Angels Before Man

by Rafael Nicolás

“I see Father really took His time with you.”

“You shouldn’t stay in your head so much, brother. Your life is out here.”

Everything was so, so perfect; what else was there to do but cry?

“To be incarnate, they say, is to bleed and to hurt.”

“Mended clothing is a sign of love and use, brother.”

Lucifer was prepared to say he’d definitely drank before, but Rosier spoke over him, “No, I’ve kept him away from alcohol. God bless.”

“I know I’m being ridiculous.” It was frustrating — knowing your emotions were erratic but that knowledge not making them leave you.

“You’re uncomfortable.” Lucifer’s shoulders slacked, just a little — the joy of a person naming your troubles.

“Brother, you can’t befriend someone only because you want something out of them.”

“I think someone broke a few plates.” “Someone?” Rosier scoffed. “Is this ‘someone’ named Asmodeus?”

“I like the white lilies in your hair.” “Thank you! I like them too. White lilies symbolize purity, they say.” “What is purity?” “Not sure! I suppose that symbolizes something too.”

“Father told me. He said, ‘Look at my morning star. My Lucifer.’”

and Lucifer realized that he was acting odd, acting different than the other angels, and there existed no greater horror.

Lucifer skipping ahead and humming with barely a thought in his pretty head.

Certainly, there could be nothing wrong with being a bit proud.

“You are loved the way you are, and you are all that you need to be. You are even more than I wanted of you.”

“You are loved, my morning star. See how I love you. The angels and you are what matter most to me.”

Occasionally, Lucifer wondered why their Father couldn’t just be literal about the nature of things. Always, it was metaphors, allusions, words designed for interpretation. The first falsehoods.

‘No, what can be wrong? In paradise, nothing can be wrong, and nothing can be wrong with me. God loves me. He would not make me wrong.’

What else could an angel be but happy?

“Something has to be done about your insecurity,”

And if I’m told to take to the stars again, I’ll just take you with me.”

For the first time in his short life, pride unraveled in his chest; and Lucifer smiled, delicate and sweet as honey.

“Well, you deserve a lot more than that. I feel like I have to invent new ways to be nice to you.” “I’m sorry⁠—” “No, don’t apologize. You’re a sweet angel, and I like to spend time with you. Don’t argue with me.”

The two angels tried to take in the Lord’s barely-conceived garden, for the last time, but they could hardly see anything more than each other.

He might’ve come to believe God had never existed, and the angels had made Him up as comfort for their occasional troubles or as an explanation for their existence.

So if Lucifer had ever the choice, he might’ve decided to inspire the Lord’s hate, rather than His quiet displeasure. A hand that strikes from the dark is at least proof of a hand. It’s kinder to be beaten than to be left untouched.

“Don’t think so much,” Baal told Lucifer, instead, with a surprising tenderness. “Or you’ll get lost in your mind one day, and I’ll never find you again.”

‘I feel aged. I feel as if you’ve aged me with your own hands, Michael. Ripened me. Like a red fruit, at the edge of a branch, hanging at its peak. Beautiful — and just about to fall.’

And for Lucifer, who had now met death, it seemed paradise was not, thus, absence of pain, but promise of mending.

“Hello. I’m furious with you.” Lucifer moved away from him, smiling more than he wanted to show, so he turned away, began leading the way through the inner garden. “Oh, what did I do?” “I noticed someone cleaned up my kitchen while I was gone.”

He loved, and he was loved.

Lucifer said, quietly, “I’m still learning to love myself. Will you be patient with me?”

This, this here, could be worship. ‘This—’ Lucifer pressed an innocent kiss to the prince’s sweet, divine mouth. This could be religion. Michael smiled at him, rare timidity in his eyes. All was as it should be, and they were happy.

im actually going to cry and throw up i cant finish this book

It was fun, it seemed, to do things you’re not supposed to.

In the process, he’d found that he could spend a thousand years celebrating his friend, could write songs for him, dance for him.

im goin to ghbrow up

“You wanted it all to end. I will make it end.” I watched you slaughter them, Father. I watched you beat my siblings against the void, we begged you to stop, you wouldn’t, you called us ungrateful children, we said, “Who are you?” and you punished us.’

I watched, as one by one, you caressed the faces of those you had tortured so fully moments before, calling yourself loving, wishing them sweet dreams,

“Is Father good because He is good, or because He says He is good?”

How beautiful — to die. How merciful. To exist and then to not, to have your time be spent, to have everything only once.’

Haven’t you ever wondered why Father is so strict about our subservience? It’s because disobedience is creation,” a shivering breath, “create with me, Michael, and let’s call it sin.”

Creation at last — the death of an angel.’

“You’re everything to me, the stars and the moons, the heat and the cold, the earth and the seeds, the waters and the flowers, but you are not God.”

Lucifer felt the tears land upon his own cheeks, as if they were his own.

“We could have had eternity, we could have had forever with one another, we could have counted every ripple in the sea.”

When the Lord ordered them cast down, they fell in joy — the first shooting stars.