Videotape

The story

Chapter 1

Angel was only twelve, but his world had crumbled and decayed long before his birth. Every scrap of knowledge inscribed in his mind bespoke of chaos, danger, and hatred that thrived outside the sterile walls of the compound. He was a seed, planted and nurtured in the strange soil of a Radiohead-worshipping cult, well-protected from the tumultuous storm of the outside world. Life, as he knew it, was all within these blank, clinical walls.

His days ebbed and flowed like the quiet rhythm of a forgotten song. His routines were etched into the hospital-like sterility of his existence. To him, life was a pattern of waking, practicing his obscure abilities under the watchful gaze of his caregivers, and slipping back into the embrace of sleep. Angel could not fathom any other life. His spirit profound in its solitude, the twelve-year-old boy thrived in predictable monotony.

Not knowing his parents was a norm, the absence of their love replaced by the austere affection of his primary caretaker, Gabriel. The neglect he experienced was merely another verse in his discordant lullaby. Each failure in harnessing his telekinetic and mind-controlling abilities spelled abuse. Angel, however, perceived these punishments as lessons, necessary for molding him into the image they revered. His designation, his identity as an 'angel', was an honor he wore, dictated by the ethereal silhouette his shadow crafted, complete with wings and a halo.

His existence in the sterile, white expanse of the compound was broken only by the rainbow of his cherished guitar. It was his tether, a symbol of tethered identity outside of his angelic role. It was his connection to the deity they worshipped — the esoteric, alluring Thom Yorke. Portraits, album covers, and an assortment of memorabilia peppered the compound's stark walls, their vibrant hues a glaring contradiction to their immured existence.

On this particular day, his routine remained as undisturbed as it had been for years. Angel practiced his powers under Gabriel's unrelenting gaze. A soft melody from Kid A hummed in the background, its haunting notes intertwining with his concentrated efforts. His mind reached out, a command echoing within him. A dull thud echoed as the guitar pick floated into the air, dancing in the sterile sunlight.

A rare smile crawled onto Gabriel's lips, his fingers patting Angel's bleached-blond hair in approval. His benevolent gaze, a rare gift, bestowed upon Angel the affection he craved. Gabriel reached into a worn pocket, retrieving a photograph. Carefully, he handed it to Angel.

The face looked back at him, mirroring his appearance. Gabriel's voice slithered into the silence, "You look like him. You are like him. You are an angel. You are perfect."

Angel clutched the picture close, studying the mirrored image. The words resonated within him, a newfound revelation blooming in his chest. The taste of perfection was sweet, addictive even. He was an angel, just as his shadow proclaimed, an embodiment of Thom Yorke himself in this fractured world.

Chapter 2

The day arrived, bathed in the artificial light of the underground facility where the Radiohead-worshipping cult had taken root. It was the day of the weekly meeting. Angel muffled his breathing, aware of the implicit sanctity of their gathering place. The sharp scent of burnt incense and old vinyl records pervaded the air. Gabriel strode in, his ceremonial robes sweeping the floor. The recorded sounds of Radiohead's "Ok Computer" faintly echoed in the background, the haunting vocals and the intricate melodies intertwined, setting the tone of the meeting.

Gabriel's voice cut through the serene environment; it was a scalpel, dissecting the atmosphere into chunks of abused silence. He began to speak of the outside world, painting images of devastation with a practiced ease. Skyscrapers crumbled under natural calamities, the earth trembled under the weight of man's sins, human souls wandered aimlessly in the desolate aftermath. Anarchy reigned supreme, and structural systems had collapsed under the sheer pressure of nihilism. These were the judgements passed onto the mortal world, the sins of the non-believers coming to haunt them.