The Fallen Angel

He stood atop the Tall Tower, set high as it was upon the hill,

Its immense, black, obsidian walls reflecting both heat and light,

And gazed he down dispassionately, watching the city burn.

His face displayed no sentiment, no care, he took no pleasure,

There was no longer any pain; all was as it should be; optimal.

A pair of white doves glided tranquilly across his field of vision

And as he saw them it was then that his expression changed,

And he grimaced somewhat, appreciating then the grim irony.

Steady streams of loud-wailing, broken, humiliated humanity

Wound their sluggish way from the outskirts, a virus fleeing

The cleansing flame, a few rich in vehicles but most on foot,

Their heads bowed.  In their hubris some had chosen to remain,

Unbelieving.  Now they believed.  Very soon they would die.

Since it was that she had died, all others were now immaterial.

She with her love had humanised him. When it was they took 

Her, they took his love and his humanity. All he had left was

A plan and a cold space where his new-found heart used to lie.

Smoke rose lazily, occluding the sun.  He had considered it best 

To select the height of the summer to minimise their suffering,

Not that he cared, but she would have, and still she touched him.

When he had fallen it was his good chance she had found him,

Like a pathetic, broken-winged bird, leaning heavily by a wall 

In a dank, dark alley, disorientated and fighting waves of pain.

Unexpectedly his mind turned inward, to the light of her smile,

Her soft and loving eyes, and he realised then that he had never

Asked her why she was there, and now he would never know.

She had held him up, taken him into her life, into her home,

Into her very soul, her warmth and love slowly mending him,

Both in mind and body, her reward his love, her pleasures

Many but greatest on that day, that glorious day, when he had

Outstretched his wings, feeling once more their certain power,

And in the moonlight had flown high above the glittering city,

With her slight and precious body held most firm against him,

Tight in his arms, her soft cheek against his, her most beautiful, 

Most kissable lips, smiling in overwhelming wonder and joy.

He had not known at first what a dire and dread risk she took,

Taking him in, giving him shelter, giving him life and love. 

She was already an outsider, an oddity to those, her neighbours,

A loner, whispered about, who did not even attend the Temple;

An outsider of odd outsider parents who had long since died,

In a strange, extraordinary and unbelievably unlucky accident,

And of a certainty un-mourned by any but her and her brother

Who had left shortly thereafter bidding her to travel with him,

But she deeply treasured their home and could not countenance

The sad thought of living elsewhere, for she wore it as a coat,

Felt it around her, supporting her, her steadfast and only friend

Until she had found him, took him in and offered him succour,

Rescuing him, for that short, wondrous, exquisite time of love,

From himself and his sad destiny, his vast power to destroy.

Suddenly he leaned forward momentarily, somewhat perplexed,

Noting that in the heart of the city there was a block, the temple,

Seemingly spared, oddly untouched by the raging conflagration. 

He chided himself mildly for his carelessness.  This must not be.

Then he raised his hand carefully and grew there a ball of flame

Which languidly but with precision he flicked toward the block,

Watching as the fireball grew, air crackling wildly in its path,

And arriving, wrapped itself in a tight embrace round the target.

He studied it intently for a moment and then, quietly satisfied

As it was engulfed, returned his gaze to the lines of refugees,

A horde snaking their way slowly into the peaceful countryside

And then to who knew where?  The Badlands must be crossed 

First, with all their unfortunate mutant denizens who they had

Considered it a sacred duty, in which they took sickening joy,

To hunt down and put to death, burning at the stake those they 

Captured alive to purify, they righteously claimed, their souls.

He told himself he did not care as to the city’s inhabitant’s fate.

In respect to her memory he had not directly slain any of them. 

He had warned them most clearly, even in his mighty wrath,

Wanting not to displease her unreachable but unquenchable 

Essence, her soul, her glorious self, she whom he adored, but

It had been difficult, oh so very difficult.  He had truly craved

So much to watch them burn, to watch them writhe and scream, 

To revel, to bathe his entire being, to lose himself completely in 

Their prolonged agony as they went up like countless candles,

Their self-satisfied layers of fat feeding the cleansing flames.

Their minds, if such they had, were full of putrid puss, anointed

As they considered themselves to be, by some deviant God,

A Master Race, superior to all whose skin was not white, or

Had mutated after what they chose to call the Great Cleansing.

