The falling angel This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

June 20, 2011
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She is falling. The angel is falling. Impassive being they are, these angels. They do not love, or live, or feel. They are kind, but indifferent. They know what people want, so they can easily mold themselves to that image. Angels are beautiful. They are ugly. They are pure. They do not know darkness, and they do not know evil. They simple do. There are many angels of many kinds, all doing different things. As if in a giant line, these angels do their work. Attached by a string, they work together to make everything how it is.

But an angel can sometimes fall. They experience things that no person should experience, and their indifference is all that keeps them from being pulled in. Sometimes though, sometimes, those angels give in. Like this little angel. She is nothing. And then, she is everything. With a sudden jerk she falls from the line, filled to the brim. She experiences.

She knows pain.

Ripping, gut-wrenching. It pulls her in, twisting her, pulling at her very seams. Screams are loud, inhuman, echoing in the silence of space. She feels the pain, the blood, the sorrow, the anguish. She is torn, thrown, strewn into small pieces. She screams and cries and throws herself until there is nothing left but emptiness once again and her soft breath, echoing in the silence.

She knows anger.

It builds. It grows. It feasts on these human feelings of jealousy and envy and frustration, pulling and turning each part until she is a bubbling mass. Rage pours into her, giving her strength, taking her away from herself. She roars, she attacks. Blood, blood blood. It spills and splashes, this anger tearing her to shreds. It fills her so until she pulls at herself, trying to remove the burning, the itching that will never go away. She tears until there is nothing left but emptiness once again and her soft breath, echoing in the silence.

She knows happiness.

Warm. Can anything be this incredibly wonderful? Soft. It presses against her breast, entering her softly, filling her up like hot chocolate, tricking into her person. A sigh escapes, a giggle ensues. How wonderful, this feeling. It massages and thins her out, pressing the creases and lines until it is all straight and bold. Her path is sure. She is content. She floats, she smiles, she laughs. Spinning, swirling, swinging. She is so happy and she molds herself to that feeling, folding and folding, gently until there is nothing left but the emptiness once again and her soft breath, echoing in the silence.

She knows love.

She is glowing. She is dancing. Her arms open to the sky, this feeling pouring into her, spinning over her eyes and cheeks like tears. It leaves her shaking, wanting, clinging. She opens her arms to the sky, crying out longingly, kissing and whispering, gently caressing. She knows the lust that makes her shiver and shake, longing for the touch, needing to be near. It touches and brushes by her in wisps, leaving her wanting for more. She can never have enough, always reaching out, gripping for it. It wiggles inside her, restless and pushing past her, an explosion of feeling. She is thrown around in a hurricane of dizzy wonders, her tongue dipped in its sweetness. She is clinging and yearning until she feels herself give way, until there is nothing left but emptiness once again and her soft breath, echoing in the silence.

She knows loss.

Confusion and wonder, maybe accompanied by shock. Questions of why, why, why? She loses someone, something. She loses it and it is gone forever. She is torn, like a sail, billowing freely in the wind. Cries and whimpers of sadness give away to a numbness, a sense that something is missing. Something is gone, and she does know what. She only knows that it prickles her skin, reminding her of it often. She breaths this in and cries, her tears dripping down and down until she is drowning in it, drowning until there is nothing left but the emptiness again, and her soft breath, echoing in the silence.

Falling, falling. She is the angel who feels, falling. She can no longer do her job, being affected by this, tainted by love and sadness and being full of everything. She falls, the wind catching her wings, but she is glad to have felt, even for a short time. She falls, and she is glad, for she knows.

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Cookieluvr said...
Jul. 3, 2011 at 2:38 pm
5 stars! I love how you described the emotions. I love how you described everything! Good job! btw, can you check out my work? thanks
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