Characterisation

Gabriel is angry.

He’s angry at Molly and at the Unmoved Master, and at himself for feeling anything.

Yes, anger is much easier to deal with than these ridiculous mortal emotions invading his light.

It’d been so much easier being self-absorbed and only concerned with how he looked. Existence had been good, but then the Red Tape had erupted, and he’d made choices and things had changed and it was his fault.

Stomping into the office, Gabriel is faced with his adoring fans and Management, ready to deliver him into exile. Posing, he smiles like normal and thinks that at least the pretty face is good for something.  No one bothers to speak to him because of course he can’t make conversation; he’s only good at delivering other people’s words.

Realising Molly is the only one not looking at him, Gabriel feels his outer light quiver, like a tremor before a volcano. It threatens to destroy his display of indifference. Focusing on management, Gabriel tries to listen, but his eyes keep flicking back to the hunched figure. The only one working.

He’s about to be contaminated and she’s busy counting beads.

Then the words break through, “…bravery…sacrifice…” says Management in that pompous voice. Stifling a laugh, Gabriel realises that he wasn’t being brave, and he’d never been brave.

He’d left with the Defenders, because he was terrified of what he’d done; the message he’d delivered, the consequences it’d wrought. He’d told Molly that it was her fault Lucy had Fallen, but it wasn’t it was his and he’d been too much of a coward to admit it.

Even now, accepting contamination isn’t about being brave, he thinks, but about fixing the mess he made. He doesn’t feel brave. He feels the light at his centre being smothered by doubt and his legs weak with fear.

If only Molly would look at him, he’d be able to get through this. If he only knew she understood.

The hiss of the chamber doors opening, sounds like a snake. Turning Gabriel, maintains his shining glory and steps over the threshold. The doors hiss shut, and red light illuminates the faces of the crowd. Their smiling faces now look like demonic grins, jeering at him.

No longer able to see even Molly’s hunched figure, Gabriel’s light dims a little more.

Sighing, he braces his wings, ready for anything, and reaches to press the red button.  Just as his long fingers brush the surface, a brilliant, golden glow overwhelms the red flashing lights. Looking up, Gabriel sees Molly hovering above everyone.

His own light brightens in response, and another feeling overwhelms the anger and hate and fear at his centre.  It swells like a balloon filling with air and rising above all the pettiness.

Her thin, pink lips move. “Stay” she whispers.

Shaking his head, he feels something sting his eyes. He can’t.

She nods, maybe she does understand or at least accepts it. Mouthing three words back to her, he presses the Contamination button.

He’d walked out of the Never-Ending Office with Molly too many times to count but this time is different. This time Molly expects him to fly with her.

He freezes on the top step, long enough for Molly to look back.

Hearing a rustle of wings and feeling a caress of warm air swirl round him, he crosses his arms in defiance.

“What’s the matter?” asks Molly.

“I…” starts Al.

“Alexander?”

Molly had only used his full name once before, the sound shocked him into mumbling a reply.

“I can’t fly.”

“What? How? How did I not know that?” says Molly dropping to the steps. “But everyone can fly.”

“I try but I never quite get the hang of it,” says Al, itching his nose.

“You just have to glow,” says Molly with all the confidence of someone who can do something.  “Glow as bright as you can, and your wings will grow.”

“But that’s not who I am.”

“You’re Luminous. Be bright. Be light.”

To please Molly, Al tenses and strains, contorting his face into odd expressions but the more he tries the heavier and duller he feels. Giving up he slumps to the ground.

“Look, its easy,” says Molly and in a blink, without any apparent effort, Molly’s wings spread light and bright from her back.

“I can’t do what you want. I can’t glow like you!”

“But this is how everyone dances!” says Molly, her tone sharp with frustration.

“I’m not trying to dance, Molly,” says Al.

Realising what she’d said, Molly hears Lucie’s words in her own voice. Turning back to Al, Molly sits down next to him.

“Sorry, Al,” she says, softly.

“It’s okay Molly. Not your fault I’m imperfect.”

“You’re perfectly you,” says Molly, “Just because you don’t do something the way everyone else does, does not make you wrong or bad. We just have to find the best way to make you glow. So, what makes you glow?”

