From Grace

October 28, 2009
By Scylla BRONZE, Port Saint Lucie, Florida
Scylla BRONZE, Port Saint Lucie, Florida
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Cloaked in black. Wielding a blade. Composed of bone.
Is that how you saw me?
I assure you I am not as ghastly as the medieval portraits painted in your thoughts.

Cassiel was silent. He was often silent, but more so now than ever.

He was alone and on Earth. He was an Angel and he was Human. What was he? An Angan? A Huel?

He sighed. It was a sigh of loneliness. The Angel of Solitude was lonely. The world around him was silent. It was dead.

He glanced up at his surroundings. He was in a graveyard, alone, and he was sitting on a tomb. Fitting. The only other beings in the area were Humans passing by on a paved walkway outside the cemetery gates.

A breeze ruffled the man’s hair. Leaves floated in the wind, scuttling across headstones and twirling this way and that.

He would have continued his musings had he not noticed the Humans noticing him. Their gazes were quizzical and even angry. One Woman shielded her Child’s eyes, protecting them from contamination, it seemed.

Did they see he was an Angel of the Lord? Why would people be angry if they knew he was an Angel? Or did they know he had Fallen? Perhaps they were angry with God and the Kingdom because the End of Days was upon them?

Cassiel was whisked back into thought. The Humans were outside of his awareness. Some time had passed before he regained his sentience of the graveyard.

It was getting dark. What was this darkness? It was Hellish. Who were these Men surrounding him? They wore blue on their bodies and stern looks on their faces.

“Sir, might I ask what you are doing?” one said.

Cassiel blinked. “Sitting. Thinking,” he replied.

The Men looked at each other, disturbed, yet entertained. “Sir, are you drunk?”

“I’m sorry?”


“I have not had a drink, no.”

“Are you high?”

“No. I have Fallen from Grace.”

The Men looked at each other again, this time puzzled. “Where are your clothes?”

Clothes! Cassiel understood now. He wore nothing while the Men wore blue. They were authority figures- law keepers. He was breaking a Human law.

“I apologize,” he said as clothing materialized over his body. “Thank you for correcting my mistake.”

The Men gawked at the Angel. He was now wearing a dark pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. His wrists were adorned with spiky bracelets, and his face with snake bites, an eyebrow piercing, and several surface piercings along the bridge of his nose. It was the exact ensemble one Human had been wearing as he had passed the graveyard earlier that day.

“I shall excuse myself from your presence.” As he finished his sentence, an intense light enveloped him and he disappeared.


A small man trembled before her. His name was Carl. And he was just like everyone else she had met, barring a few of course. But that was okay; maybe she could cheer him up? Well, the best thing was at least to introduce herself.

“Hi, I’m Death. How are you today?” She hesitated. Her upbeat manner seemed to startle Carl. And then she remembered: he was dead. People never liked hearing that. But, nevertheless, she continued, “Well, I guess you’re not doing all that great today, seeing as you just died.” She paused.

The man was looking at her the way they always did. She wasn’t what he had expected, but she was still... evil.

“Uhm, I’m supposed to take you to Charon. He’ll ferry you across the river. And when you get there, you’ll get off and you’ll either be in Heaven or Hell. And that’s about how it goes. ‘Kay?”

Carl just stared for a few moments at her. Then, “What?”

“You’re dead. I’m Death. I’m taking you to Charon, the guy who will take you wherever you need to go. If you’re a chillakid, you’ll go to Heaven. And if not, you’ll go to Hell.”

“A ‘chillakid’?”

“Yeah. Like. How would I describe this?” At least a minute went by before she answered with her well-thought-out response of, “A good person. That’s a chillakid.”

Carl didn’t seem to have much of an answer. But he did have a question.

“They made the river a long time ago and put Charon in charge. Yeah, I used to take people there directly, but there was an incident with some things and God, or the gods, or whoever decided the Gates were a little too fragile for me to be near.”

Carl nodded slowly.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have work to do and lives to end.” Death winked at the man and gave him a double thumbs-up.

A monstrous rotting corpse rested its hand on his shoulder. Carl and the dead thing, Charon, were in the gondola. The boat began to move and Carl fell foreword on his face.

Death watched as they floated across the river. She loved helping people to their ultimate destinations. It was a shame they never wanted to go. At least Carl was easy. She didn’t have to yell over any incessant wailing. She’d miss Carl. “Have fun!” she shouted after him as the ferry disappeared into a shroud of fog. “Say, ‘hi’ to everyone for me!”

She sat at the bank of the river and dipped her feet into the water. It was pleasant enough- relaxing. As much as she loved her job, she was tired of the blank stares, and the shouting, and the moaning. She wanted a vacation.


She needed a vacation.

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