Long ago, before the stars winked and dazzled in the midnight sky and before the sun sent down gusts of hot air to Earth; even before Earth itself, God made me and my siblings, Angels. You've probably heard God made humans, but that isn't true, because Father is obsessed with making everything perfect, holy at the very least. I hate to break it to you fragile humans, but your kind isn't even close to being holy. Though I shouldn't be talking, seeing as I'm the only imperfect angel; supposedly.
The idea I had was revolutionary, but it was against my faith, and it required assistance from the Traitor. Before we get further into the creation of humans, you need to know more about the one responsible for people and the earth; and that would be moi. Now don't start thanking me, you need to know the whole story.
Once, God had a vision of people with beautiful features, long flowing hair; the color of wheat, golden spheres of light wavering over their heads, and silken wings attached to their backs. More important though these figures were holy, little mini-me(s) of the Father himself; they didn't question right or wrong, always made the right decision, nor did they ever feel hate or greed. So, with a snap of his fingers, there were six of them, but father believed the more the merrier, so he tried one last time.
On his seventh try there appeared a girl with hair the same color and texture of the midnight sky that's absent of the stars and moon. She had the eyes the color of the ocean as it churned the surf, and they named this girl Mia. Other than being different by looks her personality was... strange. Her tongue had a razor-sharp edge to it, and she used her wits to manipulate the other Angels, who were unbelievably naïve.
Many distrusted her, called her obscenities like the next Satin, but none could deny that she was bright and a rebel. 'A rebel without a cause,' was what they'd scorn; just loud enough that it reached Mia's ears but quiet enough that if they provoked Mia too far, they'd be able to act innocent. Little did they know her cause would change everything.
Despite all of this shunning I was able to keep my sanity, though others would beg to differ, by making a plan. I'd create people like me, without wings or halos, but I'd need some sort of underlying evil. With every plan there are faults, in my plan there were many. Like if Father found out what I was up to I'd be banished, and there's only one place with evil and that's where I'd have to go.
In Heaven every once in a while, there is a period where everyone lays down on a cloud and douses off. That was when I made my escape. I clamored up to the gargoyles on top of the Cathedral, watching the mosaics filter in beautiful light that casted a shadow on the wall. I took one last deep breath, looked down at the ground that was thousands of feet below, and jumped.
At the last possible moment, I unfurled my wings. My mind had registered on the fact that I was no longer free-falling, but my body did not or maybe my body just knew what was coming. A low keening sound reached my ears, and I squinted through the fog and saw a menacing crack in the ground. I lowered myself to the ground and felt the sweltering heat of the uncountable fires, down below.
A booming voice came from the crack, and it beckoned, "Come! I will help you." I believed it to, why wouldn't he? I jumped down trying not to show panic or fear by the fact I was in the Underworld. I told myself I was ready to bargain for something that Father feared. Satin himself was a thick smoke that cackled as though it was about to ignite.
"I want to create a race that I shall call 'humans' and they'll have the choice to be good or," the smoke turned to fire, "evil."
Somehow the fire knew exactly what I wanted. A lick of fire lashed out catching the palms of my hands. It didn't hurt and it wasn't ugly, but it was charred looking. Taking my leave, I hurried back to the light and breathed it in. Falling to my knees I pressed my palms to the ground and whispered some sacred words and there appeared two beautiful babies, and I named them Adam and Eve.
As soon as I gathered them in my arms lightning cracked through the air and I knew Father was unhappy, to say in the least. I took of sprinting and where my feet touched the empty air, ground appeared. I ran and ran until my throat felt bare and my feet were scrapped raw; I stopped and leaned over the babies, who were gurgling and lashing around, like bugs laid on their back.
Then God's lighting rod hit me in the back; my body turned to rough wood, my fingers turned to leaves and arms turned to branches. I was leaning over the babies protectively, in a crimpled position. Father tried to seize the children, but not even he could get past me. He still tries; when the earth shakes, when the wind twists and turns destructively, and when the waves reach skyward. That's when he's trying, but somehow, he can't get all the way past me.
If God had gotten his way and made humans perfect, you would have been content forever, never would you worry about choices you're about to make. But you wouldn't have been free. You'd be a living breathing robot, programmed to do good and only good. You wouldn't have been an individual, unique. Now you can thank me, and I expect you to.
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