Do You Believe?
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When it began, it began quietly. The awe of seeing such lovely beings far outweighed the horror of what they were doing. To scream would have been to offend those beautiful representations of everything that was right and just. If it was their intention to harm those they visited, was it not only because the inhabitants of this world had done something unforgivable, some sin that even Heaven could not look past? Their wrath was swift and merciless, and all who stood before them could blame no one but themselves for that imaginary transgression which had led them to this place. The thought that perhaps Heaven did not support this slaughter was an unimaginable one.
When the first resistance occurred, it was in the form of a question, one terrified word: Why? The answer was never given. When those that escaped this onslaught first began to spread word of what was happening, no one believed it. Was this the manner of the rapture, the form of sending those who believed to Heaven? The question asked of each stricken person was a seemingly simple one.
Do you believe in God?
The answer was a fatal one, either way it was answered. Yes would bring about the death of the body-no would slowly kill the spirit. That first question was asked again and again, but there was never an answer, only a question. Questions, questions. Bodies, blood. Tears, pleading. And finally, defiance. An almost manic fervor arose in those that remained to answer the question, and the radiant ones were caught by surprise at such a response to their presence. Answers came then, spoken through voices that flowed like music, enchanting and unforgettable.
Ascending to Heaven, that Blessed place of Light, they explained, is a gift and a curse beyond the wildest of imaginations and dreams. It is all that was ever longed for, and all that was ever reviled.
To have a worth less than that of the blind creatures they killed, to serve them-it seemed-had been too much to ask of those most recognized Holy ones. Far from the gates of Heaven, wings and hands were stained red with the blood of those who adored that One above them, followed His path and His word. Never would they allow themselves to be indebted to those who so blindly gave their souls to Him. As fear and panic spread, some turned away, joining those who spoke with honeyed lips and poisoned tongues.
As fear and panic spread, the answer to the question that was resounding around the world had never been clearer to some. They took up arms against those blessed demons of sanctity and blood. Wings were ripped and shredded, feathers were stained with divine drops, flames hungrily consumed those saintly figures that belonged now to them.
Do you believe in God?
With each individual, the question was answered again and again. Children shouted it and ran with daggers and bare feet through the streets. The Elderly whispered it in their beds to those fell hallowed ones that were left, carving their way across the world despite the resistance of those creatures they deemed so far beneath them. The young and fit answered with bullets and torches, with biting steel and burning loyalty.
When it began, it began quietly. Belief was a scarce enough thing. As word spread of what was happening, so did belief. As belief increased, so did loyalty. The need to protect that faith no matter the cost. It was a fragile thing in the face of such luminescent fury.
When it ended, it ended quickly. Never would the fallen fly again-each had their wings ripped methodically from their shoulders. Only one question was asked of them before they burned.
Do you believe in God?
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