- Aug 30, 2004
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What a plain and ordinary day it was. The sun was shining, clouds sparesly populated the sky, cars were tightly packed into the road... and life hung in the balance at Christus Lux Hospital.
People were living, and people were dying, meeting and breaking expectations. Families celebrated and prayed in thanks to many gods, while others cried out in agony, cast anger heavenward, or waited nervously to hear just what the bad news was.
But for the reader's sake, only one patient is to be mentioned for now. A young boy of only 4, William Kramer, had been in a tragic accident. Like many of the patients at Christus Lux, it had been an automobile accident. He had been playing near the street, not in it, but for some reason unknown to the world, the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and veered into the Kramers' front yard.
With his life now in the balance, his mother waited anxiously by his bedside. A few relatives that lived nearby were on there way, and Mr. Kramer had left to wait for them downstairs while the Mrs. watched her son dangle by life-support machines, little to nothing on her mind but fear that William might not survive.
But William had another visitor en route... one who frequented this hospital. Every day, in fact, he was summoned to this place of life and death, of joyful praise and mournful wails. ... And he hated it. But he could not deny his duty; he would never forsake his position, his dignity, or his exclusive, perpetual task. He would trade nothing for the honor it was to serve God as the Angel of Death.
Wearily, it seemed, the untiring being soared through the midday air, unseen by mortal eyes as his dark, empty black hood remained fixed on Christus Lux. While his heavy armor gleamed white with his purity of being and essence as one of the faithful servants of the Lord, it only barely outshone the darkness of the black skirting robes that covered him beneath his breastplate. Over said armor he wore a white sash, but it was torn open down the middle, smudged and stained with ashes. On his large shoulder pauldrons, the only adournment was the black image of a cross atop a gravestone.
He had the look of a mourner, through and through. His face, if he had one, was completely shrouded by his hood, but even that seemed to be warped into a deep, despaired frown, with a black, unending hole where a human's face might be. Had he the bodily means to cry, the Angel of Death would have flooded the earth with tears long before his exploits, recorded in the book of Exodus. Every soul that left this earth, he was the guide and companion for. His scythe cut them down, his long arm and cold hand led them to the next world, and his heart ached for the wake of pain and emptiness each death left... or for the lack thereof, in the cases of the unloveable, lonely, secluded people he often mercifully released from life. And worst of all, it was his hand that delivered God's children to judgement, where he watched so, so many fall down the same path of the Betrayers, the Unfaithful, the Adversaries... the Demons.
Ceaseless, that was his job description in every aspect. For all eternity, he would exist. And until the end of the world, he would be forced to spend his existence as death's icy, unforgiving hand. But let there be no mistake... it may have been a repetitive action in concept, but he rarely went unopposed.
Always, Demons had tried to stop the Angel of Death in his duty of fulfilling the Plan. But now, in this day and age, God's Children unknowingly assisted them in their rebellion; in fact, the Angel felt more like humans resisted death more strongly than the Demons! Especially those whom the Angel loathed to visit... those who had no reassurance beyond the grave.
Today, though, the Angel of Death would face both spirit and flesh before his duty could be carried out. William Kramer was a young boy, always so happy, always so full of life, always bringing a smile to the face of anyone who came his way. But much to the Angel's despair, he would not stay like that. An experiment with various drugs would result in many youthful years at a military school, compliments of Mr. Kramer. When William leaves, he will be a different man. To make a long life's story significantly shorter, he would rise to power and completely debautcherize every law that governed the country's administration and become the world's next despot. His persecutions of the Faithful and his world-wide murder of so many unsaved souls would not be acceptable. And so, the Angel of Death had been sent to ensure that William Kramer left behind only good memories and a loving family.
((I need to stop for a while now, but I will keep this going tomorrow.
I hope you guys are enjoying this so far, and I promise it will pick up in the next post. The events in this story are all just concepts, and the Angel's role is not a Biblical truth that I know of; just a concept. This story has no agenda, and is not meant to defame life-support in hospitals or anything.))
