[CONTAINS BLOOD/GORE. READER'S DISCRETION ADVISED]
I couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was that was the most enjoyable for me at that point. The satisfying feeling of the bones cracking and crumbling beneath my fingertips, or the thrill I got from how exceedingly rebellious I was being. This was far more defiant than your average child's prank. This was no simple lie, no everyday cheat. This was murder. This was slaughter. An offence with a fee that could not righteously be paid with my life. However, at that time, the remains of blood on my fingers and body was not evidence enough to convince me that I deserved punishment. If they asked me to justify what I had done right then and there when I was caught, I would have no problem saying to them, "I was hungry. I needed food. I didn't do anything wrong. You can't blame me. I don't deserve this. You are the ones in the wrong. I'm the victim here."
Even now, looking back at myself and the unspeakable crime I committed, although I am disgusted with myself, I still can see a sliver of sense. We were not each of us Gods, we were angels. No better than any other race, but with expectations so high they were irrational. Our strength had limits and our willpower was not infinite. With the weight of the literal heavens on our shoulders, it was inevitable that some day one of us would crack. One of us would mess up. One of us would get caught. One of us would Fall.
I sat in a silence for a moment or two, my face lit with a downright psychotic grin. I gripped the forearm of the corpse with my right hand and the bicep with my left. The body was still warm from the life it once had until I ended it, but as I held it, I could feel the temperature drop. I thought to myself that I couldn't wait any longer. If I did, the angel would lose all heat and become just another rotting heap of flesh. That wouldn't do. The thought of lukewarm blood and cold skin was repulsive to me. And so, with just a few simple little thrusts of my arms, I snapped the bones and ripped apart the flesh of the lifeless being. I was misted with the red fluid that sprayed from every laceration I made. My white hair, cream-colored robes and porcelain-pale skin were painted with flecks and streaks of it. The feathers of my wings which protruded proudly from my back were the only part of me kept untainted from the gory mess.
No, I didn't enjoy the feeling of the bath of blood I received so much as I enjoyed the salty and slightly metallic taste I got from it when I licked the fluid from my hands. My actions were no longer made from my conscious mind anymore, but from my griping stomach and primal instincts. I lurched over the body like an animal would, my trembling limbs keeping me suspended over the corpse as I stared into its blank, fogged eyes. If I ever felt any remorse for my actions back then, it was when my mind took in the look of horror forever frozen on the dead angel's face. They were once a comrade of mine, however distant. But soon my hunger tugged my thoughts back to my gut, and I continued the heinous act of cannibalism.
At first the flesh of the neck was too tough to penetrate with my dull front teeth, but over time my gnawing broke through the skin and my palette was once again hit with the sinfully delicious taste of blood. I chewed through the meat of the corpse easily. I thought nothing of the life that once coursed through the veins that I broke, and no longer did I care if anyone or anything could see me preforming the atrocious feat. All sense of morals were lost to my deranged mind now. I could see the world in only one way: hunter and hunted. Unconcernedly, I let a pleasured yell rise from my throat.
●
Hours and hours on end, I stared into the darkness which enveloped my eyesight. I tasted the filthy rag which gagged me and restrained my mouth. I breathed the damp, musty air. I listened to the sounds of the other inmates whom were kept in similar cells (which could more appropriately be called coffins) around my own, uncomfortably and anxiously shuffling. We all awaited the time when our depts were to be paid for crimes that could not righteously be repented for with our lives. And although I hardly spoke a word to the other angels whom had been imprisoned, I felt a sort of bond to them. We all had cracked. We all messed up. We all got caught. And soon, one after the other, we would all Fall.
Whether it be from the allure of lust, the anger of wrath, the pride of vanity, the brokenness of sloth, the pain of envy, the rapture of greed or the hunger of gluttony, we were all sinners and worthy of execution which would purge our bodies and minds.
We all felt remorse for what we had done. When I passed the others while being escorted to the lavatory, or when we were all silently seated in the dining hall, I could see it in their eyes as they could mine. There wasn't anything on earth or the heavens that we wanted more than to undo our actions and return to our lives; to our jobs and to our families. But it was obvious that it was far too late to truly repent. Not even God in his holy compassion would grant our pitiful existences sympathy. Not that we deserved it.
●
The freezing winds sliced my bare skin like frigid blades hitting me again and again as I stood at the highest altitude known to man or to angel. I longed for the time when my body would become so absolutely cold that it would begin to numb, because then I wouldn't have to feel such pain as the arctic gusts which struck me, or the large steel implements which were driven into my flesh to bind me. I was suspended in the air by my wings, which were fascined to two very large metal poles at my sides by screws that were driven into my flesh and bone and in tightly to the metal. My eyes were covered by a lead blindfold that was covered with white cloth, which prevented me from seeing the crowd which was gathered around the area, although I knew they were there. They watch me with resentful glares that hurt far more than the frosty winds or metal screws. My arms were chained together tightly at my back by metal clamps, although it felt much more like ice and daggers. My legs were similarly secured underneath me. The only comfort I had was my long white hair, which lightly licked my naked body as it was thrown around from the gusts and warmed the back of my neck.
