|247: Mess You've Cleaned Up
||[Sep. 6th, 2008 ~ 11:39 pm]
the Archangel Gabriel
I remember Eden. And after Eden, too. Things going downhill. Remember having to show the wretched monkeys all the tedious things they had to know now, since they'd gone and screwed up Paradise.
Things like pruning plants to make them grow healthy. Didn't have to do that before they dirtied Eden with their stupidity. Everything was perfect, everything grew in its ideal form according to its designs, nothing needed trimming or cleaning up 'round the edges.
So I sat there shaking my head over their colossal screw-up, but showing them the needful things: how to cut away the dead and sickly wood from the relatively healthy, for one. And how to slaughter an animal: how to feel for the pulsing beat there in the throat, and with one clean cut open up the jugular to the air. How to dress the meat once the poor innocent beast was dead.
Angel of death, so these things were part of my function, it was deemed.
At first I didn't understand, why me. I resented the task: I resented that I should have to take life from the green-and-growing, or from the gentle-and-animal, because humans had screwed up. Their mistake hit everything. Why should I have to waste my time teaching them the art of murder for the sake of their survival?
It's taken me just a little over four thousand years to get it. But I understand now, I understand what the Name wanted me to get from those long bloody hours of slitting cow throats and cutting branches. Like so much else in His creation, it was a small-scale model for the true act, a parable if you will.
I understand my purpose.
To cut, not only the dead and the sickly, but the sprawl of this human disease that infects this world. To trim away the weeds, no matter how stubborn they grow, how fiercely they cling to their base little simian existences. To put my fingers on the pulse-point of the throat of mankind, and to slice, clean and easy, through the fat, through the mammalian filth, and bleed them out. Slaughter the flock down to a more manageable size.
They're a mess. They are a breeding, sick, amoral mess, and in comparison the offal of the butchered cow is as rubies and emeralds. They are a mess, but I have learned the lesson of the parable and know the necessity of the cleansing I bring.
Like the man says.... it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.
gabriel * the prophecy series (movie) * word count: 420