Wingless

My Life-Mentor always told me I was different. From the moment of my Creation I was unique. To the day I write these words, I have remained strange and, to so many other beings, wrong.
Angels are not born; we simply emerge into existence amidst a cacophony of colours and song. We don’t grow; our bodies eternally remain in the same Heavenly shape we were given by the humans who needed us. My hair has never grown, my nails have never lengthened, and my body has never matured from a fifteen year-olds form.
But this doesn’t make me different.
When I was thirty-three moon turns old, my Life-Mentor hacked my lengthy blonde hair off, gouging me the with the edge of the knife occasionally. He told me it was so that the rest of me reflected my strangeness. I never argued. How could I? “Honour thy Mother and Father”. One of so many commandments we must follow. My Lord never knew; I was never taken before Him. But I knew He would have agreed.
From then on, I became known as the “Naked One”. Elders whispered it behind hands as I walked down the street; NewWings simply scorned me with it wherever we were. I think they were afraid of me; my difference singled me out amongst all Angels.
I was wingless.

*~~~~~~~~~~*

Rumours had been rushing through the Echelons. My Life-Mentor seemed constantly excited and tense, spending more and more time away from the five NewWings he cared for. Of course we understood. With something this big, even I knew what was going on.
My Lords Son was in prison.
This wasn’t unusual. The Romans disliked the Son greatly, and were constantly using any small excuse to terrorise and discriminate against him. But this was different. They had had enough.
They were going to crucify him.
It frightened me. The Son was born of His Holiness. He was perfect. And they were going to brutalise him.
Night time fell. Contrary to many stories, Angels sleep. Certain Angels are assigned to certain humans, and when these humans sleep, so too do the corresponding Angels. We do it simply to gain back the energy we used guarding our humans, and they wake, we wake.
That night I couldn’t sleep. Around me, everyone else had surrendered to dreams. I lay on my pallet, and stared at the stares. Emotions surged inside of me; fear, hatred, pain.
Anger. Above and below it all was anger. I fumed at those mortals who had deigned themselves worthy to murder the pure and beautiful Son. Dishonourable, disgusting, disgraces.
Something pulled me from my pallet. I stood, my softly white robe swishing in the silence. The stars dimmed.
Except for one.
The Pole Star. It shone brighter.
My feet moved. Some part of me knew where I was going. The sky shifted around me, and suddenly walls lined my way. Darkness surrounded me. Only the small light of my soul lit the path. I glided towards the soft singing I could hear.
“Light in the darkness,
Shine the way the Heaven,
Can I gaze upon thy beauty,
Hold thou in my hand?”

I came to a dingy corridor. Bars blocked entrances to several small, dirty holes to the right, and I found myself hastening towards the fourth one.
I could see the Glory already. Streams of Heavenly Fire licked tenderly at the walls; banners of strength and grace. They would have been invisible to the Guard, had he still been awake. My hand reached out to grasp one, my fingers turning the flames to smoke that evaded me.
And I saw Him.
The Son was not a terribly handsome man. Dark hair wreathed around his face and into his beard. His brown eyes were set slightly too close together next to an aristocratic nose.
He smiled at me, and I knew why humans both loved and feared him.
There was something gentle, yet terrible behind that soft smile. He knew all the depths of existence, all our great and darkest secrets, and loved us all the same. He knew our fears, our weaknesses, our pain, our strengths. He knew our very souls, and something within me resonated in accordance.
“Hail, fair one. What troubles you so?”
I stumbled towards him, awed by the universe hidden behind his eyes. He chuckled softly, and gestured to the space across from him.
I sat with all the grace I could muster. The gentle smile had never left his face, and, as he spoke, it was reflected in his voice.
“Your soul cries with heartache young one.”
I stared at him, my heart pounding. When I finally spoke, it was broken, and pained.
“I’m different.”
He chuckled, “Are you?”
Something inside me broke. Too long had I been tormented for my strangeness. Too long had I been mocked and punished for being created wrong. Too long, had I feared that they were right.
“You made me this way,” I hissed in pain, “Wingless!”
He stared at me in silence. The smile was agonised and sorrowful now, and my soul screamed.
“Why do you love everyone but me!?” I howled, tears streaming cold trails down my cheeks. My hands scratched at my face; nails tearing crescent lines into my skin. Blood mingled with my tears, and I screamed with an Angels agony.
Hands reached up and gripped my own. I stilled, and he gently pulled my fingers away from my face. He leaned in, and paternally kissed me on the fore-head.
“I love you.”
I flung myself into his chest, and soaked his rough clothes with my tears. He wrapped his arms around me, and held me through the slow healing of my wounds.
“My children are all different. Everyone of you holds your uniqueness. I love you all the same.”
He drew away and grasped my face in his hands. “How are you Named?”
I gazed at him, and whispered ashamedly, “I have none. No one wanted to Name me.”
The smile was back, still pained and sad, but beautiful all the same. “Then I Name you Michael, highest of my Heavenly children. Right-hand of God.”
And finally - Finally! - tongues of flame lavished my back, and six wings of the purest gold stretched forth to the very Heavens above us. My robe shimmered into a shining blue set of armour, bearing the sigils for “Michael” across my chest.
And still I was different. Still, I was strange. But now I realised how little that mattered.
Once I was Wingless.
I was strange.
And in my differences, my refusal to fall with their taunts and hatred, I was beautiful.
I am Michael. Highest of the Heavenly Host.