Over time the mumbling and whispering of the crowd in front of me grew to enraged yelling and reactions to my blasphemous crimes. Among the voices I could pick out a few that I recognized, such as of my father and my friends. They all told me things I knew all too well already. I was a sinner. I should be ashamed. Death was too good for me. There was no place for me anywhere. Purgatory was paradise compared to what I deserved. After what felt to me as hours, a baritone voice spoke out and immediately ceased the shouting. It was the high archangel. My insides froze to a temperature colder than my frost-bitten skin. I never thought that he would be the one to execute my Fall. I was full of shame, more than I've ever felt thus far.
"Former Holy Corporal Sage Bishop," boomed the High Archangel's authoritative voice, speaking my name and title in such a bitter way that I could feel it stab into my chest. "You are being punished today for your crimes against society, humanity, Heaven and His Holiness, God. Your actions against Holy Guardian Mercutio Reed are absolutely unrepentable and blasphemous, and so we, the Arch Guard and gallery, are gathered here at the highest peak of Heaven to bear witness to and execute your Fall, the ultimate punishment for any angel to receive."
He paused for a moment to clear his throat, but no doubt only did so to allow the shame to sink into me more than it already had. "You are being charged with actions pertaining to first level Wrath and third level Gluttony. After you are thrown forever from His Holiness, God's almighty hands, if you survive, you will ultimately die of inescapable Gluttony. May no force take pity on your body, rotting from your innards to your mind."
Once again he paused and I could swear I was going to bleed out from all the verbal swords he was thrusting into me. Despite my guilt, despite my regret and despite every moral I clutched on to, I felt resentful to this man. I deserved every bit of my punishment, but even so I longed to break free of my restraints and do to him as I had to my late comrade. I was already a sinner. I was already going to Fall. Murdering the High Archangel would do nothing against me except for giving me a morbid satisfaction and perhaps tear apart any of the sanity I had left.
Unexpectedly, I felt something begin to tug at my blindfold violently. My thoughts vanished immediately from my fright. In several more jerks, the lead blindfold was torn from my head, and I was positively blinded by the beating sun which hadn't touched my fuchsia-iris eyes in many a month. Once my vision was partially comfortable, I was able to see the crowd around me. The faces of angels I knew and did not know. Mostly I saw my family watching me, shame and guilt and anger plastering their faces. My father with his cold expression that had ordinarily been one of warmth and full of laughter. My mother whom I could see clutching my baby brother to her robes tightly, keeping him warm and protecting him from seeing his older sister, the one he was supposed to idolize, in all her disgrace. But they had disowned me. I could no longer truly call them my family.
I could also see the trap which kept me dangerously suspended over the world by only my wings. The world which I was soon to plummet towards, nothing to stop me but the terrain I would splatter against upon impact.
A feeling of absolute pain tore into my back, and I knew that this was not merely a verbal sword slicing into me, or a frozen wind blade cutting across my skin. This was real physical pain. My head turned as far as it possibly could to see what was causing it. My wings, not able to withstand my weight plus the weight of the extremely heavy metal restraints anymore, were tearing from my back, ligament by ligament. I could see the bloody muscle string out of my skin like some sort of cannibal pasta. It was pure horror for me. My heart raced so fast and so hard that I was surely going to die of a heart attack sooner than I would die of blood loss or from my Fall.
"And so, Sage of Former Bishop," called the high Archangel, causing me to whip my neck painfully back to see him for myself. I knew my expression was that of horror and pain, but I only felt resentment upon seeing his cold, arrogant mug. "Do you have any last words for the gallery, as your time in His Holiness, God's hands has come to a close?" I could swear on it that I saw a flicker of a smirk become of his calmly composed expression. This enraged me.
The muscle of my wings were almost completely ripped from my back. My heart was beating so quickly that it could've erupted. My eyes were welling up so much that my vision could only make out fuzzy silouettes infront of me. And my body was so frozen that it could be ice. Still, I stared the High Archangel right in the face with the hardest look I could muster. In hindsight, I should have considered my last words better, but I don't regret what I decided to say as the very last ligament of muscle in my wings was torn from me. I closed my eyes as I felt my lifeline begin to cut and I spread my best smirk across my white lips.
"Yeah," I said, looking back at his face. My wings were completely torn away when I finally spoke for the last time. "F*ck you."