Looking away, Al shrugs. No way was he going to admit that the time of day he glowed brightest was when he saw her.

“Okay, how about we just start walking and have a think about it.”

“No, you should go on with out me. I’m not going to be of any help.”

“Come on, silly,” says Molly, and grabbing his hand pulls Al off the step. As soon as her fingers lace round his Al feels a sliver of warmth shoot up his arm and grow hotter and brighter. Gripping her hand, he lets her pull him up. Too soon she lets go but the spark has already ignited the fire in his centre. Adding fuel to the furnace, Al can’t believe that anyone is willing to walk with him, when they could fly, especially Molly. The light at his centre brightens and turning to Molly he smiles and when she smiles back he feels an explosion at his back. Twisting round, he hits Molly in the face with his light, white, bright wings.

Skidding to a stop at the lake Molly tears up a load of pebbles. About to fling them into the Lake, she stops. What has the Lake ever done to her?

Nothing, her brain replies.

But by asking the right question, her mind lights up and pinpoints on the cause of all this mess.

Out of breathe but not out of anger, Molly stomps through the Always-Orchard, smashes through the Garden of Forms, and on until she can feel the heat of the Forest of Flames that lines the Chasm of Darkest Nothing.

Glaring she focuses on the Unmoved Master’s manor house, just sitting there in sight of all the bad that’s happening but doing nothing to help.

The Unmoved Master caused all this but does nothing.

Slipping one of the stones from her bag, Molly feels the weight of the stone and with cold detachment imagines the large pebble, sailing over the chasm and hitting one of those twinkling windows in the Master’s house.

Molly wonders what the Master would do. She’d seen enough young mortals damage and break other people’s property and it invariably led to a confrontation; exactly what she wants.

Tossing the stone gently in the air, she takes a few steps back from the edge to give herself a run up and then drawing back her arm, she swings it over her head. Letting all her strength, fury and will flow down her arm she releases the stone.

The pebble is launched, and away. Flying straight and on target it appears to sail over the Chasm of Darkest Nothing but then something happens.

Too fast for Molly to react, the stone ricochets off some invisible wall and returns back over Molly’s head. She catches a glimpse of the small projectile, heading towards a cluster of trees. Racing up to see where it lands Molly finds Pear Tree, pale bark stripped away and highlighting the damage done. A stone is stuck in its trunk, like an exposed heart.

“Did you do that?” asks Gabriel, his voice singing, with humour and mischievous.

“Nooo,” lies Molly. “It’s always been like that.”

“I doubt, that all pear trees grow a stone in their trunk.”

“How do you know? Have you seen a pear tree in the Wild?” asks Molly. “Or it could have been a Chorister. They’re always playing tricks.”

“Sure,” says Gabriel, crossing his arms and posing in glorious splendour.  Molly is tempted to throw a pebble at him just to ruffle his feathers. “So, this Chorister must have had quite a good aim to hit the trunk.”

“Maybe it was just an accident.”

“Lumini don’t go around throwing stones accidentally.”

Suddenly they hear a cry from the garden. Turning in unison, they see a figure waddling toward them; basket in hand and waving a folk overhead.

“I don’t think the Gardener is pleased, with the addition to the garden.” Hiding a smile, Molly speeds up and takes off. Gabriel laughs and jumps into the air after her.

Gabriel finds Molly sat on top the snow-capped mountain, looking out over glistening inland lakes. Smiling, his light brightens and the snow shimmers in reply. Molly looks up. He hadn’t been looking for her, but when she spots him and waves, he feels like he’s exactly where he should be; even if he’d never admit it.

About to land Gabriel notices she has company, and his wings falter.  Flapping hard to regain his composure he eyes her feline companion. The Form of Cat is stretched out over her legs, play fighting with the laces of her sandals.

His light shivers, but he refuses to acknowledge the fact that he doesn’t like cats. 

“Are you going to land?” says Molly, “Or are you too busy being Glorious.”

Determined not to show he’s afraid, he steers himself to a suitable spot away from Cat. But because he’s concentrating on watching the feline he’s not looking where he’s placing his feet and he stumbles.

Watching, Molly laughs.

