Die Writing


Posted in Guns of St. Michael by erdaron on May 2, 2011


No badass one-liners this time.


The Guardian Angel led the Young Man through the massive doors into the hallway. It was heavy and dark in here, like a permanent dusty twilight. Everything was cold marble and oppressively dark wood.

“Await,” said the angel. The deep voice echoed within his robes and armor plates. “The Arbiters will now come to their decision.” He turns around and moved back toward the doors.

“Wait, hold on, they don’t know everything. They can’t decide like that!”

The Guardian Angel paused, perplexed by the please.

“The Arbiters do know everything. All your deeds and experiences have been recorded. All your actions, thoughts, feelings, every last sensation are known.”

“But they weren’t there! How can they understand if they weren’t there?”

There was silence as the Angel froze in his stride, and rested his weighty gaze on the Young Man.

“I think I deserve a chance to explain myself. I am more than a bunch of records!”

“YOU WILL WAIT.” The words filled the hallway, compressed the air, more of a thud than a sentence. Like a violent blast of a hurricane, they left the hallway quieter, more silent than before.

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