67th Topic
It was one of the bloodiest battles I had ever observed. Humanity's ability to find newer, more efficient ways of killing each other had seen to that. Thirty-six days of endless slaughter, blood soaking the black sand it fell upon. All for a barren island that no life could ever really thrive upon.
They came to me torn apart by machine guns or stabbed in the middle of the night. Some I had to gather up from many pieces, their bodies vaporized by mortars. Never before had I seen death so horrifically manifested, almost fifty thousand in all. But of all those who passed through the Gates, there was one whom I shall never forget.
He was an "old man" among the boys forced to be fighters, twenty-five when he was struck down by artillery from his country's own ships. Like me, he had been a guide; young soldiers had looked to him to lead and protect them.
"It wasn't everything it was cracked up to be," he told me. "I told them I'd bring them all home to their mothers, which means I lied to half of them. At least."
I could feel the pain in his heart echo in my own.
"Guess I'll see them around here, right?"
I smiled and assured him that it would be so. Our discussion turned to the existence of Angels, as it so often does with the newly arrived. The inquiries are always the same; they wish to know why I don't have wings or a halo like the depictions on Earth, if I can play the harp, or why Heaven isn't a landscape of clouds. So did he ask, and I answered as always. There was a moment's silence after I answered the last familiar question, and then he asked what none had before.
"So, do you just take people back and forth?" he asked.
"The guiding of mortal souls is my Duty, as prescribed by the Divinity of the Lord God," I told him with a proud smile.
"But that's it? All day long, that's all you do?"
"Days are not an applicable time construct here," I answered, not understanding his point. "But that matters not. Mine is a Holy Duty, which no other can perform."
"Well, okay," he said. "But if you ask me, I'd go crazy doing the same thing 'til the end of time."
I did not answer, for I was afraid to admit that he had stirred something in me. While there truly is no other duty I could want to perform, there were times when it seemed maddening to continue. Every soul is different, and the conversations I've had since the first death have been most enjoyable and enlightening. But what else did I have? I had no lover, as some of my brethren did. My Brother and Sister were often too involved in their own work or time together to speak with me. And I dared not present myself before my Father simply because I needed a reprieve.
I tried to shake the sentiment from me as we walked in silence until we came upon the proper place. Any other, even an Angel, would be unable to distinguish it from the space around it; in their earliest moments, final residences are naught but empty, undefined space, just as the Space Between does.
"This is it?" he asked, turning to face me. "I have to spend Eternity in ... nothing?"
"Look again," I urged him, for the space before us had been filled by a paved road that led to a modest house with a beautiful lawn around it. A reproduction of his former home, idealized by memory.
"I'll be damned," he murmured before quickly excusing his turn of phrase.
"Welcome home," I told him, giving him one last embrace. "I leave you to your peace."
He stopped me for a moment, apologizing for taking my hand. After I had assured it him it was no issue, he spoke to me as no other ever has.
"Look, I was ready to die in a war I didn't even have to fight in," he said quietly. "But that means you can't be scared to live a little. Eternity's a long time to get stuck in a rut."
With a gentle smile, I kissed him upon the cheek.
"I will take heed of your words," I told him as he walked to the front door of his residence. "Truly."
If only I had known the consequences it would bring down upon me.
The Keeper
Original Character
"I've got the guts to die. What I want to know is, have you got the guts to live?" - Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
764 words
They came to me torn apart by machine guns or stabbed in the middle of the night. Some I had to gather up from many pieces, their bodies vaporized by mortars. Never before had I seen death so horrifically manifested, almost fifty thousand in all. But of all those who passed through the Gates, there was one whom I shall never forget.
He was an "old man" among the boys forced to be fighters, twenty-five when he was struck down by artillery from his country's own ships. Like me, he had been a guide; young soldiers had looked to him to lead and protect them.
"It wasn't everything it was cracked up to be," he told me. "I told them I'd bring them all home to their mothers, which means I lied to half of them. At least."
I could feel the pain in his heart echo in my own.
"Guess I'll see them around here, right?"
I smiled and assured him that it would be so. Our discussion turned to the existence of Angels, as it so often does with the newly arrived. The inquiries are always the same; they wish to know why I don't have wings or a halo like the depictions on Earth, if I can play the harp, or why Heaven isn't a landscape of clouds. So did he ask, and I answered as always. There was a moment's silence after I answered the last familiar question, and then he asked what none had before.
"So, do you just take people back and forth?" he asked.
"The guiding of mortal souls is my Duty, as prescribed by the Divinity of the Lord God," I told him with a proud smile.
"But that's it? All day long, that's all you do?"
"Days are not an applicable time construct here," I answered, not understanding his point. "But that matters not. Mine is a Holy Duty, which no other can perform."
"Well, okay," he said. "But if you ask me, I'd go crazy doing the same thing 'til the end of time."
I did not answer, for I was afraid to admit that he had stirred something in me. While there truly is no other duty I could want to perform, there were times when it seemed maddening to continue. Every soul is different, and the conversations I've had since the first death have been most enjoyable and enlightening. But what else did I have? I had no lover, as some of my brethren did. My Brother and Sister were often too involved in their own work or time together to speak with me. And I dared not present myself before my Father simply because I needed a reprieve.
I tried to shake the sentiment from me as we walked in silence until we came upon the proper place. Any other, even an Angel, would be unable to distinguish it from the space around it; in their earliest moments, final residences are naught but empty, undefined space, just as the Space Between does.
"This is it?" he asked, turning to face me. "I have to spend Eternity in ... nothing?"
"Look again," I urged him, for the space before us had been filled by a paved road that led to a modest house with a beautiful lawn around it. A reproduction of his former home, idealized by memory.
"I'll be damned," he murmured before quickly excusing his turn of phrase.
"Welcome home," I told him, giving him one last embrace. "I leave you to your peace."
He stopped me for a moment, apologizing for taking my hand. After I had assured it him it was no issue, he spoke to me as no other ever has.
"Look, I was ready to die in a war I didn't even have to fight in," he said quietly. "But that means you can't be scared to live a little. Eternity's a long time to get stuck in a rut."
With a gentle smile, I kissed him upon the cheek.
"I will take heed of your words," I told him as he walked to the front door of his residence. "Truly."
If only I had known the consequences it would bring down upon me.
The Keeper
Original Character
"I've got the guts to die. What I want to know is, have you got the guts to live?" - Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
764 words