, and cherubim danced around them, harmless, jovial, and naked. Sometimes they were warriors in a war humans had no business partaking in, and they directed a chorus of fire to wipe out an entire demon fleet. Humans marveled at the image of angels, but it was amusing to Heaven's inhabitants of how little they knew.
Angels were indiscernible beings who lived an eternity to desperately fill a void God bestowed upon them.
Rahatiel was sure God never plunged a hole in his side. Rather, he did something far more despicable. Ever since the beginning -- Rahatiel's beginning -- he'd been chained to the stars and forced to watch the plights and joys of God's precious human race. Every century, his torment multiplied. Every human who caught his eye only hardened the truth of his bondage. When they collapsed in the dirt, Rahatiel could not descend onto Earth and pick them up. When they cried, he could not brush away their tears. When they laughed, he could not laugh alongside them. Every triumph and tragedy was something he could never personally bask in with his human.
It was the worst of times when they met their end, horrific or peaceful. If they did not have the desire to cling to life, Rahatiel certainly did for the both of them, and how he agonized on his perch for centuries because he couldn't breathe life back into them.
When God had finally brought his suffering to a close, Rahatiel discovered that other angels were lacking in his passions. While he was more than eager to wrap a miserable child in unwavering light, other angels turned away. Most of them didn't share Rahatiel's fondness of humans. It was never about humans in Heaven or an angel's mind -- everything revolved around souls. Souls were what the angels believed would fill their void, and yet, a soul was something they could never have. It seemed carrying them around, though, parading with a new batch to Heaven every now and then, was a worthy substitute. Rahatiel was foreign to the subject of souls, and frankly, if they were something he could not have, he would never bother yearning for them.
After all, he had no void. God didn't give him one. He wasn't lacking in anything. Earth filled him enough. It was an intoxicating place.
Rahatiel was expected to adopt a new identity before transferring in to a troubled high school. He rarely touched Heaven anymore, as he moved from one life to another, aiding humanity whenever he could. This problem, however, seemed minuscule compared to the others he'd handled. Now, he'd never complain about a task -- if God told him to do it, there was fair reason behind it. So, the angel inhabited an apartment along with a vessel contrary to his previous vessels. Rahatiel habitually took on middle aged vessels or older, simply because they were more durable in a spat with some demon. While this vessel more or less possessed strength about him, his demeanor was... not threatening at all. Meek, even, and Rahatiel was not used to using his spirit alone to persuade humans to a better path. They had the habit of listening more to an older, larger person, so Rahatiel figured it was wise to play along.
It was a minor setback. He didn't mind. In fact, as he stared at his reflection on the black TV in his new home, he couldn't stop smiling. He even chuckled when he found a noticeable gap between his two front teeth. It reminded him of an encounter with a wily young boy in 1963 with a red shirt and brown trousers that previously belonged to his big brother. He'd always say...
"What's up, Doc?"
The angel's eyes trailed down to his lap. His lips parted. Tears stung his eyes, and the pitter patter of rain started replacing the silence of his brooding. Suddenly, a laughter as bright as new bells roared throughout the apartment, and the angel stood, placing a hand on his chest.
"Hello, everyone, I'm Madoc Herschel, but my friends call me Doc!" He proclaimed through his laughter, and while his introduction in front of a high school class would be vacant of those sort of dramatics, he enjoyed his brief rehearsal.
The next day, he arrived to the high school (not even bothering to glance up at the name before he entered), and a woman with chestnut hair and a penchant for model behavior. Doc was more or less impressed by how still and straight, yet pleasant she kept her face. It made him question just how disturbed this high school was, but the minute he entered the building, a devious presence struck him in his spine. So, this is what He was talking about. While Doc was unsure of where the presence festered, he was sure he was doomed to find out. The task wouldn't be a walk in the park, he surmised, and instead he'd have to deal with this dubious setback as well.
The woman walked him in a class full of unenthusiastic high school students, and a teacher with two half-full coffee mugs on his desk. Judging by the equations on the blackboard, the angel assumed it was a math class of some sort. No wonder everyone appeared half-dead -- he hated math too.
"Ah, is the new transfer student?" The teacher's voice was rugged, as if he didn't wake up in a timely manner.
"Yes, Mr. Baldwin, this is the new transfer student." The woman smiled.
Mr. Baldwin's face attempted to take on a lighter visage, but Madoc immediately saw through him -- he was defeated, in some small manner, that his lesson was interrupted. "Well, son, how about you introduce yourself? What's your name, and where are you from?" He tried to sound as pleasant as possible.
Madoc cleared his throat and turned to the class, his eyes reflecting his vicarious nature. It was evident that he was, unlike most humans in the room, happy to be there.
"Hello. I'm Madoc Herschel, and I'm from Louisiana. Everyone calls me Doc, by the way." The angel laid out an infectious smile throughout the classroom, and he could sense the students who weren't sleeping and/or completely disinterested took a small liking to him already. No one ever seemed to smile in this high school after all, and, finding that entity that so shook him when he entered the premises sitting in a desk, he could see why. Doc didn't make eye contact with him -- it -- instead choosing to smile and look at the woman who escorted him to the room.
Well, this life will be full of twists and turns.
Doc found himself smiling again, but it was by no means a manifestation of his readiness to delve into a school of humans. Sometimes even angels appreciated the rush of conflict.