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The first angel—
The first angel—
They don’t talk about that angel. They ripped those wings r i g h t o f f o f h i m, feathers bloody, sick pale gold on white, only few angels have white wings, Purity – what a waste. They ripped everything a w a y, because angels donotlove mortals. Angels do not Love. Angels do not Love at allever because Love is a human, mortal concept and they’re all above it, the stupidity of it curling curling curling curling. Disgusting leech, love.
Raphael had been his friend. Friendship is another stupidlyhuman concept, but he – he – he called Raphael “friend”. Friend! F r i e n d. Maybe that is why he was ripped apart – he didn’t know that Raphael is bad, that all angels are bad – that is the point of it, the point of the broken, breaking, curling, that is the Point, deception—
RAPHAEL IS BAD and this is indisputable, some other word or world or wraith biting at the cold. You are supposed to deceive as an angel, see, how many times does Camille have to tell him, they’re supposed to be scared and warped and
the angel that fell in love with the human
deserved it, because Love is the worst punishment possible orsomethinglikethat. He meant something, to the entirety of Heaven. Then he:
FELL. In Love. Taken from Heaven, taken from holiness, right out of everyone’s memory (see: you know everything when you’re holy) (everything) (everything) (until They, higher-ups, angels that are like demons like everything that they’resupposedtobeagainst muddled into one, decide that some knowledge is unnecessary and then They—)
(rip it from you like ripping wings off of backs)
(No one remembers his name)
(Ma—)
You burn at the thought. If the memory is gone but you REMEMBER what is lost, if you dare to rebel and rebel and rebel and rebel by doing the forbidden hope of remembering, you burn. Lose feathers. It is supposed to stop you from thinking about the past, but all that Raphael does is think about-the-past, which means that he is always burning, or always suffering, or always falling, or something like that. Something like falling thatisn’t falling but is worse. There is nothing, in this world, worse than being cast out because of (how disgusting) Love. (“You love me, dear, don’t you? Right, Raphael?”)
WRONG ANSWER.
The pointofitall is: love is a falling thing, love is horrendous. Love makes you do despicable things, or love makes them do despicable things like ripping wings, fragile, off of a back.
(—angel hands are always cold but Camille’s hands always seem colder, her smile always seems sharper, her words sweeter. Angel hands—)
WRONG ANSWER.
His first assignment, firstperson, first trip down to earth (his insides are melted, on the trip down, meltedandreformed, she said it was part of the process, just part of the process, just—), is a little girl, little little little, but then she Grows, tall and wide and sick, and she – and she picks up a bottle. Picks it right up, hands unholy and ripping, like pulling something out ! of ! Heaven !
She downs it in one drink, mouth pulling ichor out of a wingwound, hands warm around the bottle oh, Raphael thinks, warmth, as opposed to cold, cold hands, cold heart, what about warmTH And Kindness and everything good—
There is no concept of good here, there is no real good and when Raphael kills her it is quick, she f a d e s and then she melts ! Like having your m i s p l a c e d humanity melted and reformed and that cycle, and then she becomes Bone. Raphael has never seen Bone, some of the other angels take them back as trophies says Camille but, and the pr-oc-ess of decaying, says the doctor ?, takes time which means Raphael has been standing over this body (B o d y !) for – well one-two-three plus three equals six, the sky is always some blinding shade of blue, these are human facts – a while, he has been here for a while, concept of time rolling around in his stomach and Raphael thinks for a moment about:
Permanence.
P
e
r
m
a
n
e
n
c
e.
UP,
Raphael doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand why she won’t just get back doesn’t understand why she won’t reanimate, come back! COME BACK! Move again. Move—
“You killed her,” says Camille when he returns to heaven, skin-less and raw but it’ll grow back and skin is a ghastlyconceptanyways, afterbefore he took up a singular bone and presented it to her, beastjaw, I’ve done good, I think, I don’t know, I—
“How do you feel about that?”
“How am I supposed to feel?”
W R O N G A N S W E R , hisses what is hopefully Camille, voice shaking every part of Heaven, cracking at the cloudground.
His second assignment hurts, is everything that they warned him about – everything that he’s experienced has prepared him for this, this moment where he finally ends suffering, finally wraps his wings light-sick around the entirety of his home and
PROTECTS.
He’s built right UP of pain, discomfort in every cell and tinypart of his body, he scratches and bites and – and – and. And! He loves. Raphael has never seen anything like it – he causes so much pain, fire in his hands, but his heart is big!!! Big. He has a big heart, so full of love that you can’t bury it, oh this heart would transcend every grave, every broken part of Raphael’s mirror-existence.
If Raphael could sing, or had a voice that was beautiful, something other than a holy angelic s c r e e e e e e c h, then he would sing to this lovecomposed boy. He: doesn’t have a voice, only some ghostlike terror – it would not be very
Comforting.
To it, as it died. The boy’s death in his arms. Would only scare him, and Raphael does not want to s c a r e h i m, or anyone, not ! even ! the small animals, but this is because his eyes are not open, or however that story goes. That false story, the kind they make you read, oh if only you knew the truth, the happenings of heaven, you would burn in these eyes. You would burn, and—
Later they will write this later they will write short stories about that life and
down,
thin wings and bloody teeth or oh, six plus six equals twelve, another fact, and maybe they’re already writing a story about it, maybe the hands are already on thetypewriterswhatevertheyusenowadays crafting these broken stories about “life”.
