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Issue 32 |
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Alone at the Edge of the DayJ. Albert BellFantasy
Jibraeel brought the dead to the edge of the world; other angels took over from there. Mortals rarely ever took notice.
The place he brought them today had once been a favorite; it held more power than most: wind-swept coast speckled with surf-polished rocks, the vast ocean just beyond--everything seemed to collide here, vying for dominance. Even the refinery on the barrier islands spoke of the precarious edge humanity walked between flourishing and extinction. To bring transitioning souls here had once been fulfillment itself. Lately, though, it seemed just a burden. They were clamoring about him now with their mortal concerns: "What of my husband...my wife...my children? My parents will be lost without me! Where are we going, and what does it all mean?" Jibraeel had no answers for any of them. But that wasn't what they wanted to hear. "What do you mean that's not your department? And, what exactly is, 'Celestial Rest?'" this from a chatty soul who had been asking questions the whole time, making the trip even more of a chore. "You will see for yourselves in a moment," Jibraeel said, sending them the standard wave of calm well-being. He hoped it would quell the inquiries for a bit longer. Alas, it did not. His patience might well be infinite, but his passion for the job was waning. Nowadays, Jibraeel felt like he was phoning it in. Now he just brought them, turned them over and left, then he went back to gather some more. Their numbers grew every year, and today there looked to be thousands. As he swooped in toward the ocean, the Welcoming Host in sight just ahead, the sun was beginning to stain the horizon, completing the amalgam with the edge of the day. The cloud of souls swept in behind him like a noisy dust trail. "We have to go back," one was still saying. "My wife doesn't know where the insurance policy is. She'll--" "Shhh," Jibraeel whispered, silencing this one with a flick of his wings. It wasn't that he was unsympathetic to the poor soul's plight, just that he had noticed something odd up ahead. Out on the rocky shoreline, with the water lapping just beneath him, a mortal boy pointed toward the sky at the hovering Host. He then turned to Jibraeel and smiled brightly. Jibraeel was so stunned that he didn't bother taking his charges to the host; he just waved them and their questions on ahead. They filed around and off toward the host, mumbling something about a trip to the complaint department. Soon, Jibraeel and the boy were left alone. "You can see them?" Jibraeel asked after the chattering died down, anxious to understand this turn of events. "Yes," said the boy. "Can't you?" "Well, yes, but--" "Where are they going?" "To heaven, of course, but--" "To be with God?" "Yes, certainly, but--" "What's God like?" "Pardon me?" "God," the boy said patiently, as if Jibraeel were being a bit slow about things. "What's He like?" "Surrounded by impenetrable light, beyond which no one can know," Jibraeel said finally, giving the boy the standard handbook answer. "But you said they were going to God. Won't they know?" "It's...er, it's a bit complicated." "You don't know do you?" "Um," Jibraeel stuttered. Then, without thinking, "Well, it's not my department." "Why do you do it if you don't know what it's for?" "I've been wondering about that myself lately," Jibraeel said, stunned into an honest answer. "Because it's my job," he said half-heartedly. "That's not much of an answer. Do you get to help them throughout their lives?" asked the boy. "No, that's not my department either." "Could they find their way here on their own?" "Yes, I suppose, but--" "It doesn't really sound like you're needed. Isn't there anything you'd rather be doing?" the boy asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Suddenly, Jibraeel thought about the wonders of the universe: stellar nurseries erupting with light, galaxies colliding beautifully, slowly; even the heavenly chorus, singing on eternally without him. There was so much he would rather be doing, yes; so many things that might have more meaning. For that matter, there was the question of humanity's worthiness. At times, they could be so petty. Surely, there were others more deserving... Suddenly, Jibraeel understood. He rounded on the boy in a blaze of holy fire, raising his voice to be heard through all Creation. "I am the Bearer of Souls, and The Comfort of the Dying," Jibraeel thundered. The boy just smiled a bit wider. "Those last didn't seem particularly comfortable." This was truth, but Jibraeel was remembering the countless souls he had helped to cross, and he remembered each one of their terrible doubts. It was true he had few answers to their questions, but what he brought them was just as important. He remembered the succor of peace he left them with, long before his passion wore thin. "I know what you are and what you are doing--" Jibraeel continued. "Are you certain?" "--and never again will I be dissuaded from my task." Brandishing a flaming sword in his hand, Jibraeel bellowed, "Get thee behind me, for now and evermore!" As the echo of his words died out like rolling thunder over the water, the boy simply faded from sight. The sound of his chuckling, however, lingered a few minutes more. Confused but terribly invigorated, feeling again the great joy of purpose, Jibraeel looked around and said, "God?"
Dragons, Knights, & Angels ISSN 1558-9803
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