Ah, and now...an excerpt by moi, from quite some time ago.
Ahem....
The distant, metallic, rainbow-hued towers of Heaven rocked with bells of mourning, with wails of pain and loss. The Choirs raised their voices in anguish and lament, the faceless souls of the sinless dead dropped to their knees and covered half-remembered ears as the banshee wail of Paradise sliced though the sweet, scented air. Silver branches on silver trees shook--chrome leaves detached themselves and fell to the marble cobblestones of broad avenues and decorative pathways. Foundations trembled in the white synagogues and follies; unnatural, beyond beautiful birds took to the terminal spring air. Gentle creatures from gentler dreams galloped from their innocent meanderings and vanished into the lush undergrowth, an undergrowth both vivaciously green yet dotted with artful topaz and brass.
The wails of Heaven reached out and stopped the very heart of Paradise. And, just as suddenly as the cacophonous wails had begun, they merely ceased. The silence that reigned in the moments afterwards was perhaps even more soul-rending than the cries of the Holy. Silence. Silence in a realm of constant prayer and song, of power and love, of eternity and Life. Silence that signalled the one thing that was both unfamiliar and threatening in the halls and thoroughfares of Paradise and the hearts and minds of the Choirs, creatures and gathered sinless souls.
Death....
...And because he was always vigilant and responsible, Death answered the summons as quickly as was archangelically possible.
There could have been a loud CRACK of thunder, but that would have been pointless as this was Heaven and any two-bit cherubim could have caused a thunder clap. There could have been rains, mist, lightening, fireworks, anything really, to punctuate the arrival of Death, but, again, what would have been the point? Not many found their summons and arrival already held in the fanfare of utter silence in a realm of constant song and fete.
So, instead of dramatic pomp, the archangel Seraph Azrael, Subaltern Tertiary of the Internuncio Elysium and Executer Primary of the Biolytic Advocacy, merely coalesced in the center of the Garden of Fountains and Stones. The gathered angels spun to face him, their forms merely beautiful shifts of brilliant light that held the suggestions of robes, wings and resplendent faces. The gathered sinless souls fled from him, their voices raised in a terror that was virtually unheard of in Heaven. Seraph Azrael watched them go, watched them fall over thelselves to hurdle the collected fountains and marble, glyph-encrusted menhirs that gave the garden its name.
He frowned. His entrance, no matter where he chose to appear, nor how long his fanfare of wails and sudden silence seemed to be, always caused the sinless souls to flee. Perhaps it was the fact that he chose to appear in human form, tall, athletic, raven-haired, leonine, no wings, no brilliant light, no God-like beauty. Perhaps it was the fact that he was dressed in a powder-blue polo shirt, white pants, white gloves, spotless shoes and a white, broad-brimmed cap. Perhaps it was the heavy gold bag hanging from his shoulder. Perhaps it was the burning cigarette dangling gently from his lips. Perhaps it was the smile in his eyes--he would never know. He took a drag, blew smoke into the sweet, scented air of Heaven.
A being of light approached him, dropped to an etheric knee in salute.
"Greetings, my lord," the being said, its voice a whispered song, a trembling beauty in the reality of Heaven.
"And to you, ah...Terel, isn't it?" Seraph Azrael replied. He'd never been good with the names of the members of the lesser Choirs. It was a failing, he knew, and he'd always meant to correct it but had just never found the time.
"Yes, my lord," said the being. "It is good you heard the summons."
"Kind of hard to miss, Terel, as it was the Wail Of Death and I am he. Or perhaps I over simply things."
"Yes, my lord."
Seraph Azrael was fairly certain that the being was not meeting his eyes. "So tell me, Terel, why then was I summoned?" There was a murmuring among the ranks of the gathered angels, a nervous shifting of foot-shaped light to foot-shaped light.
Terel said, head still bowed, "I know not, my lord. Seraph Michael, however, awaits you in the Conservatory of Solomon. I trust that he can tell you further of this matter."
"Ah, then it is to the conservatory that I go. Good day."
And he was gone, simple as that. The gathered angels murmured again to themselves and Terel looked up, surprised. Slowly, he raised himself to his brilliant feet. Even in Heaven, where all was possible, it was considered bad form to merely vanish when one could enjoy a singular walk, accompanied by holy song, to one's destination. Then again, it was also bad form to question the archangels, especially Death.
Terel glanced about, thinking that, perhaps, he should be embarrassed. But just then, the songs of Heaven began again, the Wail and Silence Of Death complete, and Terel, the music lightening his heart, turned with his brethren to take up the chorus....
Nothing like a little blasphemy to round out the eveing, eh, peoples?
