Little Blackbird

The shine of the light blinded her. She could see nothing of The Power and The Omnipotence before her. She had never before been granted an audience with The Omega before this moment. She had not sought the attention she now had been granted. The gravity of her prayer had grounded and humbled The Empathy before which she found herself. She gently folded the ivory and golden feathers that protruded from her shoulder blades around herself as she knelt before The Kind.

From her humble and angelic knees, she prayed. “Dear Beginning, please hear my plea. This child is worthy of deliverance for he is pure and he is power. He is the child that will unravel The Evil. This infant is The New Beginning. He is earnest of life and chance. Please grant his healing and his endurance. He deserves to be spared. I would gladly sacrifice my wings for his plight. Please allow him to prosper and thrive. I assure you that he is worthy.”

The Omega gently lifted her face toward the sunlight that she knew to be a countenance. She knew in her heart she was spoken to but in the clouds and light, her ears heard no sound but the rustle of her feathered glory in the gentle breeze. Her heart heard an answer. “You find this child worthy of life. This infant of no particular talents and no noticeable traits beyond his illness, his imperfections, his weakness. Why do you find this child of any circumstance?”

Her voice cracked in her humility as she responded, “He is free from sin and he is pure. His life will develop those talents I see in his heart, and his traits will blossom as he grows. He simply needs the chance to grow and thrive. He only needs one whisper from you to heal his lungs and his heart. His body is only the vehicle to catapult him into the greatness I see in his future.”

Her heartbeat spoke again, “He is but one drop in the ocean of human suffering.”

She gathered her humble defiance around herself again as she would her wings. “But what is the ocean of human suffering but a great many worthy drops?”

Her heartstrings quivered in the wake of the hurricane roar that she heard next. “You think you know more than The Lord, Your God?! You are proud and insolent! How dare you beseech me about how to do my Job! I created you out of the smoke and ether of this world you pray so adamantly for. How can you call yourself an angel if you cannot even begin to prostrate yourself before The Patient and Kind!”

She felt the foundation of her resolve begin to crumble. But much like a captain on a sinking ship, she decided to continue upon this endeavor she felt worthy of her sacrifice. She turned her anger again to The Rolling Thunder. “You call yourself the Patient and the Kind but you are the arrogant and the unempathetic. You have an army of seraphs at your beck and call that would gladly lay down their lives for you. And yet you will not heal a simple infant. An indignant drop in the ocean of the humanity you created! What of the mother who first felt his heartbeat deep in her belly?! What of the father with tears of humility and joy and fear that first held his small and insignificant hand?! You have forgotten why you created these creatures! You have forgotten your loneliness and longing for purpose because you are so drunk on the power you created by enabling all to find life! You have forgotten the importance of these fragile beings in your Omniscient care! I tell you that I would give up my wings, MY crowning glory to save this child and you call me proud. You call me insolent. As if I were The Heartless One.”

Again, The Omega spoke to her heart and mind but with the calm and ever-present babbling of a small stream. “I have not forgotten my own profound loneliness and I do not take life away with no feeling. I am The Beginning and The End. I know the cyclical process far better than you. I fear that you have forgotten the humility that I must accept when a creation is made imperfect. I created a process of cellular development that is infinitely miniscule, unceasingly complex and inherently flawed. It is not perfect. Those imperfections teach The Fragile that their life is not without heartache and despair but that there is purpose and meaning to every struggle. How could they appreciate the divine simplicity of life if not for the contrast of the other side of the coin. In a world of constant perfection, the perfection is taken for granted and is disregarded without the reminder of the ever-diminishing wick of their candle. You say you would sacrifice your wings for this child. You; that have never suffered pain and have never known heartache; You feel that this is worth your sacrifice?”

“I do, Dear Beginning.”

“Then prepare yourself.”

Next, she was lifted into the air by a breath of wind. She noticed the sound of her wings rustling through the breeze. She had always loved and cherished that gentle shift in the octaves. Blindingly fast, she felt the knife slice through the plumage on her shoulders. It lasted only an instant but the humility she had thought she had before was nothing compared to the naked humility of standing before The Omega with no proud beautiful beating wings to help her stand. She fell to her knees again in despair and naked shame.

The Alpha raised her chin into the brilliance again, but the shine hurt her eyes and she turned her face away in dishonor. “How can I look upon your wisdom when I am this nothing? I have lost my pride for this child you told me was unworthy. Now, in my wretchedness I see your wisdom. I see you were right. I have wasted my crowning arrogance for a child of unimportance.

