Angel

Boring. So very boring…

Angel soared over the cityscape looking straight down at the swarming sea of coloured specks that thought themselves important. His vast, feathered wingspan held firm upon the changing winds and created a stark white beacon against the uninterrupted blue sky, signaling his presence to the insignificant ants going about their lives below. Who knew that being the most powerful being on Earth would be so…dull.

He drifted above the buildings, monitoring the streets. Every now and then he might tuck in his wings to dive between the tallest buildings, taking the right-angle turns at the fastest speed possible, while avoiding slamming into the windows on the opposite side. He made the turns perfectly every time, which was…tiresome; the excitement waning through endless repetition of perfection. 

What's the point in being a crime fighting hero, when there’s no damn crime! Are these tiny, distant people really so spineless now?

Angel let out a frustrated roar, safe that no one would be able to hear him at an altitude where only he could play. The build up of restlessness after so long without anything to do was making his self-imposed duty feel unbearable.

Meandering along on his never-changing route, high above another soulless, near identical American city, he reminisced on those early days of racing the police scanner between overlapping emergencies across the country. He used to spend his nights outmaneuvering speeding cars or performing last minute saves of citizens falling from skyscrapers. He remembered landing full speed onto burning buildings and subduing entire gangs single handed. Sometimes all in one night. These days, he was reduced to a robotic sentry, his mere presence enough to halt any thought of crime before it began. It was mind-numbing. He found his mind wandering while his body went through the memorised motions, thinking back to more chaotic days.

*****

Born with tiny wings to match his equally adorable fingers and toes, Angel, named for his uniqueness, had been celebrated and admired around the globe. He was naturally heralded as a religious icon, worshipped by believers of all kinds and responsible for the conversion of many an atheist. He was conversely, also declared an emissary of the apocalypse by another crowd. To some he was an agent of alien communication, others a messenger from Olympus and of course to a large number, the result of government experimentation. He was all these things before even truly opening his eyes for the first time. In response to the hysteria, he had been lifted from his mothers arms only a day after birth, for his own protection. Having no memory of the father, she had opened him up to immaculate conception rumours but as a grown man with more experience of life, he looked back and assumed she was just irresponsible with her affections. After all, she was the kind of woman to hand over a newborn just because he was different…as for what price she had accepted, he still did not want to know.

Viewing mankind’s brutality up close as he grew, Angel was ultimately grateful to have been raised under the watchful eyes of the facility. One human woman with no resources could never have kept him safe. Most of the scientists studying him had stayed on long term contracts, giving him stability and a family of sorts. For their continued attention he had been happy to help them all with their work. The physical pain was worth bearing to earn genuine smiles from the specialists when he succeeded in helping them reach their goals. No matter their discipline, each expert had always maintained that he was special. As he grew older and became more thoughtful, Angel devised his own conclusion…he was just a boy. A boy with wings sure, but he didn’t see any other difference between himself and the ones on the television. He liked all the same things and acted in the same ways, he didn’t hear the word of God or know anything his adopted family didn’t. He just wanted to play with his toys and draw with his crayons. His contrary belief would not however, prevent him from wanting to make his many parents proud and so he happily submitted and endured their tests, in pursuit of those accepting smiles. 

Angel had always regretted what happened on his twelfth birthday. The smell of chocolate cake still turned his stomach even all those years later. Going outside hadn’t seemed like such a big ask; at the time it hadn’t seemed so different to the flight hanger he had always exercised his wings in. In truth it had all just been bad timing; the hormone induced tantrum combined with the manifestation of his telekinesis. They had all died so…easily. Angel’s resultant freedom had been difficult for him at first. The world had seemed so large and unpredictable with the loss of his guardians, meaning the adjustment was…messy.