Gabriel frowns, which only makes Molly laugh more. The sound is like happiness bursting from bubbles and sparklers fizzing brightly on a dark autumn night, but he’d never admit that either. Pretending nothing happened, he stretches out on Molly’s other side from the Form of Cat, who is now sitting upright and licking herself, with the epitome of feline vanity.

Positioning himself several feet away, Gabriel lies back and pretends to go to sleep.

“Seriously,” says Molly. “You fly all the way up here just to go to sleep.”

“I’m not asleep,” says Gabriel, “I’m simply resting in my spot. Normally it’s a lot quieter than this.”

“I was here first,” says Molly.

But before Gabriel can offer another retort, the Form of Cat has slunk round to the prone glorious form and pounced onto his chest.

Two oddly similar yowls break out from both the Cat and Gabriel. The latter jumps up, but the former is attached; her claws ripping at his tunic.

Laughing again Molly stands up and unhooks the Cat saying, “You big oaf, you scared her!”

“She pounced on me!” says Gabriel brushing his tunic and finding several loose threads, which he’ll have to fix later.

“Because of course big Glorious Gabriel can’t defend himself against a small itty-bitty-kitty,” says Molly using a soppy voice that grates on Glorious, mostly because he finds it so adorable.

“If I didn’t know any better,” says Molly, still talking to the form of Cat. “I’d think Glorious was afraid of you.”

“That’s ridiculous!” says Gabriel, brushing back his hair, without denying it.

“It would be ridiculous if it was true, but since it’s not, why don’t you have a cuddle to make up,” says Molly the mischievous, holding out the feline.

A moment ago, Cat had been purring loudly in Molly’s arms (another reason for Gabriel to be annoyed with the creature) but now Cat hisses; fangs and claws out at Gabriel.

“The feeling is mutual,” mutters Gabriel.

Placing Cat on the ground, Molly laughs.

Al has just saved Molly from the Contamination Chamber. Kass finds Molly, lying on the floor staring at the empty chamber.

“Why?” says Molly. “Why’d he do it?”

Tapping her sandals on the floor next to Molly’s head, Kass lets out a sound, something between a hiss and a sigh. Molly looks up, and Kass offers her something.

“What’s this?”

“A letter.”

“I can see that.”

“Al wrote it to you ages ago, he just never sent it.”

“How do you know?”

“He carried it around on his trolley. I saw it one time and asked him about it.”

“Have you read it?”

“Of course.”

“Kassandra!”

“It’ll help.”

“But…”

“Look at it this way, I finally get to be a messenger.”

Dear Molly

I don’t think I’ll every have the nerve to give this to you, but I’ve been thinking about it for so long and Kass gave me an idea. (I know, I can’t believe I’m doing something Kass suggested but here it is.) 

She pointed out that Messengers, are writers at light. I know I’m not the best messenger and so will probably be a terrible scribe. But I have to say these things somewhere and maybe if I write them down then I can let them go.

Thirty-thousand years ago, I was slower than everyone else. I was the last to step down onto the emerald Form of Grass, the last to wander through the Edge of the Light and the last to understand the name of things.

My light was dim, that’s how I was made.

Wandering along the edge of the Always Orchard, I was feeling lonely when I saw you race across Grass. You soared, and twirled, and stepped and spun, you were the most beautiful thing I’d seen in all the time we’d been witnesses.

You shone, and my own dim light caught fire.

But then Lucie arrived, and your brightness, your warm glow was smoothed. I know Lucie was the first and perfect, but her light was cold, and only made my light feel weak by comparison. How could I possibly compare to her grace, and perfection?

I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to tell you this at the time, or to stay and help you talk to Lucie. She told me to go away, and I went – but not really. Fading into the trees, I listened. I heard what she said. I heard the truth.

I know you were the First.

You’re the best of us, not because you demand we follow you and your way but because you encourage us to be the best versions of ourselves, to choose our own path.  Now you need to follow your own example.

Everyone knows you’re the most efficient postal worker, but that’s not all you can be. Ever since your argument with Lucie you’ve doubted yourself.

Don’t doubt yourself, you were made to shine brighter even than the Morning Star; one day you will.

I believe in you.

Your friend Alexander

Opening his eyes, Gabriel’s blinded by a white-light, like the reflection from snow. He closes his eyes and hears digging and a voice tutting at him.

