Why? -- Part 1 -- The Angel

Why? -- Part 1 -- The Angel

In heaven, there is Oneness. There is the Light of God like the summer sun in a cloudless sky. So bright does this Light shine that there is only black and white in the minds of Angels, Good and Evil. These minds are autonomous but still a part, always just a part, of the Whole. There are no questions and there is no Gray because all know their place. There is no Free Will. There are no Souls. There are no physical bodies, nor the need for such.

But Earth... Earth is a very different place. Indeed, in some respects Hell itself is more like Heaven than this strange place where even Angels fear to tread. Or would if Angels could feel fear. Oh, Angels do touch our world, though only as forces of Nature. Angels ride the storms and dance with the lightening. They guide the crest of the tsunami and sing down the avalanche. What need of a body for this? But to interact, to directly touch the lives of the Souled, one must have a body. No Angel has had to endure this pain for more than moments for it is terrible indeed.

Image to be suddenly cut off from the Oneness, to be pulled apart by Duality, and for the Light to be as dim as the sun through storm clouds. Angels do not feel terror. Angels cannot question. They fulfill their task, shed mortal flesh, and forget discomfort. They never feel more than that; how can they when they have no Soul to wonder and worry with? Angels do not hope. They do not dream. They do not feel. Emotions are the domain of the Souled, of those blessed and cursed with Free Will.

There has been a single Angel given Free Will. Its name was Lucifer, the Morning Star. It Fell. In Hell, there is no light. But all things must change and what came once must come again. Another Angel has been given Free Will. It has been sent to Earth with a task to fulfill. This is the story of the Second.

On Earth it made a body and knew it would be long and long before the shell could be shed. Because Earth spins to the forces of Duality --up and down, earth and sky, male and female-- all that resides on Earth is subject to its tides. So what does an Angel look like?

He is glorious and terrible, beautiful in the way Geiger's paintings are, monstrous and utterly inhuman. He is very tall with long smooth limbs that seemed ever so slightly too long. He has strong, clean muscles that ripple under poreless skin that was truly alabaster. Certain individuals are described that way, but they do have pores and their paleness is warmed by the crimson blood that flows through them. Angels do not have red blood. Mortal men and women are a network of tiny lines and wrinkles, most barely perceptible, but an Angel's skin is perfectly smooth. His eyes are luminous as they stare out of this shining skin. They are a blue so dark they seem black to any without instruments or inhuman eyes. His hair is thicker, lighter, more lustrous than any mortal's, jet black and hanging past his shoulders. Were it not for the wings, he could be taken as a vampire. And his wings -- Ah! His wings!-- are purely white. But the darkness clings to them, hides in the spaces between feathers so they seem cloaked in velvet shadows. He shudders when he sees this.

He is naked. He notices this no more than a mortal man notices his own fingerprints. He wonders if Free Will had given him his Soul or if it was his Soul that gave him Free Will. Then he freezes, shocked and amazed. He had wondered. He looks out at the world around him and nearly weeps at what his physical eyes can barely see; it is so dark here. Only when he concentrates can he feel the Light. He stands unsteadily, unused to gravity, and nearly falls when a breeze makes him shiver. He blinks as knowledge becomes instinct. "So that is the Purpose for clothing." His voice! It is a pure, rich baritone, more vibrant than any born-man's. To him it is weak, thin, somewhat pathetic. He prays that the one who is to bring him such things as he will need will come before he experiences any more unpleasant surprises. He looks out at the countryside, but sees no one.

He feels fear for the first time as a though occurs to him. One before him was given Free Will and Fell as a direct result. Would he...? He can only hope he would-- Hope! It is a fragile, trembling feeling. He feels as if he should be flying. A bird squawks in startlement and he realizes his wings have snapped to their fullest extension of their own accord. He sighs and moves to a sunny boulder to perch, thinking higher ground will make it easier to spot the monk when he approaches.

A large rattlesnake takes up most of the top, but they quickly reach an accommodation. The Angel is very warm, if not so comfortable as the rock, and the snake feels... interesting. Once he is more accustomed to wearing flesh and feels less dazed, he politely asks the snake to crawl off. He runs his hands over the bark of the trees, astonished at the different textures. He spends long moments dazzled by the weight of his hair and the play of the air on his skin. He plunges his hands into a stream, amazed by its currents, like honey-thick breezes. For hours, he simply feels and experiences. He had never imagined that a rabbit could be so soft or that a bobcat's tongue is rough, or that a wolf's breath was hot.

Eventually he grows tired, almost overwhelmed by this rich world around him. He perches on the boulder yet again and wonders what sort of man will be coming for him. Will he be a dusty cleric, a wild-eyed prophet, or an earnest priest? Would he be fiery or meek? Certainly the One Above had called on all sorts before. His musings are cut off abruptly as the myriad animals that had gathered 'round scatter to the winds. An instant later, his guide crests the hill and the Angel has new emotions. Shock. Surprise. And the fleeting thought that perhaps someone somewhere has made a Mistake.