The Angels drifted to and fro watching the humans move about, all their natural clarity removed. Gods favorite children had compromised the way, making excuses to do and take what ever they wanted and none of it Good.
She held her son’s limp, lifeless shell in her lap, his side pierced, his hands and feet mangled, dried blood caked around his crown from the thorns. Her disgust of humanity would be an emotion, not a feeling of distress, an emotion of love.
Salty droplets fell on deaf ears, the eyes of 0thers shielded themselves from what their weakness had done. Her tears were not all the mother had left, though it would be that which she showed.
…
She was supposed to accept the terms they determined and defined.
…
Deaths black and white oxfords tied tightly to her feet meander rock pathways placed a millennia or so ago. Her arm out she glided her hand along the faces of doors and walls that still spoke of old, memories and shouts, warnings from below.
Deaths own salt hit the ground as she looked around.
Be still and listen
One day I will tell you a story
Around the corner is a wall.
No comments:
Post a Comment