God
Knows,
Even Angels
Fall...
"Come here, Jessie...!"
"There's a good girl!"
"You're Mommy's little angel, aren't you, Jess!"
"Well! I don't know what's got into her today! She's normally such an angel..."
"Sit still dearest... Mommy just wants to take a photograph... stop crying sweetie. Where's that angelic look you normally give the camera?"
Voices of the past.
I have been haunted by voices from the past ever since... she died.
I refused to stop crying. I knew it was wrong, that if you went you would never
return, and I would be all alone again. I thought if I cried, you would stay,
but you went anyway.
I thought you had stopped loving me, Momma... I thought you had given up on
me, your little angel...
I never knew you were an angel too...
They found me, Momma; I tried to run, but they found me. Now the brand of the
Rockets is burned forever on my mind. The brand that means nothing but pain
and devastation.
Oh, the irony of it all! I thought we were supposed to be protecting the world
from devastation?
They found us, Momma; my angel and I... They stripped us of our snowy wings
and threw us to the cold, hard ground.
It hurt when we fell, Momma... we were so good at our job... too good. The only
real missions they sent us on were the ones we did in secret. We had a cover
job, though... it was up to us to mess up missions in public and put the police
off their guard. Then, when we had lulled them into a false sense of security,
we would strike!
In, then out like a viper bite, leaving our poison behind us.
But we killed, Momma... so many people whose lives were cut so short because
of us... I can still see it, Momma... Four, maybe five years old, little thing,
long blond hair that fell in his eyes; blue eyes; angel's eyes...
Long blond hair, streaked with blood, falling forward across his eyes; blue
eyes that were once beautiful; now closed in death.
Four, maybe five years old...
Little angel, fallen in death.
We tried to run, Momma... we wanted to be free of the evils forever... But they
found us again. We grew new wings and tried to fly away from them together,
where they could never reach us, but Momma, they caught us before our feet could
even leave the ground...
We fell again, but we still have our wings...
They killed him, Momma... I will never know why, and I will never want to know
why, but I know how...
They shot him, Momma, they shot my angel. My sweet, sweet angel just lying there,
on a crimson carpet of blood. Long hair, streaked with blood, falling forward
across his eyes; green eyes that were once beautiful; now closed in death.
A mirror image of the little angel from so long ago; this is MY angel, fallen
in death...