The Messenger

October 4, 2010
By SharonC GOLD, Markham, Other
SharonC GOLD, Markham, Other
18 articles 32 photos 8 comments

She lands softly on the ground and folds her wings against her back. She absentmindedly strokes her feathered wings, comforted by the lightweight on her shoulders. She peers around and finally allows her senses to open up to this world. All around her people were rushing about. Cars were beeping, cell phones were ringing, people were screaming, clocks were ticking; everything seemed to be a chaos. She shuts her eyelids, willing the pandemonium away. “Why am I in this mess?” She moans to herself. She takes in a deep breath as her teachers had taught her. “You must always stay calm.” Her teacher had scolded her when she had hurled a rock at the one who teased her for the extraordinary colour of her tresses. “Keeping yourself polite, discreet, and well-mannered are the most important things. Remember that you must not make any mistakes, or else you will ruin our perfect image! Creatures like you are the ones whom destroy our reputation!” She shakes her head, brushing away her thoughts. She glances pass the cars and resting in the middle of the road is a lone bench. She found it an odd place to place a bench but it was all the better. There she would be able to fulfill her goals and finally finish her assigned project. She pushes past the crowds, making her way towards the bench which sat their as if awaiting her arrival.

She settles down on the bench making herself comfortable. She feels her pocket in her gown for her most prized possession, and nearly gives herself a panic attack when she thought she had dropped it, then realizing that it was in the back. She pulls out a handkerchief, embroidered with flowers so breath-taking you could almost feel the soft petals in your palm, animals so real that you could hear them let out a growl. She strokes the blank space underneath the design. The vast space of emptiness tugs at her heart. She feels the tears threatening to drip out. She welcomes the grief, almost wanting the sadness in her to seep out, though she knows that her kind never cries. They were unable to. She pulls a flower-patterned scrunchie off from her wrist, wrapping her blond curled locks into a neat ponytail. Deep in thought, she twirls a loose strand of hair around her finger.


The first day she arrived in the gates of heaven, a middle-aged man cradled her in his arms. He had a gentle expression on his face. He was sweet and made her laugh. He showed her all the sights around heaven. She blew a wet bubble on the man’s face, giggling when he poked her in the stomach, he had whispered, “My Precious Scarlet Princess” A few years passed, and she lived a life full of joy. Although, she never saw that man again, she was still closely bonded with her parents. Although, things began changing when she began to run, she scampered around, dashing into every corner she could find. Once she tripped and fell, everybody around her gasped in shock as she began to wail and rub her eyes. Her parents flushed with humiliation, how could they, being perfect live with one who was nowhere near perfect? They knew that she could not cry, but they stayed home with her, lecturing the poor child day and night. She did not understand any word uttered, but she never again frolicked through the clouds, jumped on Saturn’s rings, swam with the Great White’s, or even play with the shining stars. All her pleasures were decimated in one day. She did not realize that crying was showing vulnerability, sadness, and never in heaven were pessimistic thoughts allowed. For the rest of her years, she was looked down upon, though everyone was kind, she could feel the negativity. The day she turned seventeen, she was finally told the truth. They were not angels from heaven. They were in the deepest depths of Hell.

All her life she had thought that she was living in the most beautiful world created. She traveled to earth multiple times. Once or twice, she whispered a few ideas to those who were honest. She loved her life. She never noticed how no one could see her, why she could not drink water, why her parents did not like her calling them mother and father, why there was a fog of hate hovering over their land, why her eyes were the colour of deep scarlet, why her wings were tangled with black webs, and why her teeth were sharply pointed. She was not who she thought she was. When she had passed on from earth, she morphed into a ghost-child. Depending on which side found her first, angels or demons, she would live the rest of her life in that land. Her name was the only thing that had proved that she was once alive, once living in a world of colour, friendship, and love. Her name was the one connection she had to her past, and she had her most precious part of her was ripped away from her.


She blinks back to reality. Sitting on the bench, she awaits the project she was assigned. She had volunteered for this job, for the ruler had agreed to award her. She was finally accepting her new life, for the ruler promised her that she could be reborn back on earth for yet another cycle. She took up the offer straight away. She stands up as she sees a crippled man limp towards her. He was holding a small child. Her clawed hand gripped the baby by his neck. She cooed at the baby, gave the man a few coins for his work, and went on her way. She cradled the baby in her arms strutting away. “Wait” the old man rasped. She turned, pulling on her full death glare expression, she hissed, “Be on your way now, you foul creature. You do not even deserve to be in the presence of me.” She turns on her heel, laughing to herself. She has fulfilled her project. She kisses the newborn ghost child on the cheek. He opens his eyes and lets out a shriek of delight, his eyes blood red. Today, a new baby was coming to the cursed world; he would be forever blessed with despair. She whispered in his ear, “My Sweet Crimson Prince.”

“Wait,” He had rasped, his voice cracking. She had turned sneering at me, her voice screeching in my ears. His heart felt torn into pieces and scattered on different ends of the earth. He tried to cry, but he knew he could not. “Don’t do it!” he cried, “Please, please, don’t listen to that man!” He crumbled onto the ground, his body racking with sobs. “Why did it have to be her? Why Lucifer!? Why does it have to be my “Precious Scarlet Princess?”


The author's comments:
(David McArthur and Bruce McArthur, The Intelligent Heart
Out of love and care for yourself, send your love and compassion to your hurt, then forgive. It is the door to your freedom.)
The Messenger was inspired to me, do not let others words and actions affect you or change you in any way. Believe in yourself, know right from wrong. Remember that no one can take away your life accept for our Creator.

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This article has 1 comment. said...
on Oct. 14 2010 at 4:17 pm, Markham, Other
0 articles 0 photos 13 comments
This was a very intriguing piece. Something to think about would be to elaborate her past so that you can develop her character more, but all in all, a very good job. I can't wait to read more of your work. 


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