“You’re lying in my peonies.”

“What?” says Gabriel squinting through his eyelids, but this time his vision’s filled with green stems and many coloured petals. After the empty grey of his dream, the colours are incandescent.   He drinks in the sight of them, until he feels the nudge of a pronged tool and moist soil seeping into his tailored tunic.  He really is lying in a flower bed.

“Urgh!” he says, jumping up and fixing his hair. “What happened?”

“You tried to cross the Chasm of Darkest Nothing…again,” says the same voice. “Did you expect a different result?”

“I..I…I don’t know,” says Gabriel looking round unsure. “How did I get here? Is this the Eternal Estate?”

A voice, that could both sooth and command, says with a chuckle, “No, you’re not nearly ripe enough. A girl saved you. There was a girl here last time; you seem to be beset with them.”

“The same girl? But Lucie fell,” says Gabriel. Spotting his bag, with an emergency mirror in it, he walks over to it.

“No, a different girl.”

None of the girls Gabriel knows would’ve left him, especially if they’d just saved him, they’d want recognition.  But then he remembered an incandescent light, brighter than any he’d seen before. Considering this, he grabs his bag and collects his staff. Then turning says, “And who are you?”

“Just the Gardener tending my flowers,” says the Gardener, collecting up a basket and turning away. “If you’ll excuse me?”

“But I need to know,” says Gabriel, stepping after the Gardener, his voice strained.

“Know what?” says the Gardener, turning back.

“The Truth.”

“About what?”

“Everything! About the First Message and Lucie and the Unmoved Master.”

“And you think the Truth is over there?” says the Gardener, nodding toward the Eternal Estate.

“The Unmoved Master knows everything.”

“The Truth is whatever you believe it is.”

“That doesn’t make any sense?” says Gabriel, rummaging through his bag. “Things either happen or they don’t; it doesn’t matter what I believe.”

“A plant grows. A plant is picked. Those are the facts. But is the picker a murderer? Is the gardener who weeds a destroyer?”

“But we can’t know what everyone thinks or feels.”

“How do you know if someone’s your friend?”

Gabriel shrugs.

“Exactly, you can’t. You just believe in them.”

“I believed Lucie was my friend,” says Gabriel staring into the mirror in his hand but for once he’s not seeing his outer reflection, instead he reflects on long buried memories. After a while, he continues, “She fell. Was I wrong to believe in her? Was I wrong to deliver the message?”

“Those seeds have been sown.”

“But all those mortals, the Red Ghosts. How can I fix it?”

“You believe it needs fixing? You believe you made the wrong choice?”

“Yes.”

“Then you better do something about it.”

I’m alone.

Lucie’s fallen, Mykal’s departed and Gabriel’s gone.

I’m alone in a never-ending office full of luminous immortals.

I can’t believe how quickly everything changed. One moment we were all friends, we were racing through the Light. I was dancing in the Garden of Forms.

I think I almost shone.

But Lucie said I’d never be a Star and then she went on a quest without me, and when they came back, things were different.

I don’t know why I care what Lucie thought, she was a liar, and after everything she’s now Fallen.  But I do. I care because she made me feel special, unique. She made me believe we were friends.

But if she was my friend the betrayal is all the greater.  Not hers, mine. I didn’t save her, couldn’t follow her onto Night-Stage.

My own fears held me back, but also her words, “You’ll never be a dancer.”

Words that first ignited anger, then sparked fear, now simmer at my core. I’m resigned to the reality of my existence.

I am not special.

I never was.

Lucie was right and when it came to it, when she needed me most, I let her down. I failed my best friend.

Lucie, Mykal and Gabriel were unique to me, but to them I was never unique, just one of many. They could never have felt about me the way I felt about them.  I’m a defective and deflated balloon, blown up only to be let go and streak pathetically round a room. The sound of a raspberry heralding my deflation. 

The only thing left for me to do is fulfil the orders of the First Message.

In a weird way, by helping, I still feel close to Gabriel.  Not that it matters anymore. The spark, that was there, is only a flicker now and will soon be extinguished, smothered by the knowledge that I am where I belong.

