Fallen

Fallen

A tear trailed down his cheek as he gazed into the mirror. The fluorescent lights above the vanity flickered and the crack in the casing allowed the bright light to shine onto his features. He moved his head left and then right, up and then down. There was much to see, pock marks, newly torn skin, the color of his eyes were green-blue like the warm ocean waters. A hand moved his face left and then right again trying to see all the angles, but his eyes moved toward the hand itself. They were muscular, the fingers long with pronounced knuckles and there was one vein in particular that extended from the tip of the wrist to the elbow, forever coiling like the snake around the tree, a mark left to ponder over. He stood back looking at the rest of the body. It was male, lean, of average stature and middle age, Caucasian. More tears seeped from the eyes caught by fingers that experienced their texture

It had been fair, and he wondered if he would have been if it had been the other way around. The memories were still fresh but he knew they would fade fast. This was part of the punishment, to forget, forget the love, the warmth, the ecstasy, the blissful connection to the others. He had betrayed them, hadn’t he? He had hid his feelings from them, hid them so well, that they had not detected the deceit. Had he not detected the deceit? What had it all been for, a promise of importance? He had been important; he had been granted immortal happiness and then shunned it for the promise of immortal power that would never have been. For a brief time perhaps, a few thousand years, but tides changed, another would have been chosen.

Oh how he realized this too late, the bargain had been struck. His wings turned from an opalescent pink to charcoal. His energy quickened like a storm, whirling in chaotic directions, becoming fiercer by its own momentum. Fire crackled in his eyes displaying images resounding screams that climaxed to a rapturous roar. He clawed at his wings, tearing out the burned feathers that stank of his betrayal. He shut his eyes but couldn’t make the images dissipate and clawed at them as well, blood trickling down his face, droplets splattering onto his fallen feathers, the red color lost on the molten black.

In that moment, he knew he had betrayed and been betrayed. While the storm raged his body and a hurricane raged his soul he made a silent plea and waited for what he wasn’t sure would come. It came and all went silent, a silence more deafening and rapturous than the fire. The storm stopped, the hurricane lessened and as he dropped to his knees a tortured sob vented. He had given into temptation for the same reason he had doubted his plea would be answered. Temptation is always there, it is the ammunition of a war in which he had only won this one battle.

He had fallen. The world would continue and he would become part of it as a mortal man. The knowledge would be taken from him and he would ponder about the obscurities of the world with the rest of them. With the last few moments remaining he stared at his reflection. Indeed, he was mortal, he was a man, and then laughed and thought to himself “Now I am a hairy man”. Humor he measured was a good sign that perhaps he may pass the test when it came again. Another tear rolled down his cheek and as he started to forget he smiled and said Thank you.