They all start to blur together after this, one big muddle of sickness and bluelight, frailty of Bone. Then—
Then—
S i m o n L e w i s .
Simon Lewis loves and is good, but the problem is that they are never good, he’s seen it before; little Emily-something-who wasn’t little, fourth-or-fifth assignment, walking folktale, who prayed and prayed and. Prayed. For someone to save her, from those Bones. Then – then – then she prayed for heavenly death, which meant she had to go, how many times does Camille have to tell him (again?), dumped in Raphael’s lap because no other angel would ever want her. She was
Good.
And then she wasn’t. Everyone knows the powerof praying – they are never good. Raphael never wants to k i l l , but he has to do the right thing, the good thing, dig right into the ground in the wrong universe, oops, that doesn’t happen here. Oh no. Oh, no. No no no. THAT’S JUST NOT RIGHT.
Angels can see it all see they can see it, they can See, and in some otheruniverse there is a grave and a body and a grave and a body and a grave and a body and . a grave and . a body and a—
Picture! The picture, you get the picture, so many graves and so . many . bodies . and the taste of betrayal like hm something in his mouth that he has never held, never anything because angels don’t eat they only see . things. like : breaking. The taste of betrayal in his mouth like the taste of human copper spillingblood, another thing he has never seen, when you Kill a human you scratch them but there’s never blood, never ever never ever never b l o o d, just ichor, just ichor, because they should be FRIGHTENED in the presence of an angel. See? See? They see. Mortals need to be Frightened, fear personifying right in front of them because angels don’t hurt, betrayal in his mouth, humans hurt right right right right right
SEE?
So Simon has a life - - - - - a good one. Goodbut we’vealready covered that, right, right, see. But Simon—
He watches Simon like f a l l i n g, because That Is What You Do when you watch someone and you’re an angel, when you’re an angel with eyes and eyes and eyes and eyes that cover you, and hands (oh her hands) (they were so cold) (so cold ripping and. scratching into Raphael’s angelflesh) (why) (why) (Why) that break, you watch and see them in every partofyou. See: this is where the story ends (don’t move) (I know you wanna find out how this story ends) (wrong universe) (see), and begins.
With Simon Lewis.
Simon’s voice is beautiful, he sings something about being forever young and Raphael thinks: what a concept, being young forever, being little and never old and never having to watch your body decay after – after time, but watching everyone else’s body (body?) fall right into sickness and age like falling like falling like what he used to do what is forbidden everything is wrong because Love is the worst punishment and—
What if. Raphael had a voice like Simon’s, everything but that angelic s c r e e e e e c h, and could sing to. Those things, assignments, in their deaths. What if! What if Raphael was—
Good.
Simon never stops being beautiful like that.
“You know how,” says the best friend, fire, “when you fall down, you don’t realize that you’ve fallen for a few seconds until it all clicks and you realize that you’re bleeding on the ground?”
“And the point to this question is…?” Simon asks, voice not like a song but just normal, just beautiful in a sickway.
“I think I’m in love,” she says, and Love – Love is the worst punishment poss-ibl-e, but it’s also human. So so so so so frighteningly human, but Raphael thinks about his second “assignment” and the graveyard heart and it and it and it
BURNS.
Feathers lost.
“Knew it,” Simon ---------- laughs! ---------- and it’s beautiful, it’s all just so beautiful, this frightening humanity wrapped up into one thing, one beautiful package of Skin And Bone like a gift, they would stuff this kind of thing up and preserve it, hang it on walls as a trophy. That beastjaw kind of beautiful. The kind of beauty that you can keep forever and ever, forever young, I wanna be forever young, I wanna be forever young, I wanna be forever young.
"How did you know?”
“You’re always calling her…”
Simon stops, looks up at the air like looking into Raphael’s eyes and eyes and eyes, then his eyes flutter back, so beautifully, to the best friend who Raphael cannot remember the name of.
“Beautiful. You’re always calling her beautiful.”
He watches Simon Lewis for – for – for a year, in mortaltime. He watches Simon but Simon never melts like the firstassignment did, never burns like the second one did, what a heart it had. But it feels like more, feels like longer, feels like every year passing right through Raphael’s holyveins, making it all forever young. Raphael wants to be forever young. Raphael wants to be : foreveryoung, like song that Simon sings in some version of this story in every version of this story oh. Oh, once upon a time…
He watches Simon Lewis for one (plus one is—) year.
Until Camille’s voice bellows, cold hands, “What are you waiting for?”
(—two. Now there are two. There have always been twopeople in this, twopeople, Two People.)
Inside Raphael thinks:
AMEN.
And about how:
Raphael is always calling him beautiful, Simon like a garden and trees and flowers and, and, and, Simon like water falling, like a waterfall, and – Simon like wings. He imagines his wings, dark, wrapped around what isn’t frail, what will never be frail.
Raphael is always calling him
B
E
A
U
T
I
F
U
L
which according to Simon, means—
The worst punishment possible.
(Amen.)