We’ve set up The Company. Of course, I wasn’t good enough to be Management. I wasn’t even good enough to be a Senior Analyst. I’m just a Decision Analyst. The Never-Ending Office is full of DAs. I’m one among many.

At least I have my own desk (more than I deserve). Here everything I have has a place and everything is kept in its place, especially my thoughts. 

Keeping busy, I bury any wandering memories about the beginning, about Lucie, Mykal or Gabriel.  Sometimes a stray recollection sneaks to the surface of my mind; the mirage of a smile, the ghost of a touch, the echo of a laugh. They are like moles popping up and leaving a heap of disturbed soil.

My mind is full of mole hills.

Keeping everything neat, tidy and in its place, I pat down the disturbed area and reseed the ground with efficient ideas.

Maybe as time passes, there’ll be fewer mole hills and one day there’ll be none. One day I’ll forget that anything ever changed in the Edge of the Light.

Two more stops before Al can stable his trolley. He’s spent the day being the unseen miracle-grow for many busy and important luminous immortals.  Making his deliveries, he’s gathered gossip like a shepherd gathers wool and reaped smiles with his happy nature. Now he nears the highlight of his day – leaving the office with Molly.

After seeing her Shine once, many years ago, Al hopes to see Molly shine again. Not a stark, blinding light but a warm glow that drew out his own strawberry gleam and made him feel part of everything in the Light.

Stopping at Molly’s desk, Al collects up her bound scrolls and Molly helps him find Kassandra’s that, as usual, are scattered haphazardly about her cubicle.  Once all papers are safely stored on his trolley, Al starts back toward the Record Keeper’s Office.

Walking beside Al, Molly says, “You got the wheel to stop squeaking.”

Smiling, because she remembered, Al explains, “Lesley in Printing oiled it.”

“I’ve never been in Printing,” says Molly, “It must be interesting, going around the Never-Ending Office.”

“Not as interesting as watching what happens in the Wild,” says Al, trying to dim his blazing light, after such a compliment. Taking a breath, he asks, “What did you see today?”

“The usual disorder and chaos,” says Molly shrugging. “Having feelings and freewill really makes a mess. There was this one immortal, a young man in love. But then he fell in love with someone else. It’s ridiculous.”

“There must be a reason,” says Al. “Something must have changed.”

“His feelings,” says Molly, “That was it. No thought. No reason.”

“We can’t choose our feelings,” says Al, sliding his eyes toward Molly’s profile.

“Mortals have freewill. They can choose to feel however they want. If they can’t, they still have a choice about what they do with those feelings.”

“Don’t you think we have feelings?”

“Not like mortals. We only have the desire to do what we were made to do.”

“You only want to be an Analyst?” Al was sure Molly was made for more. He’d seen her dance. Keeping stride with her, he could see and feel her warm glow, but it was nothing to the moment she shone.

“It’s what I was made to do.”

“I don’t think I was made to push a trolley round all day,” says Al, stopping outside the Record Keeper’s Officer and gathering up the bound scrolls.

“You were made to be happy, friendly and incredibly organised,” says Molly, placing a dropped scroll on top of the pile. “You’re the lynch pin of the whole operation.”

Al’s smile is lost behind the pile of scrolls.

Pushing through the door, he hurries to dump them on the Keeper’s desk fearing, that when the door swings shut behind him, Molly will leave.

But she doesn’t. She never has.

Wrenching the door open again, he expects to see an empty corridor, but as always, finds Molly waiting.

The friends walk out of the Never-Ending Office together.

In the beginning, knowing he was the best-looking luminous immortal ever made, Gabriel would stride among his adoring fans.   His tall stature, golden hair, and glorious façade would draw others to him and his warm voice, would hold them enthralled, like watching embers dance in a fire. The crowd would hang on his every word, everyone listened to him. Despite this influence Gabriel’s only desire was to be adored because the gleam of so many eyes on him made Gabriel glorious.

Even strong and silent Mykal loved him and the beautiful Morning Star Lucie could not outshine his voice. Instead she would whisper praise and adoration in his ear. Gabriel accepted the adulation as his due. So that when the Morning Star suggested they go on a quest to the Master’s Estate, Gabriel agreed without thinking and when she told him he was to be the First Messenger, he believed her implicitly.

