Did you ever notice how in the Bible, whenever God needed to punish someone, or make an example, or whenever God needed a killing, he sent an angel? Did you ever wonder what a creature like that must be like? A whole existence spent praising your God, but always with one wing dipped in blood. Would you ever really want to see an angel?
My legs went weak at the realization of the synchronicity. Saint Michael, made of white marble, wings outstretched, spear in hand, hovered above us. As depicted many times by Catholic artisans, he stood on his brother Lucifer, Michael’s foot planted on his victim’s head. The General’s face bore a vicious snarl, as he readied his weapon to impale the Light-Bringer in the back. It reminded me of a line from 1984, “If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever.”
My father grumbled from behind, and the beast in me growled back, threatening to snap his head off, until I realized he was just trying to get in line to cannibalize his savior. I had to pull Aiden out of the way to let him pass. He looked back in a plea, trying to convince us to join him. I shook my head, and he shrug-sighed before making his way up the aisle.
With the surrounding pews empty, I tried to break Aiden from her trance.
Shaking her gently by the shoulders, I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Why?” She sobbed in a whisper.
“Why what? What’s wrong?”
“Why do parents do that to their children?”
– My Babylon