Angelic Rage

From the dark corner of the alley, a flash of light, orange, red, and amber glow, did burst in the night. And the blue hues ignited and burned upward and then slowly down the matchstick, when the gentleman in the long, grey overcoat lit his cigarette. His face became visible only in time intervals, as the flashes of neon above the diner glowed. He paced back and forth, lurking in the shadows, moving quickly, to keep his feet and body warm, but never taking his eyes off his prey. Across the city street, the last couple was exiting the diner. He refused to let his plundering eyes wander away, but did only for a brief instant. Only then to ensure that no one else was around. He seemed to become anxious when the couple exited. The air was cold and crisp when the steam and smoke were exhaled from his body.  He made puff rings in the dark. 

Only one man remained inside. The view was clear from where the man in the grey coat stood. Tossing his half-smoked cigarette onto the grey, dismal snow, he stepped on it, extinguishing the flame. Whispering he said, “now, I got you.” He stepped out of the shadows and into the dimmed lighted area of the sidewalk. He moved closer to the diner, walking between two parked cars, placing his right hand into his coat to pull out a concealed item.

“Eeecck!” was the sound screeching over my shoulder. There it was, the reason I was here. I turned, looking backward into the alleyway. In the blackness of the pitch, my eyes, more keen than any human, watched the shadow of the night rent itself into a hole from hell. Out of that dark hole stepped Zolan. Zolan, the once great guardian of the Trees of Eden. He and I were the two angels assigned to make sure Adam never ate of the Tree of Life, although Adam had eaten of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Like myself, I knew Zolan never relinquished his sword.

He retained not his once beautiful appearance, but now was disfigured. His mighty stature is all I can remember. He stood as tall as I, nine feet according to man’s measurement, but the curse had definitely changed him. The once elegant wings that glistened like the purest snow were now hideous, dark and bent, outstretched like a bat. His face had become contorted, ugly. His legs were like that of a goat covered with wiry hair because his garment of purity was taken from him. Yes, he was different in appearance, but he still had all his power and strength. I had seen him in battle in ancient times, and he is a formidable foe. Yet, here he was coming toward me. Yes! Even right at me. But wait . . . he just passed me by as if he . . . no, it can’t be. He did not even see me.