Falling

The fallen can be well concealed in the world of men. They can sit on a soul for centuries as it passes from one life to the next. A soul of course is expected to transition several time to maximize its experience. The fallen know this and take great advantage of it. Some ride a soul so long that they forget what they are. This makes them exceptionally hard to find. It’s possible to interrogate a fallen in this state at length and know for sure their true nature. But a call has to be made, and the fallen are always displaced. Displaced of course being the clever way of saying they are killed and the body is left to rot in the sun. This means little to humans. Why should they care about other worldly affairs? They are such blind creatures. They don’t see the magnificent around them all the time, the angels that walk among them at every moment. I suppose that is what makes them really human though, the not knowing. Their imperfection is what makes them the Lord’s prize. They have the potential to change. We do not. So few humans will understand this, but the others know. They always know. I report my story as a sort of final act. They will find me, and they will be displeased with me, and as I said we cannot change. Leniency has never been an option. Clarity has always been ours when it fails us so does divinity, and so I write the story of my fall from grace.

                I have been a soldier on this plane of existence for too long now. When I arrived to this new venue it was a simple change of address, always moving. I had a job for cover, as is always the case. Inconspicuous jobs are the norm and this was no different. Office in the city, company golf tournaments, client dinners, the works, but of course this is just a cover. The real job is still the work of the lord, but it helps to have a way to pay the bills. It wasn’t an extraordinary day when I saw her, but it quickly became incredible. I wasn’t even trying to find anything special, but I looked up from my computer screen and there she was. Young, lovely, smiling at me. She handed me a stack of files over the desk with a bright toothy grin. I couldn’t think to speak I was so taken, and just as sudden and gloriously as she appeared she was gone. That was of course all it took. Over the next several days I followed her with unnerving frequency, and as strange as it seemed I think she knew it. As casual as I tried to make my approaches she always seemed to glance over her shoulder just as I drew close. She so enticed me with her smile whenever I got close, but every time I would deflect.

                I could not put a name to what drew me to her, it was not her beauty, her laughter, her shinning eyes, though all deeply moved me, but rather it was something from within that kept pulling me every closer to her no matter how I tried to resist. I sat in my office trying to work and not think of her smile and hoping to see her face when I glanced over my monitor. I suppose I imagined her being there so many times that I didn’t really notice when she actually stood before me.

                “Hi,” she said, and it took me a moment to realize that she was speaking to me. Suddenly panic struck me. What should I do? “I noticed you following me.”

                Her smile didn’t fade but rather twisted to the side. Her eyes glittered with an amused light as I fumbled with the papers on my desk. “Umm,” was the wittiest response that I could muster.

                “I’m Angelique,” she said sitting upon the desk in front of me and I couldn’t help but trace the curve of her thigh in her tight skirt, “What do they call you?”

                I found my way to her eyes and saw how warm and inviting they seemed. I searched my mind for the necessary information but my thought kept colliding with the image before me. Shapely legs pressed tight against fabric, shirt buttoned low enough to give a full view of the corsette garment beneath, and hair that let ringlets escape playfully from a tidy up do. I realized that my mouth was agape just as the name came to the surface.

                “Gabriel,” I forced out, “But my friends call me Gabe.”

                “Well, Gabe,” she smiled, “It seems that I’m in need of an escort to the office social on Thursday, would you like to go with me?”

                For just a moment I was struck mute. I remember hearing about the office party but I previously had no intention of going. I swiftly reconsidered. My head bobbed distractedly.

                Her smile evened and she pulled a pen from the collection that sat on my desk. Then she pulled a paper from a pile that stood tidily next to her. She glanced at it and turned it over where she began writing. When she finished she handed the page to me.

                “You can pick me up at seven.”

                With that she disappeared once more and I was left holding the address out to the air. Was I going on a date? Me, a fierce soldier of God?