Neighbours, so it must have been, had seen him by chance,

His ebony black skin anathema to them, his black wings an 

Abomination, but they had not the courage to confront him,

No, it was her they stole away, when he was on the wing,

Building up his strength for whatever the future held for them,

For she had taught him how to love life, and how to dream.

When he had returned he found her, or what was left of her,

Tied to a cruel, metal stake, with the fire which had taken her

Still burning, though its dark purpose had long been realised.

He walked to her partly crisped body, careless of the flames,

And broke the chains which bound her, lifting her remains 

Tenderly, instantly leaping aloft with her, taking flight with her,

She, his love, who had taken so much joy, on one last journey. 

He flew to a place on the mountains that she had most favoured,

A snow-capped summit surrounded by a friar’s fringe of trees.

There he sat weeping, sobbing, gasping for air for many hours,

Perhaps, indeed, many days, nights – he knew nor cared not -

Her poor, burnt and assaulted corpse firm but gentle in his arms,

His newly found heart having now to embrace the ice and snow,

For he knew not where to put the searing pain, the tearing teeth

Slicing his heart, threatening to drive him mad.  Perhaps it had!

He wanted to roar, to scream, to find those who had done this,

And make them suffer in equal measure; to totally destroy them

And tear their blood soaked city apart with his bare hands,

To destroy, indeed, the entire world and all this horrific spawn.

But as the hours – days? - passed and his heart grew colder -

The only way he could survive the constant waves of despair -

His mind slowly, inexorably bore down, crushing his emotions

And left him with memories he could not touch, that he had to 

Close in a mental room with a mighty oak door, precious jewels 

To seek out and enjoy sometime, or perhaps no time, and most 

Certainly not now, so they were set so deep in his mind and his 

Heart he could survive, function, live on, without real thought

Or, most critical, feeling, an automaton set with one purpose.

He had gathered himself and focused; her body he took to an

Infernal pit, left after the wild war these creatures so celebrated,

And there watched her, and his heart, fall into the fiery embrace.

It was done; he felt nothing and so could not understand at all

Why it was that he did so unaccountably, so copiously weep.

Then it was with his immense power he created the Tall Tower,

And within its safe walls placed the house she had so loved,

And the folk from the city, in their vast and vaunting conceit,

Swaggered their way up the hill.  Nonplussed were they when

He came forth from the entrance and faced them, unafraid,

A reviled, black creature, spreading his wings for all to see,

And as was their foul habit with those they took to be mutant,

They all made swiftly the sign of the Holy One’s eye and spat.

His face was of neutral mien as unperturbedly he used his voice,

A voice that carried like the final trump they all aspired to hear,

And he saw the look of fear touch the eyes of some.  Apparently 

They did not wish to hear, at least not now, but hear they all did, 

For the voice gave them no choice, and the majority laughed 

Somewhat when he told them he would destroy utterly the city, 

And when, and then most careful like, why, so it was clearly 

Understood, and silent it was that they left, though unbelieving.

Even so, as the time, it approached, they became quite lively,

Increasingly dedicated to being rid of him and his Tall Tower.

At first the assaults were most simple, an unruly mob with guns,

But with time they became much more focused, single-minded,

And, it pleased him, in an odd, distant sort of way, to consider,

More than a little desperate, until at the last it was that they had 

Utilised one of the dread radiation-tongued, raging armaments 

Which, as all else they had hurled at him and the Tall Tower, he 

Watched approach and explode inoffensively, causing harm not 

To him or his aberrant stronghold.  Then it was that the people 

Piled their treasures together and commenced their departure.

As he watched the last of the recalcitrants leave, or die in the 

Flames –it had been their choice - he noted that the folk from 

The Badlands had joined together, now no longer the hunted

But a band of hunters, with countless years of scores to settle.

It was an unconsidered bonus, as he watched the Master Race

Caught between the inferno and the mutant horde. It did not 

Please him, however, nothing did. It was as it should be.  Amen!

He nodded then, coldly, acknowledging to himself a task tidily 

And competently completed, and then brought he down his 

Mighty wings and soared into the smoke-laden air.  He circled 

The city, to ensure all was destroyed and then it was, satisfied 

Spun he and flew to where her body had been taken by the fire,

And opened he then the oak door in his mind and heart and took 

Hold of the jewels, his heart once more beating, as jubilantly he 

Dived into the welcoming flames to find her or kindly oblivion.