Angels Don't Cry
Page 3
I float above the world in a polar orbit - well, in orbit that was polar but a short time ago. Solar winds caress me, and radiation from far-off nebulas cascades over me with familiar warmth. The iPod's earpieces are quietly growling What a Wonderful World in Louis Armstrong's unforgettable, mellifluous voice. Up here, with the Sun a hand's reach away, with everything glowing and spinning, I realize how much I'm going to miss Times Square with all its cute little gimmicks, lights, twinkles, smells, garbage -- I sigh. In God's defense, He really didn't go out of his way to destroy Earth, He just kind of took a step back and tweaked gravity. The moon started falling into the Earth and all hell broke loose, pardon the pun. It took exactly six days for the world to be destroyed. A cosmic symmetry, that. Now there's no more green or blue left. From my vantage point all I see chunks of the tiny planet I so loved once. Four letters signifying what a lonely archangel feels? "LOSS" I etch in and the tip breaks. The iPod loses its charge.
The image of Lisa's soul keeps pushing itself back into my mind. I don't know why this is the one to surface. Maybe because it was the last one I ever photographed. She lived her life as it was presented to her, never truly happy, believing that God was there to keep her from stumbling, believing He was there by her side every step of the way. Him and His eternal, infinite patience.
Then I turn around and glance towards the inky cosmos. I can barely see it, but I know it's there. A tiny spaceship, the first interstellar manned flight. It truly had no chance of survival - well, at least before God allowed for the destruction of the world. Now me and my kin will ward off derelict asteroids and monitor computer glitches. We will guide the shuttle well and true to Alpha Centauri. And then we'll tell God. He'll have three or so centuries to cool off, and I'm confident we'll be able to convince Him to try again.
On board the ship are the eight volunteers, shot off one day before the moon became God's wreaking ball. On board there are also refrigeration units filled with genetic samples of every known living thing found on Earth. Of course God will be furious with us, but in the end He'll surrender, put on His best face, and appear to the astronauts. Naturally, He'll take all the credit, just as He did with Noah. We don't mind. Let Him be worshiped, that's His thing. All we care about are people.
I turn back to Earth. Something appears on my cheek, something wet and salty. But it can't be a tear, probably just some melting ice from a comet's tail. It can't be a tear. Angels don't cry.
An Excerpt from
ASHES OF HEROES
Book One of the War of Regret Series
By Gabriel Archer & Jack Canaan