Angel

Angel.
When you say the word you think about a lovely, blond kid with deliciously curly hair and sparkling blue eyes and fluffy, white wings, don’t you?
Well, in a way you’re right – some angels do look like that. And those really look as naïve as they are. You see, angels are all like kids, well – they are kids, there’s no adult angels, no serious angels. There are black and yellow angels though and not for the sake of political correctness but because there are black and yellow people on Earth and there are black and yellow children dying.
Yes, you got it right this time – angels are dead children. God though, one day, that he will reward those who died innocently. He came to the conclusion that only those who hadn’t had time to sin are truly innocent and therefore the heavens are now full of babies and children – all dressed in white, all with fluffy, white wings. God brought them to his home and gave them those little, fluffy wings and believes they’re happy. But God isn’t human and has never been and, while he loves humanity, he doesn’t really understand it. He never needed wings to fly, so he doesn’t know that the wings he gives to his angels are too small and they can’t fly. He was never a child himself so he doesn’t understand what children need and there are no toys in heaven because heaven is the sacred place for blessed souls and not a playground. He is a father to all his believers, but he was never a father to a child and, even if he knew to give his angels some affection – he is a very busy person – deciding who is good and who is bad and who deserves heaven and who should become an angel.
Now, don’t get me wrong – he wanted well.

This angel doesn’t have delicious, blond curls on his head. He’s still blond though, but his hair is straight and ragged. He has blue eyes, just like people would imagine him, but they’ve long lost all their sparkles and happiness. His white wings aren’t fluffy anymore, they’re frayed from years and years of non-use. The angel tried, of course, when he just got his wings, to fly but he learnt the hard way that it wasn’t possible. The wings he has are too small and he wonders sometimes if maybe God has made a mistake and gave him baby wings while he is already seven years old. He was seven years old when he came to heaven and he understood, after years of seven-old-ness that he will remain seven years old. He doesn’t have a name.

Angels don’t have names because nobody ever calls them by their names. Or maybe nobody calls them by their names because they don’t have names? The angels are too young to wonder about that, so maybe the matter should be forgotten.

Back to our angel. He’s very confused – he was with his parents and suddenly there were flames all around and pain and heat and then the darkness swallowed everything and then suddenly there was God who welcomed him to heaven and gave him a pair of undersized wings and disappeared to see to another urgent matter. Of course he saw other angels, but he wanted to see his parents. Nobody explained anything to him – nobody explained that he was dead and nobody told him that his parents managed to survive the flames by fleeing the burning house, not looking back until it was too late. And he didn’t know to ask.
He keeps searching for his parents, like many angels do, but nobody can help him. None of the other angels knew what to do and some didn’t even understand when he asked them. Further and further he goes, more and more lonely with each step, finding nothing.
Finally the angel reaches hell and at first he likes it because it’s so warm. He’s not afraid of the flames, it’s been too long for fear to have survived. Quite the contrary actually – he thinks that maybe, just maybe the flames will bring him back to his parents – after all they took him away from them! So the angel goes further into hell bravely because nobody told him he should be afraid.

And maybe he shouldn’t be afraid in the end. Those who believe in God fear the Devil, Master of Hell, but angels are protected by a deal God has with Devil. Yes – as shocking as it might be those two have many deals and have shared many hours of conversations. But maybe it shouldn’t be shocking at all – after all they only have each other to talk to.

So flames pull apart wherever the angel wants to pass through and it doesn’t matter how fast he charges at them or how abrupt he makes his decisions. Not a single, little flame touches him. Anger and desperation fill him and he doesn’t even care that he’s lost in Hell. And loneliness hurts.
After what seems like an eternity of chasing the flames he stumbles across a little bird, laying on the ground, it’s feathers darker red than the flames. He lifts it gently to his chest, holding it carefully in both hands. He leans his face to the bird and whispers:
‘Will you be my friend?’ The bird doesn’t reply – birds can’t talk. ‘Please be my friend.’ Maybe the bird doesn’t need to say anything, maybe it’s asleep – the angel thinks and the loneliness is somehow more bearable now that he has a friend.

God has never died so he didn’t know to explain the idea to his angels. Nobody told the angel about the meaning of “dead”.

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Inspired by:
i82.photobucket.com/albums/j28…

“And I’m sorry that they didn’t tell you about the world”
“It is as it was” by The Red Paintings