She was surprised to find that she still had heartstrings to listen with when she heard the crashing waves. “Your sacrifice has not been in vain but the importance you felt so strongly just moments ago is still a long time from coming to pass. You must create the importance to this small life. I have decided upon a new job for you, for the days ahead are long and full of unimaginable trials.”

She felt with a mountain of pain the skin of her quickly healed shoulders stretch and tear yet again. The wings cracked and crumbled the skin away from their mounting. Very slowly, two new wings regrew from the ashes of her destroyed wings. The wings that unfolded from the tomb of her body were as black as coal and had a shine like ebony. They did not gently rustle in the breeze. They crackled like the roar of an almost extinguished fire. Each feather caught the light of its neighbor like an oil slick revealing its chemical rainbow. The feathers were pristine and gleaming but without the brilliance of their predecessors. The wings’ bones were exposed like a skeletal pterodactyl, but rather than the white of ancient bone, the marrow had been scarred and scorched black by the ether. When she gave them an experimental flap, they created a blast of wind strength far stronger than the gentle breeze she had previously experienced. They were strong and able to carry a great weight.

Her heart began to fill with every human emotion she had ever wondered about but had never felt. A rush of visions ran through her mind. First, she seen an old man laying on his bed with his wife, and children and grandchildren all around him and she heard their united voices singing a simple hymn. She did not recognize the words but she had often heard the melody as she swept through the churches of the human world. Next, she seen a woman cross the street holding a basket of flowers. She tried to warn the woman as the car came barreling down the road. The woman turned toward her voice but did not move in time. After, she seen a man tucking in his young children, kissing their pensive and peacefully sleeping heads. He gently shut off their lights, closed the door. He walked into his own bedroom, placed a gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. Next, she seen a woman simply clutch her heart and fall over in the garden. Another after another the visions came. Each a whisper of the soul leaving behind their earthly belongings, including the cicada shells of their bodies.

She felt she could see no more but the visions simply kept coming. Men and women and children. The young and the old all dying. Sometimes from their own mistakes but often from their human vehicles needing to rest. Their souls dissipated with the wind but never truly left. Over and over she witnessed the scenes of loss but never its effects. She knew what she would have to be asked to do.

“NO! Please! Make it stop!! I cannot take this job! This is too much!” She started to sob and the visions immediately stopped. “Why?! Why create life when there is so much of this loss?! What is the point of any of their existence if they all die in the end?”

She waited for a response as she lay with her head on her arms. When no response came, She lifted her face towards the light to find it had been extinguished. She looked around to find herself in a small room. This room had the light from the neon sign outside the window. She could smell the scents of rot, decay and other people’s dinners wafting in from under the door. There was a faint sound of water dripping and she looked up to find a dark brown water stain in the ceiling. Under where her body lay upon the floor was the ancient non-descript color of a long past stained area rug.

There was a bed in the corner. A man lay upon the dirty covers, still dressed in his tattered suit and tie. A half-empty bottle of vodka was set on the bedside table. Several more littered the floor around him. Her anger bubbled up without her realizing it.

“Hey!” She screamed “Hey! You Drunk! Hey! Wake Up!” The man woke with a start. He looked around to find where the voice that had woken him had come from. He saw nothing so shook his head and set his feet upon the floor. “Hey!” She tried again. The man tilted his head as if he might have heard something but looked straight through her as she got up to wave her hands in front of his face. She was used to the infants she escorted to earth knowing she was there the whole time and showing no fear. They were only excited to begin again. This man did not seem to know she was right in front of him. He could not see her. She thought back to how she could hear The Omega’s voice. A crashing wave, a hurricane, a babbling brook. She decided to channel that skill to allow the man to hear her. She aligned the frequency of her voice to the drip of the water on the ceiling. “Hey…Hey…Hey…Hey…” He looked up to the water spot. He shook his head again. He stood, grabbing the bottle of vodka. He walked to a small table with a dirty glass and take out boxes on it. He poured himself a drink. She used the sound of the pour to speak again “Don’t do that.” She spoke gently and softly.

To her surprise, he spoke. “I don’t want to.” He said in a soft and despairingly sad voice. “I don’t want to.” He took a swig.

She used the slosh of the vodka down his throat to speak again. “It kills.”

“I know. But I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re not alone.” She whispered, knowing that she would be forever alone with this burden she had accepted. Her dark wings rustled as she moved to try to touch his hand. As she reached for his hand, she looked up into his drawn and tired face, to find he was meeting her eyes. He could see her.

“So, this is it then?” She nodded. “Well then, little black bird, let me have just one last drink.” He raised the glass to his lips, and pulled the trigger. As his throat swallowed again she said “Let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and they walked together through the broken and decrepit door. He left his vessel sitting alone in a rundown apartment, with the glass still half-empty beside h…