Angel

An angel fell to earth through its layers of black rain clouds. She crashed in an alleyway of downtown Philadelphia, disrupting the sleep of the homeless man underneath the overhang belonging to an abandoned textile factory. She stood up tall, rubbing her back to sooth the extreme pain and agony she felt. She looked at the pavement and watched her blood being washed away by the rain. She scratched her itchy hair, which was brown, bushy, and nappy. Her skin was dark and spotted. Scars decorated her body like the stars plastered in the blanket of the night sky. She resembled the people of Mahanon. She was an angel of old Egypt. As she spread her wings the homeless man’s eyes widened in horror.

“Another one, another angel!”

Angels had been falling to earth for three days. Was it that time, the end of the world, or was it another celestial war? The decrepit old man ran away into the empty streets.

~ * ~ * ~

Seth was inside his apartment; doors locked. Nobody dared stepped outside because of the angel showers. The radio in the kitchen was tuned to KYW.

“The angels are still falling. So far we are unable to find out a lot about them. Nobody has ventured outside as a result of the unending angel showers. Flooding has occurred in many parts of the world . . .”

Seth did not know what to think. He was an atheist, or better yet a nihilist, but his faith in nothingness was waning. His mother was born Catholic, but converted to Judaism when she married his father. Both are dead now. The angel of death carried their souls to the heavens a long time ago. But to Seth, they are only a drive away, underneath the soils of the earth. Their spirits gone, returned once again to nothingness.

Seth picked up a black & mild. His pale white hands filled the wrapper quickly with reefer. He placed the blunt between his index and middle fingers, and brought the joint through the separation of his thin red lips. He breathed in and exhaled the smoke from the tiny nostrils of his roman nose. Marijuana tends to bring out the philosopher within. The release of all those endorphins into your biological system makes you feel as though you’re on a higher level. Better than the fruit in the Garden of Eden.

He walked into the bedroom of his apartment, and sat alone in the dark. This heightened his sense of feeling, and the sight of blackness didn’t sting his dilated eyes.

Angels, falling angels. Angels that bleed. Floods of water mixed with angelic blood. Angels can’t be real? Angels co-exist with a god, and there is no god. Right?

“You believe in Him, you’re just upset. Upset about your parents, upset about your life. But don’t be angry with him,” whispered a voice as sweet as honey that her words began to stick in the mind of Seth.

“WHOSE THERE?!?! Or is it the reefer? But marijuana isn’t supposed to give me hallucinations . . . . .”

“Your name is Seth . . . one of the sons . . . . . and no is the answer to your second question,” said the spotted, scabbed angel, adorned with rags as she crawled into the room.

“Are you a fallen angel?”

“No, I am not. You humans and your silly perceptions. How can you know, how can you judge?” She continued to crawl along the ground, struggling, appearing to be in great pain, but talking as calmly as if she was strolling through the park on a sunny day.

“Yes, I am what you humans label as “angels”, but do not fit the celestial thought of one. You think angels are extremely beautiful, perfect, immaculate, and resemble the Caucasians of the Earth. Only God is perfect. But even your comprehension of God is imperfect. ”

Seth couldn’t see, for he was still enveloped in the darkness of the night and his bedroom. He slowly stood up, calculating the geography in his room in order to locate the light switch. He felt lost, lost in space and time. All of a sudden he didn’t know where or when he was; just lost in a sea of emptiness, alone and in solitude. He walked around aimlessly. He noticed his joint was gone. The isolation was suffocating. He began to run, searching for anyone, for anybody, to hear him, to talk to him. It was a terrible feeling, to be alone and completely separated from the world.

There really is nothing. It is foolish for me to run around looking for something. Why are we afraid to be alone? We don’t need anything. Is this what its like to be . . . . dead?

"Does it feel good to be alone Seth? Isn’t this what you think all there is to life?”

The lights were on in the bedroom. The room looked as if a tornado just passed by, and then returned because it missed a spot. Clothes were all over the place. Used blunts littered the floor. Marks soiled the once beige carpet. The bed was disastrously unmade. The cleanest thing in the room was Seth who had just awakened. He laid limp on the floor, with the angel next to him. Her brown eyes stared into his baby blues.

“Why are you here? What is your name? What should I call you?” inquired Seth as he clumsily stood up.

“I was sent from Abba, but most people acknowledge Abba as God. You can call me Agabus,” said the angel still laying on the floor.

“But why were you sent and why were you sent to me?”

“I am here to forgive the world. All of the angels were sent to forgive humanity. Just as the son was sacrificed so are we. All angels and archangels. All of us will die, to forgive the world. Many people have been murdered. Too many women have been raped. To many children who suffer. Endless crimes against humanity have taken place as a result of this war.”

“All of this is happening because of World War III? You’ve gotta be joking. Shit!” Seth caught himself. He didn’t mean to curse of front of the angel. “I mean . . . I’m sorry. I apologize profusely,” he responded and quickly bowed his head.

“Look at you, more worried about a little word than you are about the cripple, dying, hungry and naked people of the world.”

Seth lifted up his head slightly. He didn’t quite know what to say. How do you respond to a dying Negroid angel who challenges your every belief and behavior? He saw her lying on the floor, even limper than before. Agabus opened her mouth to speak, but her voice lost her sweet honey savor. “In three hours you will kill me Seth, son of Adam and Eve.”

“Huh, what? No I won’t. I would never . . . ever . . . I mean . . .for Christ sake’s you’re an angel. I could never do that. Trust me.”

“No, trust me, you will. Just as Jesus was killed by men, so are we to be prosecuted. You will kill me in three hours. All the angels will be killed in three hours. Then we will be raised from the dead. Otherwise our preaching is worth nothing, and your faith is worth nothing.”