Ahem....
The distant, metallic, rainbow-hued towers of Heaven rocked with bells of mourning, with wails of pain and loss. The Choirs raised their voices in anguish and lament, the faceless souls of the sinless dead dropped to their knees and covered half-remembered ears as the banshee wail of Paradise sliced though the sweet, scented air. Silver branches on silver trees shook--chrome leaves detached themselves and fell to the marble cobblestones of broad avenues and decorative pathways. Foundations trembled in the white synagogues and follies; unnatural, beyond beautiful birds took to the terminal spring air. Gentle creatures from gentler dreams galloped from their innocent meanderings and vanished into the lush undergrowth, an undergrowth both vivaciously green yet dotted with artful topaz and brass.
The wails of Heaven reached out and stopped the very heart of Paradise. And, just as suddenly as the cacophonous wails had begun, they merely ceased. The silence that reigned in the moments afterwards was perhaps even more soul-rending than the cries of the Holy. Silence. Silence in a realm of constant prayer and song, of power and love, of eternity and Life. Silence that signalled the one thing that was both unfamiliar and threatening in the halls and thoroughfares of Paradise and the hearts and minds of the Choirs, creatures and gathered sinless souls.
Death....
...And because he was always vigilant and responsible, Death answered the summons as quickly as was archangelically possible.
There could have been a loud CRACK of thunder, but that would have been pointless as this was Heaven and any two-bit cherubim could have caused a thunder clap. There could have been rains, mist, lightening, fireworks, anything really, to punctuate the arrival of Death, but, again, what would have been the point? Not many found their summons and arrival already held in the fanfare of utter silence in a realm of constant song and fete.
So, instead of dramatic pomp, the archangel Seraph Azrael, Subaltern Tertiary of the Internuncio Elysium and Executer Primary of the Biolytic Advocacy, merely coalesced in the center of the Garden of Fountains and Stones. The gathered angels spun to face him, their forms merely beautiful shifts of brilliant light that held the suggestions of robes, wings and resplendent faces. The gathered sinless souls fled from him, their voices raised in a terror that was virtually unheard of in Heaven. Seraph Azrael watched them go, watched them fall over thelselves to hurdle the collected fountains and marble, glyph-encrusted menhirs that gave the garden its name.
He frowned. His entrance, no matter where he chose to appear, nor how long his fanfare of wails and sudden silence seemed to be, always caused the sinless souls to flee. Perhaps it was the fact that he chose to appear in human form, tall, athletic, raven-haired, leonine, no wings, no brilliant light, no God-like beauty. Perhaps it was the fact that he was dressed in a powder-blue polo shirt, white pants, white gloves, spotless shoes and a white, broad-brimmed cap. Perhaps it was the heavy gold bag hanging from his shoulder. Perhaps it was the burning cigarette dangling gently from his lips. Perhaps it was the smile in his eyes--he would never know. He took a drag, blew smoke into the sweet, scented air of Heaven.
A being of light approached him, dropped to an etheric knee in salute.
"Greetings, my lord," the being said, its voice a whispered song, a trembling beauty in the reality of Heaven.
"And to you, ah...Terel, isn't it?" Seraph Azrael replied. He'd never been good with the names of the members of the lesser Choirs. It was a failing, he knew, and he'd always meant to correct it but had just never found the time.
"Yes, my lord," said the being. "It is good you heard the summons."
"Kind of hard to miss, Terel, as it was the Wail Of Death and I am he. Or perhaps I over simply things."
"Yes, my lord."
Seraph Azrael was fairly certain that the being was not meeting his eyes. "So tell me, Terel, why then was I summoned?" There was a murmuring among the ranks of the gathered angels, a nervous shifting of foot-shaped light to foot-shaped light.
Terel said, head still bowed, "I know not, my lord. Seraph Michael, however, awaits you in the Conservatory of Solomon. I trust that he can tell you further of this matter."
"Ah, then it is to the conservatory that I go. Good day."
And he was gone, simple as that. The gathered angels murmured again to themselves and Terel looked up, surprised. Slowly, he raised himself to his brilliant feet. Even in Heaven, where all was possible, it was considered bad form to merely vanish when one could enjoy a singular walk, accompanied by holy song, to one's destination. Then again, it was also bad form to question the archangels, especially Death.
Terel glanced about, thinking that, perhaps, he should be embarrassed. But just then, the songs of Heaven began again, the Wail and Silence Of Death complete, and Terel, the music lightening his heart, turned with his brethren to take up the chorus....
Nothing like a little blasphemy to round out the eveing, eh, peoples?
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
I like the one where they play golf.
K is ever wise hehe.