A Collection of Disturbance

#2

What is the measure of a person. Does it matter the steps they took? Can we simply count the words spoken? Is it a matter of their actions or emotion? One may find it hard to navigate the dizzying corners of contemplation without a light to guide.

The truth about the man was a lost scream trapped by the crushing weight of knowledge. His past was wrapped in an enigma and hard boiled in suspicion. While none could prove his guilt, none could trust him either.

He was shrouded in a veil of glass, people watching his every move. They saw every move he made and muttered among themselves. It was impossible to tint the veil and hide in such a pitiful town. Humans mimicking one another, humans prying eyes crawling through the windows at night, human ears catching every wing beat within a ten mile radius.

Even the most watchful couldn't notice the hum lulling around his mind. None could crack the code to see the ghost wrapped around his thoughts. Wings weighed heavy upon his frail back, a constant reminder of his actions.

He saw the blood still stained on his nimble fingers, he heard the haunting laugh of the child echoing next to his ears. He could never escape from the grips of his being. Mystery chased him around the court yard day and night. It was a shelter from the clingy hands of the children he so feared.

It was one child. One child among billions of humans. The child tore his skull to devour his frail mind. An angel should love, and he had loved. That little girl had grasped his heart and stolen his soul with three little words.

An angel's duty was to protect, he wasn't supposed to let her fall through. The word pierced his lungs just as a spear had pierced hers. "I knew it" rang like church bells through his memories. The wings dragged him into the ground. Those bare wings, the featherless horrors that clung to his frame.

The crisp air pinched his nose just as the leaves tickled his cheeks. On either side, the pale grey stones loomed far above his broken mind. The colors had drained from the world the moment she had left, only the same ginger remained in his vision.

"No more ginger", he begged the lord. "Anything but ginger!" But even gods hold deep grudges. Children do not die by accident. Ginger girls do not all cling to one soul. Dozens of the girl had suffered from his presence. History played itself in every century, the cloaked angel doomed to suffer forever.

The little girl ghosts trailed behind him, just beyond reach. They all cried of deep sorrows, their throats never running raw through the constant screams. He could not escape. Something always took away his little ginger child, something always sent him a dozen more to steal.

"Mister?" The living one chimed. He had been on the verge of escaping, the verge of leaving, when the horror took his hand. Her hand was practically boiling to the cold clammy palm of the man. He recoiled immediately with a fierce glare that would have scattered fully grown men. The child stood her ground and smiled as though he had presented her the world.

"Not another. I can't take another!" The man cried.

"Then end it now." The dozen transparent ginger girls echoed in a melodious chant.

But how could he end it. How could he end this punishment only a villain could create?! What was his fate?! Why was it always the girl, the same girl he watched mauled every time. They all had her face, they all perished with the morning dew. There was no saving this child, only himself. Blood roared in his ears as it mixed with the haunting chant. "Then end it now. End it now. End it."

Warm liquid trickled down his nimble fingers and his focus was unable to decide where to be. His hands clenched and pulled at the surface they touched, his voice drowned in the chant. Ahaps he screamed, maybe he cried. When he looked, the ginger girl was dangling from his frail hands. Her neck was snapped and her eyes rolled back. She shouldn't have been able to speak, yet three gurgled words escaped from her mauled neck.

"I knew it."

And the world was gone.