Sunday, March 3, 2013
A broken Home
He watched as her body dangled, swaying gently in the rush of heat from outside, arms drifting at her sides, her toes pointed towards the ground and wondered how she had come to this. Her face was not troubled or desperate as most suicides by hanging often left behind. Instead, a rather pleasant calm had formed, with a ghost of a smile hugging the fading world around her as if to say, "I won." whether she had or not. The fire had crawled in through the window and spread along the floor. Flames licked at her heels, causing the rubber soles of her boots to bubble, moments from reaching up from the floor to consume her flesh, along with the guts of her old home. Even now, her beauty parted the smoke piling in from outside, like beams of sunshine breaking through the fog of dawn. It was during this intense moment of brilliance that she gave a small but noticeable sign of life- a tiny twitch of her pinkie-finger on her right hand. It was brief but enough to tell him that a soul remained. A soul that caught fire as her clothes could no longer defuse the flames crawling up her laced boots.
"Ajunge!" A voice shouted.
Suddenly, the room, the house, the burning trees out front, and all things beyond here, stopped. Inside the body, the soul was no longer calm or at peace. The pain was instant, more destructive than the moment her neck snapped, and remained with her, unlike the moment death replaced the life she so selfishly threw away. That she had prepared for, the moment the noose tightened at her throat, crushing her larynx, squeezing every last bit of life through her nose. Weeks were spent leading up to this moment, purposely choking herself so that she knew what to expect, releasing her grasp on the knot at the last second, before losing consciousness. Sometimes, she would maim her arms or legs with razor blades for that initial shock of pain, to experience what it must be like to hang so that her morbid portrait could reflect the smile she now wore.
The figured stepped through the smoke, revealing himself to the young woman, as the inferno roared silently, frozen in time, behind him. He stood just in front, looking up to her as though admiring her work, but also to question it with his apprehensiveness to speak.
"M-ai înțeles?" He asked.
"Arăți îngrozitor, draga mea."
He observed the flames that rolled up her legs to her torso, amazed by how her smile continued to remained even now. So much hurt to the flesh, and yet the body smiles. He took his hand and placed it high beneath her chin, resting it on her chest between her breast and closed his eyes.
She sat legs spread outwards on a beach, with the bluest ocean she had ever seen rolling up gently to the shore, tickling the bottoms of her feet, and then receded back into the crystal sea. The sand she sat in was white as chalk powder, digging her fingers into the warm granules, holding her head back as far as it could go, so that the ends of her hair brushed against the beach. She took in a deep elongated breath, eyes closed, and allowed the kiss of the sun to embody her flesh from her head down to her toes. This was her place, a place of safety that no one could touch but her. Sometimes, she would come here and stay for hours on end and never lay eyes upon another person. Here, it was just her and the ocean, with the beautiful sun to embrace her, and at night, when everyone else slept, she would be here dancing among the moon-lit sea. She had always told herself that, one day, she would come here and never leave- today was a perfect day to do just that. She then felt the presence of another there with her, but did not open her eyes, for a part of her knew who her visitor was; because, they had met long ago, when she was a child.
"I know you, don't I?" She whispered.
Once she felt the hand at her forehead, cold like the sea but warm like sun rays, she did not flinch.
"You have changed, child."
"I had no other choice."
"Perhaps. But to see you like this-"
Her eyes opened, glaring at her Guardian Angel, still as beautiful and perfect as she remembered. Even as a little girl, her heart fluttered against her chest for him, a feeling that returned to her now. "Have you any idea the life I have led? No, you haven't. You couldn't, because if you had you would have known what he did to me all those times-"
The Angel could feel her angry interwoven within her pain, images of his face, sweat pouring from his brow as he repeatedly raped her. The mural wall burning its images into her brain like sear marks, each one another unholy terror she could never again ignore or push from her mind. Hell hath no fury, words embroiled on his collar in blood red stitching that he would whisper in her ear as his body crushed onto her small frame, "Hell hath no fury!" He had preached this to the girls he defiled that he was preparing them for a life their mother's and father's had given them, a life less ordinary that each of them would later thank him for.
"I am sorry, Alexa. Had I known I-"
"Why are you here?"
The question stumped the Angel.
"Because, out there," he motioned with his hand to the sea, "You can no longer hear me."
Her face fell, her olive complexion now devoid of color. The waves rushed up to her feet again, this time they burned her heels, the sting lasting and running the length of her slender legs. Alexa was beginning to lose herself.
"I went through with it then."
Tears swelled in her eyes. Emotional drainage that consisted solely of mental duress, for now.
"But there is still a chance, slim as it may be, for you to make a better choice. One that will serve the Lord and fulfill a destiny that not even I am privy to. My being here is not for show, Alexa. I was sent to bring you to a place far from here, where your life can flourish. You will be born again, this life will be one of great importance to the world as you will not walk among your brothers and sisters as equal, but as Soul Warrior to carry out the Word of your God and, Lord willing, save those He so loves."
Alexa stood up from the sand, minding the surge of pain consuming her whole. She looked around her safe-haven, seeing the sea aflame, gaining momentum and size- a tidal wave of hell-fire rolled ever closer.
"I do not know."
"I do not know."
The Angel looked to the waters, the tide rushed ashore, roaring overhead, a wall of fire rushed against an unseen shell of protection that the Angel had cast atop them both. The furious fires of the tide swallowed her world, its weight bearing down on the Angel.
"Alexa, please, I cannot hold back the tide much longer!"
"Promise me. Promise me you will never again leave me that you will always protect me in my moment of need."
The limp body of Alex Grace fell into the arms of the Angel who turned and rushed the window as he unraveled the noose from around her neck.
"Beyond here, in a place not far removed from your memory, I have already come to your aid, child. I have never left you. And I never will."
The Angel held back the tide of fire with one hand braced against his shield cast over them, and extended his other hand to Alexa, calling for her.
"I cannot promise you the world, but I can promise I will die trying."
Alexa looked into the angel's piercing black eyes, deeper than anyone or anything ever had, and felt what she likened to be a heartbeat, a pulse of something more powerful than a promise and sweeter than any love she'd ever known.
The Angel shot through the black plume of smoke, clutching Alexa Grace in his powerful arms, turning his back to shield them both from the intense heat rising up from the burning grounds below. What little life remained in her was waning quickly, which opened its eyes for a brief moment to gaze weakly at her guardian Angel, "Gri...gori?" His wings unfurled and braced against the wind, flipping them round again, catching the wind that lifted them towards open night sky. She fought to remain conscious but could not in her weakened state. Her head fell to the side, catching the last image she would see for some time. Below, Saint Martha's Home for Hope burned brilliantly under a full moon, while flashing red and blue lights raced for its rusted out gates. Her portrait was exactly how she had envisioned it, although its centerpiece was omitted from the final work. As the darkness swooned, she felt a smile once more, and the words spoken to her so many times rung loud in her subconscious, Hell Hath No Fury. Later, she would remind him of this saying in its entirety, while standing over his pummeled and bloodied body.
Posted by Atypical Scott at 6:39 PM