Lené Gary and Amy Souza

Lené Gary
the way it comes

Every Angel
By Amy Souza

Inspiration Piece

Every angel is terrible. They like to remind us who we are, who we’ve been, show us who we might become if we could muster the energy to try again. For this we hate them, because part of our nature is not wanting to know the truth even as we seek it.

Define them as you will: heavenly creatures, ghouls from the depths, figments of an imagination poisoned by church-fed guilt. Angels exist, and they’re out to get you.

Don’t believe me? What about that time walking toward the park, when you stepped right over the legs of a greasy man slumped along a painted wall? The kind of man you normally don’t notice, but the deep blue façade made you look. You thought, he’s drowning and he doesn’t even know how to swim. Remember the tiny pricks that crept up the nape of your neck as you kept walking? How your breath quickened and suddenly you felt transported to the room where, ten years earlier, you’d looked your withered father in the eye and said, No I did not come home to help you? You flinched at the sound of that girl’s voice, spiteful and small. Tried to erase the image as you jaywalked across the avenue. You wondered why the scene came to you, blamed randomly firing neurons, as if science could deliver all mystery to its rightful place.

Yes, I’m saying that man was one. What he looked like is incidental. You maintained stride, pushed away the unknowns, but he’ll return. They are quick to disguise, angels, which makes sense. They couldn’t do their work otherwise.


Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.