Angel of Mine

March 31, 2008
By Emily Jones, Trescott, ME

“Don’t you know baby girl? I was there to see Jesus Christ in his moment of pain. I was there at St. Petersburg,” He chuckled darkly. A strand of his dark charcoal colored hair fell into his equally dark eyes. He touched my face tenderly, and I stopped breathing. Every nerve in my body was telling me to move, to run, to stop being an idiot and realize what I was playing around with. Smiling cruelly, he kissed me on the cheek. His lips were cold and firm, and still I remained where I was. Standing on top of the world, a book in one hand, and will to save the world in my heart.

“You humans never talk much,” He muttered, his eyes narrowing. A police helicopter flew by, its spotlight shining on us. The wind caused by the rutters made my hair blow up around my face. To the pilot, all he could see were two teenagers, the cause of all the ruckus. I could hear the faint sirens of the cop cars, thirty stories below us.

“Stand down,” The pilots voice echoed in my ears. I could see the distant flashing lights below us. My mouth became dry as I opened the book in my hand. I only needed it for reference, the passage to send this demon back to hell was fresh in my mind.

“Some words are finally going to come out of your mouth?” He asked harshly as I started to read quietly.

“Return to where you were created, begone from here and never to return,” I chanted slowly, tasting each word. He looked at me with kind of a shocked look on his face.

“l always knew you were going to be like think I trusted you,” He scoffed. Memories rushed through my mind. Images of him holding my hand, images of us laughing, images of us kissing. He was James...someone I thought I loved. Someone I thought was human, but turned out to be a demon...and as luck would have it, I was of direct descent of an angel. Natural born enemies. Now I was sending him back to hell, and I would remain here, living like nothing happened. Living like I never found love and never had spent one golorious summer creating havock on the streets of New York.

I wanted to take it back, to scream I didn’t mean it. To make things better. But instead I kept repeating the words, getting louder with each word. Tears welled up and started to trickle down my cheeks.

“You have two minutes to get down,” The pilot said over the loudspeaker. He said circled back around, shining the spotlight back into my eyes. I said the words one last time, and he disappeared. My James was gone...and I had made him leave. The pilot repeated himself, and this time I turned around, shut the book and walked down the stairs.

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