This is not my writing,its actually the work f som1 really talented...who refuses 2 post her work up..nd m lik y are u depriving theworld of ur god given talent?!..cause shes so crazy she thinks people wont lik her writing....im trying to prove to her that,she is talented,nd u guys r gonna lik her writing...nd am jus tryina get her to post her writing..er...she doesnt know am posting her stuff up....fingers crossed she wont murder me wid her probably silent treatment wen she finds out?so dis is a prologue 2 her story
Prologue
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.
I held a little boy's hand as he died today. I felt his spirit relinquish the shell of his body to stand beside me. He asked me where we were going, and I told him: "home." He asked me if his mother could come too, because he would miss her, and I told him, "no." Then he remarked that his mother would not understand. I told him that she would in time.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
This is not unlike the assurances I so often ladle out, to ease their worries and consol their loss. Yet there are days when I wonder if I am right; do my charges understand what I am or what I do, why I do it? Do they understand that I am so much more than a mere symbol of what comes to them once their mortal clocks run down? Do they understand that I am not the heartless creature they imagine me to be, that I suffer the pain of their loved ones, when they come to me, as though it were my pain?
No. How could they?
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
The Reaper, they call me. Oh yes, I have seen the pictures the artists scratch out with their expensive charcoal and fancy, chromed ink pens. They see me as a monster; a grasping, hungry, cold, cruel being that wields an iron blade with which to cut them down. I have heard the tone with which they whisper my name, as though fearful they might call down the wrathful thing they speak of, casting terrified looks heavenward. It has been so since the beginning. I know. I was there.
He restoreth my soul.
My maker says to pity them. "Pity the mortals with their jaded fears and desperate need to define the undefined," she says. "They know nothing else. They feel you, the presence of that which they cannot see, and it alerts them to things they cannot comprehend. This frightens them, child. You must pity them for their inability to understand you and your element."
Though I cannot scorn them for their fears, their natural suspicion of the unknown, nor do I pity them. Envy is nowhere near pity.
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Cold, they call me. Cruel. I am cruel because I make certain they receive something that I will never have? I am cold because I do not shed tears upon every frozen hand that I touch when I bid each soul to walk with me? Hungry…Ido hunger. But not for what they seem to think I do.
I am not the monster they assume me to be. I do not feast upon the souls I reap. No, I hunger for what mortals were gifted with since the dawning of their race.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
My kindred are a loving species by nature. We feel compassion; tenderness, sympathy, and a distinct fondness for the mortals we supervise and guide, yet these feelings are never more than that of a guardian. We serve as a guide and a helpful, comforting presence in everyday life.
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me.
It is true, some of us fell for committing crimes against our maker, but these crimes were considered severe enough to threaten the balance of order, therefore reasonably punishable. Only for the very worst of sins are we cast from our home to dwell in the shadows of hell. The last to see damnation, I believe, was a guardian named Malachai.
Malachai felt the allure the mortal world holds for our kind stronger than most and was drawn by the pleasures human life contains. He lost control, engaged in intimate physical contact with a mortal woman, and paid for it with his wings. Heaven has not known his presence for over thirty-thousand mortal years.
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
They call me hungry, and I cannot deny this. I cannot lie and say that I do not envy the human race their freedom to know a love other than one of guardianship. Truthfully, I have come to believe that the gift they have received from the Almighty is one beyond their comprehension; mortals have no idea how precious their existence is. Even those church sects – with their boasts of piety – do not think to examine their so-called "sins." Never once do they pause to consider there might be reasons behind the way things are; behind multiple races, multiple religions, differences, secrets, and reproduction. It is frustrating to witness the wars wages in the names of ideas that make no fundamental sense.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.
I am, in a rough definition of the term, immortal. I have watched countless centuries pass; hundreds of ages, styles, powers and eras rise and fall, begin and end. I have escorted millions upon millions of souls to their final dwelling place, dragged kicking and screaming for mercy or silent and resigned alike. But I have never once, not once in all my long existence, known what love is like.
I do not mean the maternal care of a mother or the friendly companionship of a brother; this I have in unending quantity. What I want cannot be so easily found.
I want to feel the affection I see pass between a human to only one other. I want to feel the warmth of a fire that will never succumb to shadow burning within this accursed heart, if it must feel at all. I want to know what it is to be willing to give anything and everything for the sake of another being, and to know only joy in doing so. I want to feel life, the weight of another mind tied to me, the comfort of another body beside my own.
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
I have a confession to make. Not as some paranoid Catholic schoolboy would to his priest, for no mortal priest shall ever hear the words, "forgive me, I have sinned," fall from mytongue. My confession is for my own kind; for my brothers and sisters and to my maker herself. I have lost myself, surrendered my purity of mind and heart to the yearnings of mortal men.
I am in love with a human woman; a woman of such gentle nature that she pulls at my heartstrings with neither the knowledge nor intention of doing so. I have known her since her childhood, drawn to her with empathy for her timid heart and shattered world, and I am forced to admit that my originally paternal feelings have warped dramatically into such desire as I have never known before.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.
I am both delighted and ashamed to feel as I do. While this spark of adoration is clearly evidence that I am not yet lost to the good in myself, it is alarming to have such a potent emotion rise within me, and I am unsure of what to do. I want nothing more than for her to know me, to give her happiness, protection…yet she is such a cautious thing, I fear to frighten her. She is not one to listen lightly to simple words of undying love. All the same, I will do what I can to earn her trust.
My heart is hers. Whether she will cradle it or crush it, I know not, yet so long as I may have the pleasure of just once looking into her eyes and hearing her voice directed at me, I will consider myself content.
And I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.
Like..comment...fan r woteva...and according to how u guys respond...when she realises i have posted her stuff up..maybes she'll let me post up more? or even post up stuff herself?am tellin ya-this stuffs lik...amazing...just reading the prologue alone had the hair on the back of my neck lik standing on end-eerily gud is wot i call it nderes a lot mor where dis came from
Justin
