The Art of the Fall


He’d learned long ago that it wasn’t always the fall that mattered.  Sometimes, it was the art of the fall.  It had happened before.  The scene had been awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time.  However, like a phoenix rising from the ash, chaos had given way to life.  There had been rebirth from the destruction.

Now, he stood upon the edge.  If he did this, death would be the least of his worries.  It wasn’t just rebellion, it was treason.  Treason was always harshly punished.

His hands shook as he stared at the horn in his hands.  One note; that was all it would take.  One note would bring about destruction and rebirth.  One terrifying note that would mean more than any other sound had ever meant.  It would make the world tremble.  It would make people cower and hold their loved ones.  It had been a long time since they had done that.  Life, such a precious thing, meant nothing until it was gone.  He knew.  The wounds of loss still tore at him, gutted him, and caused him immeasurable pain that created a void.

It wasn’t time.  He knew that.  He knew that better than anyone.  His instructions were clear and they dictated that it wasn’t time.

However, he could no longer stand by and feel the pain while he watched the others take their happiness for granted.  Rage filled the void.

Gabriel put the horn to his lips and blew.  The note made the air feel intolerable.  It shook the ground beneath his feet.  The rage stilled.

The sound shattered the first seal.  A beast leapt from the broken seal and said “Come and See.”

Gabriel prepared to face the wrath of the Creator and blew the horn again.

 

©Hadena James 2014

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living or dead or actual situations is completely coincidental.

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