Humans were interesting things. They replaced many things in a frequent manner. Some of them chose to throw away items after a while. Others, chose to throw away memories. But in almost every group I studied, there was one or more of a different kind.. The hateful, unforgiving, resentful human. The ones who threw away not items or memories, but friends. Family members. Loved ones. There was always the one odd one out who only valued himself or herself. I found those ones quite interesting.
An angel has no name. More of a designation. We as angels are allowed to of course pick a name, but to this date I am the only one who has chosen a name. My designation is Reverentia, which translates from the angelic language to human latin, which converts into english as Reverent, meaning that I am one of the most respected and revered of my kind. My chosen name is Blake Weldern, and I hold dominion over more than half of the angels and spirits that reside in the plane of existence where such things exist, what a human would call Heaven. It is not the cloudy, fluffy place most imagine when thinking of Heaven, but instead something completely different. Heaven itself is a knowing, but it’s physical manifestation is a great hall, long and grand, filled with chandeliers and having its walls decorated with fine instruments of different preferences.
But probably the most important piece of this design sat at the back of the room atop a throne made of porcelain. The Original, or as humans would refer to him...God. He didn’t make everything, as the common belief would make you believe, but is in actuality a successor to a long line or “God’s”. The first Original, the absolute God I suppose, did indeed craft earth, and all on it. This Original, known by the same moniker as with all before him, is just another successor, another human turned into an angel, that was chosen by the previous. All angels are former humans, chosen by an Original to be saved, or used as some would view it. Some angels to this day, possibly decades after being chosen, still hold disdain for the one who made them what they are. Myself, I am grateful for this.
My life was a boring, unfulfilled, wasted experience. Schooling was stale and worthless. Friendships quickly died when my so called “friends” abandoned me. Existence proved to be a stupid thing really, so I decided to make a proactive choice and attempt ending my life. It didn’t exactly go well. Hanging goes much better when someone doesn’t rudely barge in. Especially when that someone was an ex girlfriend attempting to get a shirt she had left at my home. Thing happened, and I ended up in an insane asylum. Comfy rooms, maybe even lined up with the luxuries I experience now. The restrictions were god awful though...
One night however, while laying face down on the padded cushion of my prison like room, I heard a soft voice. Given my state of mind and where I was currently at, I supposed it was either a nurse with meds, my insane inner voices, or some inmate whose door was unlocked and was looking for a quick “thrill”(These people, more than half, were absolute fiends when it came to one certain act of lust). On the contrary, when I glanced above me, all I can remember was the sound of wings beating, and a voice saying in a voice more calming than the strongest medication...
“You’re suffering ends now, Hunter.” Hunter being my name before I changed to my angelic state of course. The angel had no face, or form at all. It was simply a light, a light I could not tear my eyes away from. Suddenly I stood in the hall of the Original, facing him directly and head on, free of the restricting straight jacket.
His appearance was ethereal, silver hair that barely past the length of his face. His face was without flaw, seemingly carved out of diamond. His clothes were simple white, but they shined with a luminescence that was unmatched within the room, if anywhere at all. My body moved on its own, getting into a position I did not know well. I found myself kneeling before him, head cast down, unable to gaze in his direction without my own imperfection staring me right back.
“Hunter...”, the Original began, “you're life is one I have watched closely...it has most certainly been one that not many would prefer. You have had terrible things happen to you.”
My voice was low, almost unhearable as I spoke.
“Who are you...what are you?”
“You may call me God, that is what many of your kind, humans, refer to me as.”
My knees couldn’t support me as the realization hit me. I crashed to my hands and knees, trembling slightly. My words came out in slightly choking sounds.
“Am I... am I DEAD?”
His answer was a simple chuckle, and if it weren’t for the sheer weight of the situation that would have thrown me into a rage. “Yes and no, young one. Currently, to everyone in the world you reside in, you do not exist. You’re not even a memory. If you choose, this plane can be yours to live in. I have observed your life as I do with all other souls on the human plane, and I chose to bring you here to free you from you're restraints, literally and metaphorically.”
“PLEASE!” The immediate reaction surprised me, but only seemed to be what he expected as no reaction came from him except for a few words.