The Fury of Angels

I’ve never really liked snow…well, driving in it anyway. I guess if it has to snow, its better I am inside of my house looking at it from my picture window, than outside shovelling. I hate shovelling. Its good exercise; pushing it around your driveway from one side to another. I’ve heard it burns a lot of calories.

I can’t sleep. I’m too agitated. I need to figure out what I’m going to do. What happens now?

My bones ache as I stretch and lean back in this old wooden high back rocking chair. It creaks on the floor beneath me with every move I make. Every sound in this room is magnified. I don’t know why. My once happy home feels dead.

I’m cold, which is no surprise. I wandered downstairs half-dressed in sweats and bare feet. The hairs on my chest spring to life. This house is poorly insulated. I can’t say this is a surprise either. My father and I never got around to making it the perfect home for Jasmine and me. I guess we never will.

The sun has begun to peek out from the clouds in the early morning sky, over a rooftop across the street. It’s quite beautiful. It’s conjuring up images of a great time in my mind. I don’t want to leave this spot. I could sit in this chair for hours. The sunlight starts to bounce off the snow-capped branches on the tree just in front of my picture window. Depending upon where you look, it can be blinding.

As I sit here, I am reminded of so many things. I am transported back in time to the first day I met my bride Jasmine. She is, in a word; stunning. Her brown eyes call out to me, like music. I am hypnotized. Her smile can brighten a room. I am delighted by her. Her cocoa skin is soft to the touch whenever I caress her face. She’d shy away from my gaze, as if she felt she wasn’t good enough for me. Deep down, we both know better. She is everything to me. Every breath I take is for her, because of her.

One of the things I love about her (and there are too many to count) is her hair; her long brown hair. It cascades like a waterfall over her shoulders. Those few moments she’d spin around in surprise and look at me with a sexy grin were priceless. The sound of her laugh; dirty, playful and seductive. Those are the moments I treasure. She is all things to me, rolled into a heavenly, angelic package. Why did she pick me? Why does she love me? Who am I to her? She told me once. Each word she spoke hung in the air when she said it, and I’d grab at it, as if I could clutch it in my hands. I can still hear them even now, as if she is whispering in my ear.

“Mark, you are exactly who I have been looking for my whole life. You’re tall and handsome. Your smile is killer. I love those deep set brown eyes. They’re brooding, but I like that. It makes you look mysterious.”

I smiled when she said that. My mother always told me when I was younger “child, you have those devil eyes.” Jasmine’s words filled me with hope; a hope my fate was not sealed.

“Your chocolate brown skin is luscious. Most men I know don’t have such flawless skin. What’s your secret?” she asked me once. She likes to tease me. I love that about her too.

Suddenly, a loud sound jolts me from my time of reminiscing. I know I can no longer deny what I need to do. I look down at my hands and the proof is evident. Red…all I can see is red.

The sounds above me become louder. What have I done? I try to reason with the thoughts competing with each other in my mind.

“I have to do it. It’s the right thing to do,” I tell myself.

I stand up from the rocking chair and stretch my arms out wide. My body begins to transform and suddenly the room becomes dark. My wings are fully outstretched. I am disgusted with myself. This was not the color I was promised.

I gaze at the photo on a nearby table and apologize to the young girl smiling back at me.

“Eliza, I’m so sorry,” I say as if she can hear me. I wipe a tear from my eye.

I walk to the foot of the stairs and know she has not succumbed. I will have to finish her tonight. She cannot take another breath…not today, not ever.