Perpetual Penance

It is a pitiful thing to see something once so beautiful reduced to this scuttling mess; fingers scraping against concrete as the sobs wrack its skeletal frame. Like the rats that share the cell, it writhes in its own filth, a fitting punishment for one such as this. Those that stand and watch feel nothing for this thing, this creature; no pity for one who was once as they are. The cell is unlocked and they drag it by the hair across the marble floor, its screams incoherent and primal; its broken wings scratching against the angry welts covering its naked body. They sweep it past others that reach out to them between the bars, faceless shadows of what they once were. It is not yet their time but for this one, Judgement has arrived.

The doors slam as they depart and it is left cowering in a bloodied heap. “Sophiel, so very glad you could make it. I hope the journey was not too unpleasant?” She gazes through eyes still adjusting to the light to see one the Seraphim seated on a dais above her, fingers steepled against his chin. “He has given instruction that you may be released; once certain conditions have been agreed upon, of course.” Was this more punishment? Had they not had enough of this torment or could it be that she might truly be allowed atone for her sins? It was but a moment of uncertainty; the rebellion had awoken something within her but she had not followed Satan into the war. She had watched from the sides as the battle raged and angels on both sides fell until at last Michael rose triumphant and banished those that opposed Him back to Earth. She had shaken away the doubts that nagged at her but still she had been hauled from her bed late into the night and thrown into Tartarus; fifteen lifetimes she had spent in that hole. “Anything” she croaked and the Seraph rose and extended his hand. 
 
He smiles as he rapes me. He thrusts with the knife and with his body, tearing and ripping at the flesh beneath but I am not what he sees. He sees the girl; the girl who is safely sleeping in her bed where I left her with no memory of my visit. I am her cuckoo. For each of the angels thrown down to earth, I must die in place of one of His children. The ones that are destined for a greater good should not and will not be taken from the Earth by such as this creature which looms over me. I can feel both his blades inside me and disgust wells within that something this vile should exist in this place that we have vowed to protect. I feel the mortal body dying around me and close my eyes.

He stands above the bloody mess and wipes himself against her hair. He thinks it’s a shame she didn’t scream like the others; didn’t thrash and bite as he took her. He likes that. He thinks of her nails scratching deep into his skin, exciting him again and he looks down on her willing form as again he starts to harden. He hesitates. Her eyes were closed. Why then are they looking at him and WHY ARE THEY MOVING?

My hands take his throat and I feel His wrath flow through my fingers as the light enters him and I can only hope that he feels the pain I did, the pain that he wanted for the girl. My father’s vengeance is dreadful in its beauty and I turn away as his soul burns. I drop him to the floor and the rain starts to fall on his limp body, washing away the sins of the past.

As I wait for another to be sent, I think about how my life is to be. My clothes stink and I am hungry and wet but at least I am free. I will try not to complain. I will do His work and the eternity that stretches before me is one that I deserve. I am here to protect His children and if I am to die for each of them then it is but a small thing; a single grain of sand in the desert of misery that His son endured. I understand the need to preserve the goodness in these people but why are they also so full of hate? So many that pass me huddled in this doorway look through me, if they turn their heads at all. They too do not see me but this time no celestial glamour is required to cloud their vision. They tell me that this is simply their way; too busy, too scared or too wrapped up in their own issues to care for the problems of others. I find it difficult to understand. I rub my hands together and pull them into my armpits away from the cold.

I see a boy playing in a park, laughing as he runs after the balloon mummy gave him for his birthday. It’s red, the same colour as his hat and mittens. I watch the momentary puffs of breath as he runs; a steam train on uncertain tracks. He shouldn’t go far; mummy said that she and daddy were setting up the ‘PIKNIK’ especially for him but that he could play until they were ready. The balloon is drifting towards the woods where a man waits. He is sad and he is lonely and I sense his thoughts of…oh Father NO!

I come awake with a start, my mouth dry and heart hammering in my chest. I gather my belongings into my plastic bag and melt into the night towards the boy.

For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone (Psalm 91:10-12)