God's Gone AWOL

[1] Gunther and Lala

Jericho, Washington.

It's a difficult task, describing the town of Jericho. Not because of anything peculiar or complicated within it, but rather because of the lack of anything to describe. Jericho was ordinary. In every way, shape and form.

There were four distinct seasons that traded off in a consistent pattern every year. The preferred of which, among the local residents, being both the spring and fall for lack of heavy snowfall or wildfire smoke and heavy heat that would accompany the more extreme parts of the year. The mountains surrounding the area did a reasonable job at maintaining the local region's unremarkable climate. So there were never any interesting weather events beyond the common climate change that was affecting the entire planet. Geographically speaking, it was very stable and boring.

The town itself was about as average western-United-States as it gets. It had a main street, which was it's economic hub in terms of retail and food service. There were a few parks littered around, as well as a few churches of various denominations left over from a time where they meant more to people. The town's actual main sources of income were the soybean farms about a mile south, but the ten thousand some-odd residents of Jericho preferred to believe it was their thriving downtown. It was just one of many soybean towns occupying the western state. How exciting.

Everything about it was average, but diverse in it's own way. Each of the houses in the residential neighbourhoods were unique, but not enough to stand out in any particular way. They were unique in the sense that each house was a home to somebody, filled with memories and personal decorations of love and subjective beauty. This was the same case for each person living in the houses. All the residents, whatever animal they might be, dog, person or backyard hen, each had their own histories, opinions, and voices. But few were extraordinary enough to change the world.

But like every single place in the world, there was something in Jericho that made it just a little bit special. Something no other town had.

And the thing in this little town's case was it's resident angel —living casually among the people as though he were one of them.

In a little white house on Trinity Street.

Atticus' fingers slid carefully up and down the neck of the cello, tracing a pattern on the strings that, in turn, traced a pattern of music into the air. No other creature would dare disrupt him at such a time. Completely immersed. An angel perfecting his already perfect craft.

He was alone, but if anyone happened to see him at such a time, they would certainly think him to be some sort of ethereal being of the heavens. Even without his white wings visible to the naked eye. The morning sunlight streaming in from the window gave him a natural golden halo without the use of any magic at all. And the music drifting from the instrument he played was enough to sound like all of Heaven had been packed into the one little room of his house. When he was alone, Atticus pash de Ophaniel was truly a sight to behold.

After the death of his arch-rival, there wasn't much left for Atticus to do. Heaven was all stirred up, recognizing him as a hero and celebrating his victory in the fight with Bentley; but even with all the praise and admiration, there really wasn't anything left for him in Heaven. The war was off for the time-being, and the citizens of Earth were too busy recovering from a war of their own to be in need of any divine interventions. So when the higher-ups in the angelic status quo asked him what he wished for as a reward for killing Bentley, his answer was simple: rest.

That was all.

Nobody was quite sure why he would ask for such a thing, especially with all the attention he was getting at the time. Never once in his many years of life had he ever considered backing away from the works of Heaven, but once Bentley was dead, he practically disappeared from the presence of his fellow angels altogether. Perhaps he felt his job was done. Perhaps he just couldn't stand the attention. Perhaps there was another reason. But whatever it was, his wish was granted and he was allowed to live among humanity for however long he pleased.