In one moment it was as if time itself had left me behind to suffer the consequences of my own youthful foolishness. I was sitting silently, stoically, waiting for the blade’s swift revenge. My muscles were limp, my face was expressionless, and my tears had long since dried upon my cheek. The faces gathered around me were the faces I knew so well as my very own sisters and brothers, friends and companions, but now their expressions were hard, angry, and hateful. The bitterness and hostility that held their souls at large made their faces turn into grotesque grimaces. I could scarcely recognize them anymore.

            I saw Blaomen step forward, carrying my very own trusted sword. His eyes were dark and black, his muscles were tense, his lips were sneering. For the first time in my life I didn’t struggle or fight, I just watched as the sword lifted up into the air. The blade was beautiful and gleaming in the light. I was transfixed on it, mesmerized by its sleek outline. I felt almost warm, almost giddy, as if my sword were a living, breathing thing that could never betray me. Somewhere in the depths of my imaginative mind I could see my trusty saber leap out of his powerful grasping hands and come back to me as an ally.   

            Again I saw the faces that condemned me gleaming back from the reflective surface of my noble weapon. I heard nothing as the blade fell with a great swoop and severed my wings from my back. Lifeless the white feathers fluttered in a gentle breeze and I fell from the Heavens like Icarus, damned to spend all eternity with the creatures I hated more then anything else in the universe, the humans.

            You see I am one of The Disparaged, a race of beings so loathed by all other divinities that even amongst ourselves we carry a great hatred for our peers. We all started as angels, and we all remain angels even now, but this is only half the story. We are God’s whipping boys, and it was the Big Boss’ pleasure to punish us in a way that would torment the deepest core of our beings. You see by day we are angels with wings aflutter but as soon as the dawn draws near we turn into vile creatures of the night, the incubi and succubi which haunt only the most intimate moments of mortals. 

            I wasn’t always the pathetic wretch you see sitting before you now sipping piss warm generic beer and sucking on yet another cigarette. There was a time when I cavorted with God’s finest creations, the other angels. Back then I spent my days wrapped in what I thought was intellectual discussion. This I have come to learn was one of the great falsehoods I believed in at the time. Little was I to know that I was living a life of perfect ignorant bliss. Sometimes I long for those days before I knew what pain was, before I knew what sorrow and loss really meant. In my weaker moments I think for just a second that I would take the ignorance back and live on easy street without having any struggles, worries, or moral conflicts. I always come back to my senses and sneer at the heavens cursing God for all his immense malice.

            My very own creator hates me more then anyone else. He hates me and the other Disparaged above all of His other creations. You see the angels were among his first perfect living works. We were His world and we looked up to Him and respected all His words and decisions. My only crime was disagreeing with the Big Boss. He created us all with our very own personalities and opinions and he didn’t realize until we grew spines that this was not something He wanted in his most precious of children. He wanted loyal little lemmings, willing to perish at His most irrational of whims. Like any good psychopath He took out all His aggravation on us, His little flawed pets, but that was only after the War.

            I was one of the highest ranking soldiers back then, ranked only under Lucifer himself. I remember he was the most gifted of the angels when it came to leadership. His speech was soft and smooth as butter. He could make just about anyone melt listening to his words, and grow strong in their loyalty to him. At first it was just a disagreement between Lucifer and God. God had become bored with the angels and created the most flawed creature ever to grace the land. It was of course Adam. He was what melted cheese is to an art gallery. He was a clumsy oaf who smelled like a wet dog bred to a scented ferret. He wasn’t a genius either. I watched in disgust as every day he would sit in the Garden of Eden loosing a game of checkers to a chicken.

            One day the Big Boss gathered all of us around in one of his great meetings. We all shuffled about and sat in our respective seats muttering amongst ourselves what we thought the big announcement was going to be. None of us could have possibly guessed what was to come pouring out of the Big Boss’ mouth. He announced with a deadpan face, and a dry serious tone, that we were all to bow down and worship the horrifically garish pile of primordial vomit known as Adam. I thought this must be some sort of poorly executed joke but Lucifer knew better. He was the only one to speak up and say that wasn’t going to be an option. Before we knew it all of the heavens had divided into factions. I chose to be in the half that was fighting to keep our own dignity. We were called the Libertarians. We believed that if anyone should be worshipped it should be us by the humans! The other half of the Heavens were called the Loyalists. They were loyal to God, blind to the disgraceful display of power he was showing by making us worship sniveling little earth beasts! Though I regret some of my decisions I still believe the Loyalists were sell-outs and sheep.

            God is a malicious thing in and of Himself. He knew his actions would start a war and this was his great entertainment. He watched us as we slew each other like a couch potato watching his favorite sport on the television. He might as well been eating popcorn. He took no side, nor did He give any assistance, He merely watched with a callous smile across his face. To make the games more interesting He bestowed on us all the knowledge of pain, of mortality, and of grief.

             It was grief that was far worse then any physical pain I received from the wounds of battle. Her name was Agromauna. She was the only one of the Loyalists I respected. Before the war I spent hours walking with her along the edges of moon craters and flying among the rings of Saturn. We were innocent puppy-eyed lovers. It was the day I saw her struck down that I was captured. I ran across the clouds and grabbed her in my arms. I watched as her blood poured from her beautiful chest and dripped down as rain from the heavens, staining the Red Sea below. She was the first loss that mattered. I watched as death took her. She was an angel and when an angel dies they do not go to an even better place, they fall out of existence and are swallowed by eternal unconsciousness. It is a death worse than death. Every day since I have been envious of her, wishing that I might also one day feel death’s sweet kiss upon my cheek.

            Her fellow soldiers dragged me away from her sweet innocent body and brought me back to their camp. I begged to be killed but they thought I should experience the worst punishment anyone could fathom, a banning from the heavens. It was God who made me the divided being I am today. He still watches my torment from above, chuckling no doubt. I harbor a hatred for him so strong that I can almost feel it rising in my own throat and choking out all other thoughts. The war still rages on even all these centuries later. I can still hear my fellow companions charging into battle on the backs of horses whose hooves clatter with the coming of thunder. I see their flaming arrows streak across the sky in meteor showers. When my friends and enemies up above finally succumb to grief their tears rain down on the earth, bringing with each drop a memory of sorrow. My heart grows weary thinking of those blessed days before the war.  

The Disparaged has been completed and is awaiting the loving touch of an editor!