In the short time it took him to master the turbulent skies, he realised he could travel anywhere he wanted at speed, meaning things had not seemed quite so insurmountable after that. His newly discovered ability to manipulate matter, pushing and pulling objects through space and deconstructing them with his mind, meant that he could also have anything he wanted. Eventually, interactions with real people in the world became easy, thanks to a little confidence and a lot of practice. If anyone said no to him or made Angel feel uncomfortable, the problem was easily solved by evaporating said obstacle from existence. It was in this way that he was able to burn through his teens in a frenzy of consumption, experiencing everything the world could offer. He sampled every cuisine, drank like a fish, played hours of video games, extravagantly furnished a stolen home and of course bedded an endless stream of curious women. Anytime law enforcement attempted to confront him, they were ripped apart at a molecular level on his doorstep. Luckily, he perfected the ability so well that he could do this without even leaving any residue to clean up.

Years went by and he matured into a young man surrounded by comfort and excess. It seemed that his body was able to metabolise the insane level of calories without putting on an ounce of fat; he remained slender and muscled and able to fly without the hindrance of a large belly to spoil the aerodynamics. It was at this age he stumbled upon comic books, having rinsed his way through all other forms of entertainment. He was hooked immediately. Was this what the world had expected of him? To be a hero, to save them from themselves and act as prophet of a higher standard? Is that what the tests had been for?

Oops. He thought again and again as he read through the illustrated tales displaying actions directly opposite from his own indulgence.

From that day forward Angel vowed to be selfless and to help those in need. So he donned a pair of bright white pants and shirtlessly patrolled the cities in search of criminals. There had been plenty to choose from in those early days. All he need do is fly at night and he would eventually stumble across some petty crime or another in progress. He discovered tuning into police frequencies allowed him to race the uniforms to the scene of major incidents and if not prevent it, avenge the victims. In fact once the police arrived and saw him present they would usually move on; they had probably known he didn’t require any assistance. Angel did let some of the offenders live, he had read enough of the stories to know the hero was supposed to hand them over to justice. Most though, he decided were just too despicable to allow back into the system, so he simply vaporised them and moved on after a job well done. 

When the crime statistics were released for that first year, Angel was stunned to see that reported crimes had actually increased. How could it be that his efforts had so little effect? The city had labelled him the hand of God, assuming him to be dishing out divine retribution against sinners, but that seemed to only encourage more dissidence. Well, his years of media consumption held the answer. He remembered that the low level criminal was not autonomous, they were simply a symptom of a desperate system, one controlled and influenced by a corrupt elite. They would need to be his target if he were to save the world from itself.

Systematically he confronted every member of high society that he could find accused of wrong doing. As it turns out, that was almost all of them. Once questioned, the confrontation always ended in their deaths. How could he ignore the admissions of such degeneracy? Even at his most excessive, Angel had never even thought to deal in children, to extort the drug trade or to profit on the extended poverty and suffering of others. Yes he removed people from his path when required, but it was always instant and with no hard feelings. These people were a different kind of sadistic and did not deserve his mercy.

Angel’s ceaseless eradication of the worlds most powerful, accidentally brought about a new world order with him at its helm. No one was able to stand against his abilities, no weapon was strong enough to overcome his telekinesis and so he was eventually able to rid the world of corruption, one execution at a time. Feared and respected by all as divine judge, jury and executioner he had brought an end to human resistance, crime and misdeeds. He had secured his own boredom.

*****

And so he found himself on yet another uneventful patrol. He would be the first to admit to causing trouble on occasion, in order to resolve it, just for a bit of fun. But mostly he floated through the air, watching and guarding against any misbehaviour. He would return home that evening to his life of luxury…as he always did.

Perhaps I should insist on some more permanent companionship. Maybe a dog or a friend would give me some entertainment. A wife would do me no good…the same woman every day would be even more monotonous than this.

His thoughts wandered across possibilities of new stimulus as they often did, distracting him enough that when the impact slammed into his side it actually knocked the wind out of him. Gaining control of his downward spiral he turned and hovered in the air, only to see a mirror image. Confused and disorientated he looked again. No...it wasn’t a reflection, it was another man, winged and marked with Angel’s exact features…a…twin? 

Loving brother or bitter rival, he did not yet know. What he did know was that this newcomer would at least be interesting and that brought a wicked smile to his lips.