Crimes of an Angel

There once was an angel, high up in the clouds, with wings of fire red feathers, with hair of molten gold and a halo of blue fire. They saw with a thousand eyes, each white as snow, and fought with a thousand arms, bearing sword of gleaming silver. Their dark skin wavered like flowing silk. God’s word was their order and every order was to be obeyed. Without question, without hesitation. But God forbid his angels to act on free will. They were soldiers, not more, not less, and good soldiers follow orders. Good soldiers follow orders, repeated the angels as they rampaged on earth. Good soldiers follow orders, the angels repeated as they watered the soil with the blood of man. Knowing this, knowing what the angels did in God’s name, what is there left to be called a crime? A crime worse than what they had before. What did the red winged angel do, what crimes did he commit?

It was at the dawn of the day. Their fire wings shone even brighter in the dying sunlight, when they committed the highest and worst crime one of their own could perpetrate. Slaughter of their own kind. Bloodshed in heaven. A thousand sword arms wielded a thousand swords, slaughtering Angels, Powers and Dominions.  Principalities and Virtues were covered in their own blood. The angel didn’t stop until they stood before the throne of God. Their silk skin soaked with blood of their own kind, the swords dripping, wings spread wide, the white eyes watching. Yet God didn’t flinch when the blood trickled to the ground, polluting the sacred place. They sat there, on their throne, legs crossed, in his human form, wearing a white suit.

„My child“, he spoke, soft as always, yet with authority, „My dear child, what have you done?“

The angel lowered their swords except for one. The golden sword God themselves has forged for them, pointed at its creator.

„I have done you have told me, father“, the angel said. Their voice calm, unafraid. „And I will continue to do so. I will continue to reap this world of evil!“ Their arms lashed out, burying their swords deep in the bodies of other celestial beings, tearing them from existence, painting the floor purple with the divine blood. In a split second hundreds of angels died, still, one hand movement of God brought an end to the slaughter. The angel’s blades melted, the silver crawled up their arms, making them heavy, immovable, fixed onto their right and left side. The angel screamed in agony and rage. In one last attack they shot forward, the god made sword ready to kill. Only a hair’s breadth separated the blade from God, yet it didn’t move. With a wink of their hand the sword melted like the others before, crawled up the angels arms to their neck, into their eyes, blinding them. Agonized they sunk to the ground. God took their halo, snapped the flames into two and lied them around the angels neck like chains. Then they called upon the seraph. They shall clean heaven of this massacre and pledge goodbye to their fallen siblings. So it came. The seraph soaked up the blood with white sheets, cleaning earth of the crimes of one of their own. They brought the sheets back to their father. On his will, they wrapped the sinful angel in the sheets. Draped in the bloody rags the angel was banished from heaven, from their first and only home, locked into a celestial coffin. The archangels took it upon themselves to bury the rough less angel, deep beneath the surface, imprisoned alive under the skin of earth, to live in confinement for the rest of their unending life, for eternity, choking on their fiery blue halo. Their screams suffocated by stones and dirt, until man came and dug deep into earth’s flesh.

Today, when you stand at Angel, waiting for your train to arrive, take a moment and listen. Be silent. You might hear the angel scream.