Returning from that quest, Gabriel was held in awe because his voice was now the voice of the Unmoved Master. He spoke and the luminous population got to work.

His new status raised him high, to the top of a pedestal, to the heights of a mountain.  But being so elevated, removed Gabriel from his adoring fans, who were now busy doing everything he had instructed them to do. But the more he saw the more he feared his influence, and he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

Walking among the crowds, he still felt their gleaming awe but whereas before he had only desired it, now he needed their glow to fill the shadow at his centre.

He tried to speak to Lucie, but she was busy co-ordinating the Stars and he realised that away from others Lucie never listened to what he said. Mykal was a much better listener, but he wasn’t much of a talker and had stoically accepted his new role as Defender and was busy, organising troops.

Alone atop his mountain, Molly finds him.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

“Helping establish the Never-Ending Office, as you instructed oh glorious one,” she says, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms.

“Have you made up with Lucie?” asks Gabriel.

“What?”

“She said you were mean to her. That’s why you didn’t come to help with the Red Tape.”

“And of course, you believed her,” says Molly, her light flaring with her voice. “You didn’t think to ask me?”

“She’s the Morning Star,” says Gabriel with a shrug. “And your best friend.”

“And you believed her about that,” says Molly, but this time her light narrows onto Gabriel. “I thought, just maybe, you’d see through her, that you were different. But you’re just like everyone else.” Her words illuminate the shadow at Gabriel’s centre, the ones he’s tried to ignore. Gabriel rises above Molly, saying “I’m not like everyone else,” and spreading his wings, declares. “I am Glorious,” and he flies off to the sanctuary of his adoring fans, away from Molly’s penetrating gaze.

Running away from Lucie’s hurtful words, Molly discovers the Master’s Garden of Forms, where grows everything that would exist or ever existed in the Wild. Angry, Molly’s light blazes with blue fire and her head echoes with Lucie’s voice, “Let’s face it, you weren’t made to dance.” “You’re just not good enough.” Seeing little of the Forms around her, the glasses and hairbrushes, the carts and the cogs, Molly plods on.  

With every stride, along the well-kept paths, Lucie’s words get louder and louder, until they fill up Molly’s head, like lava in a volcano ready to burst. Unleashing her fury, in a flurry of feathers, Molly shoots up, as high as she can go. Or at least until she’s high enough to see the base of the Black Mountain, where all the Luminous have congregated around Lucie the liar.

Molly could have flown up and on forever, but the sight of the crowd gathered around her so-called best friend causes her sink back to the ground. As she falls, she mutters a response to the echoes in her head; quippy remarks that would have overshadowed Lucie’s light if only she’d thought of them at the time.

Deflating, Molly now starts to doubt herself. She wonders if Lucie was right. Molly can’t dance like Lucie, but does that mean she wasn’t made to be a Star? All the other Stars can dance the way Lucie wants them to, only Molly can’t dance like them. Maybe the Unmoved Master didn’t make her to dance, but then what was she made for?

Passing a patch of mirrors, Molly sees her dark-hair, flying wild and framing her pale, unremarkable face. Just as dark lashes frame her blue eyes, her only striking feature. Compared to Lucie, with her strong nose, high cheek bones, full-lips and shining light, Molly shouldn’t even be called a Luminous Immortal. Of course, at this moment Molly’s pale-yellow glow looks dim in comparison to Lucie the Morning Star. But even at her best, Molly is only a spark next to a sun.

Collapsing into a convenient Form of chair, Molly looks around her for the first time and sees other chairs, intermingled with some tables. None of them are the same yet they are all called tables and chairs. Slabs of stone, smooth marble, wooden benches, they are all different but despite their differences they all have a place in the Garden of Forms. Maybe there’s room for her too.

She just needs to find her place with the other Luminous Immortals.  Leaping into the air, Molly flies towards the crowd gathered at the base of the Black Mountain. But then she sees Lucie, Mykal and Gabriel shining brilliant against the dark rocks further away. They have set off on an adventure without her.

They don’t need her after all.

Watching the three heroes walking away, Molly sinks into the branches of Redwood, the tallest tree in the Always-Orchard. Its branches cradle her like a parent’s arms, her first sanctuary.