People were living, and people were dying, meeting and breaking expectations. Families celebrated and prayed in thanks to many gods, while others cried out in agony, cast anger heavenward, or waited nervously to hear just what the bad news was.
But for the reader's sake, only one patient is to be mentioned for now. A young boy of only 4, William Kramer, had been in a tragic accident. Like many of the patients at Christus Lux, it had been an automobile accident. He had been playing near the street, not in it, but for some reason unknown to the world, the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and veered into the Kramers' front yard.
With his life now in the balance, his mother waited anxiously by his bedside. A few relatives that lived nearby were on there way, and Mr. Kramer had left to wait for them downstairs while the Mrs. watched her son dangle by life-support machines, little to nothing on her mind but fear that William might not survive.
But William had another visitor en route... one who frequented this hospital. Every day, in fact, he was summoned to this place of life and death, of joyful praise and mournful wails. ... And he hated it. But he could not deny his duty; he would never forsake his position, his dignity, or his exclusive, perpetual task. He would trade nothing for the honor it was to serve God as the Angel of Death.
Wearily, it seemed, the untiring being soared through the midday air, unseen by mortal eyes as his dark, empty black hood remained fixed on Christus Lux. While his heavy armor gleamed white with his purity of being and essence as one of the faithful servants of the Lord, it only barely outshone the darkness of the black skirting robes that covered him beneath his breastplate. Over said armor he wore a white sash, but it was torn open down the middle, smudged and stained with ashes. On his large shoulder pauldrons, the only adournment was the black image of a cross atop a gravestone.
He had the look of a mourner, through and through. His face, if he had one, was completely shrouded by his hood, but even that seemed to be warped into a deep, despaired frown, with a black, unending hole where a human's face might be. Had he the bodily means to cry, the Angel of Death would have flooded the earth with tears long before his exploits, recorded in the book of Exodus. Every soul that left this earth, he was the guide and companion for. His scythe cut them down, his long arm and cold hand led them to the next world, and his heart ached for the wake of pain and emptiness each death left... or for the lack thereof, in the cases of the unloveable, lonely, secluded people he often mercifully released from life. And worst of all, it was his hand that delivered God's children to judgement, where he watched so, so many fall down the same path of the Betrayers, the Unfaithful, the Adversaries... the Demons.
Ceaseless, that was his job description in every aspect. For all eternity, he would exist. And until the end of the world, he would be forced to spend his existence as death's icy, unforgiving hand. But let there be no mistake... it may have been a repetitive action in concept, but he rarely went unopposed.
Always, Demons had tried to stop the Angel of Death in his duty of fulfilling the Plan. But now, in this day and age, God's Children unknowingly assisted them in their rebellion; in fact, the Angel felt more like humans resisted death more strongly than the Demons! Especially those whom the Angel loathed to visit... those who had no reassurance beyond the grave.
Today, though, the Angel of Death would face both spirit and flesh before his duty could be carried out. William Kramer was a young boy, always so happy, always so full of life, always bringing a smile to the face of anyone who came his way. But much to the Angel's despair, he would not stay like that. An experiment with various drugs would result in many youthful years at a military school, compliments of Mr. Kramer. When William leaves, he will be a different man. To make a long life's story significantly shorter, he would rise to power and completely debautcherize every law that governed the country's administration and become the world's next despot. His persecutions of the Faithful and his world-wide murder of so many unsaved souls would not be acceptable. And so, the Angel of Death had been sent to ensure that William Kramer left behind only good memories and a loving family.
((I need to stop for a while now, but I will keep this going tomorrow.
I hope you guys are enjoying this so far, and I promise it will pick up in the next post. The events in this story are all just concepts, and the Angel's role is not a Biblical truth that I know of; just a concept. This story has no agenda, and is not meant to defame life-support in hospitals or anything.))
))
