In honor of Halloween, I wanted to write some stories based on the characters created for a styled shoot from the imagination of Crystal from @beauty.crystal.clear. Her makeup magic brought 4 different Halloween looks to life. In this post, you will shiver from the story of The Fallen Angel.
Angels are never to interfere. Bella knew this rule by heart. She couldn't remember her former life, or how long she had been dead. All she knew is that her purpose was to guide humans whenever she was chosen to be a guardian. Her first assignment had come.
Bella had been assigned to a child. Most guardian angels are, since children need the most guidance. She peered into the house and took in the scene. Empty beer cans were scattered throughout the living room. Flies swarmed the heap of half-eaten TV dinners stacked on the overflowing garbage can. Tattered clothes lay like corpses on a battle field. Bella was glad she didn't have her human senses of smell or taste, the thought of people living in these conditions made her shudder.
Signs of life finally appeared. A little boy toddled out of his bedroom into the kitchen. The bottoms of his bare feet were black, but they didn't leave any marks on the filthy carpet. He pushed aside empty milk jugs and wrappers and climbed onto the counter. The boy might have been three years old, but the normal baby-fat had disappeared and all that remained was a tiny frame.
As he opened a cupboard in search of breakfast, a jar of sauce fell from the shelf and shattered. He wobbled backwards in surprise. Bella held herself back from swooping inside to catch him. Angels are never to interfere. The tiny body made a thump as he hit the ground. The glass crackled as he stood. Surprisingly, the boy only let out a weak whimper.
A voice roared from across the room. The beat of staggering footsteps echoed. The boy froze. The invisible guardian angel took a step into the corner as the huge man burst through the door. She didn't notice herself cower until the thought crossed her mind. How is he so familiar?
"Adam! What did I say about trying to make your own food? You could hurt yourself!"
"I'm sorry Daddy." The little boy squeaked.
The man did not seem to notice the cuts already on the boy's arms and legs. He took one stride and smacked the little boy across the face. His tiny body fell back floor, smearing the sauce and spreading the glass.
Angels are never to interfere! Bella told herself. Her wings shook with anger as she watched the man open the fridge, grab a beer, and walk out of the room. A few yogurt cups, mayonnaise, and cases of beer were all that occupied the fridge.
She gazed at Adam's face. He still was not crying. He limped to the bathroom to clean himself. This must have been a normal morning routine. She followed him down the hallway. How am I supposed to guide this child if I can't interfere? Bella hardly had time to ponder the thought when the man came storming after Adam holding a cigarette.
"Where is my lighter? I told you not to play with it!"
"I don't know, daddy...maybe it's in your pock..." Adam could hardly finish as his father's hand landed another blow.
The man growled, "Don't you backtalk me!"
It took all of Bella's energy to keep her from interfering. She could not fail her first assignment.
The man stepped back and checked his pocket. He dug out the lighter and lit his cigarette. He puffed and stormed out of the bathroom. Adam's eyes glazed over. Again, he did not cry out. Surprisingly, he followed his father into the living room. The man slumped onto the worn-out recliner and turned on the TV. His tiny son crawled on the couch and laid down. Together, they watched a game show.
Bella sighed, relieved to have a break from the horror of the man's behavior. The room filled with second-hand smoke as he lit cigarette after cigarette. The little boy fell asleep and after an hour had passed, the man's snores filled the room. A half smoked cigarette dangled from his fingers.
Bella stood in the corner, wondering how she could help the little boy. She decided to wander around the house to get a better idea. She flittered down the hall and stopped as she noticed frames with smashed glass. Pictures of a smiling man next to a woman holding a baby gazed back at her. The man in the other room was a ghost of the clean shaven happy face in the photo. After staring for what seemed like a moment, she noticed her vision being clouded with a darker smoke. If she had her sense of smell she might have noticed the smoke sooner. She flew to the living room and landed horror struck.
Sparks jumped from the trash and laundry piles. Flames licked at the recliner and couch where the man and Adam lay sleeping.
Bella had enough. Swooping across the flames, she scooped Adam. His groggy eyes opened slightly. His breath was shallow and labored.
The little boy whispered with excitement and slight confusion, "Mommy?"
Sudden recognition came to Bella's memory.
Squeezing her son, tears filled her eyes, and she remembered that Halloween night. Little Adam had been dressed as his favorite super hero. Bella had planned to escape with the excuse of taking him trick or treating, but her husband had decided to stay home and drink instead of going to the bar. He had beat her for the last time. She didn't remember anything else.
The man woke with a start bringing Bella back to the present. His eyes took in the flames, but suddenly widened in horror when he noticed the angel in the middle of the room. His eyes flickered with anger when he saw the little boy in her arms.
"Fine. You can have him." That's all he said as he left his child to burn in the house.
Bella made her way to the open door. As she tried to fly away a force blocked her way. The child went limp in her arms. I'm too late. She took her baby to his room, tucked him into bed, and fell to the floor. She was not meant to guide him in life, but to the after-life. Bella could not go with her little boy. Bella had failed. She had interfered.
The fire was put out. The authorities came and left. The little boy's remains were identified. The newspaper reported that no foul play was suspected. They wrote about a grieving father who blamed a faulty space heater that lit his poor son's blanket on fire.
Almost everybody forgot about the story after a year. At the charred remains of the house sat a bouquet of baby's breath, roses, and black feathers. She had interfered.
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