ANGEL EYES:

Chapter 1: Circus

The circus.

For all its outward smiles and guises of oblivious joy, the inner workings of the circus are more dark and twisted than they seem. A network of fate’s pitfalls and sleazy ringleaders almost as greasy as the napkins under the stands, all of them translucent from the oil and grime wiped off of the dirty fingers of society.

One shrouded figure in the stands, dark and alone. Self-imposed seclusion.

I can’t stand this place.

Well then why are you here?

…I have to find him…

The fat man comes back into the center of the arena. Black top hat, a semblance-of-white shirt, wrinkled black slacks. Black microphone. Ah, finally. The best part of the worst thing: Freak Show. The first few are mundane, normal; the bearded woman, the contortionist.

Dammit, why am I here?

You know why…

…yes…I know. For him.

Only one circus on the entire planet has him in their arena. He’s the only reason why it hasn’t gone belly up already. Black hair, tan skin, green eyes, dressed all in white. Nothing strange. Until he removes his shirt.

No, rippling pectorals are the least of anyone’s interest. Eyes are riveted to his back. From his shoulder blades, out come fountains of white swan feathers. Put them together on a hollow bone frame…

Wings. White feather wings.

So He wasn’t lying…

I would never lie.

I know.

Satisfied smile from full, rose colored lips.

I’ve found you, Ezekiel.

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Another show. Another performance. Another three bucks to put in the life’s savings jar.

There’s no fucking jar. I spend all the shit on booze anyway. Shoves the three bills into his shoe where no one can get them. I make minimum wage, what’s there to complain about? He pushes open the creaky door of his run-down trailer, large enough only to fit a bed and about four square feet of space.

Squeeeak go the springs as he sits down on his decrepit mattress. The best money can buy. The best my money can buy, he thinks and revises the statement. Ezekiel looked down at the stark whiteness of his clothing, and impulsively rips off his shirt. I hate this damn color. He throws the shirt across the trailer. It lands perfectly folded on the ground. Not a stain, not a dust mark, and perfectly folded up.

Ezekiel gets up and kicks the shirt furiously, leaving boot prints on its pristine whiteness. The toe of his shoe hits the wall with resounding force.

Fuck perfection!

“Oh, Ezekiel…”

A voice from outside the trailer. Wistful, sultry. Oh Father…Is it really…Terror flowing through his veins like the blood he knows he doesn’t have.

The door is pushed open from the outside. I knew it was her. She leans against the doorframe as though she owns it.

“Ezekiel…” Her raven curls tumble over her face, obstructing it from view. “I never thought I’d find you here.” She looks up, green eyes fixed on his. Ezekiel gulps, drops to his knees.

“S…sister…”

She sweeps her glorious hair over her shoulders, tucking it behind her ears and out of her face, and looks him over. Back covered in scar tissue where his wings should have been, Halo and wings hidden away in his body. But even so…Tall, yet not lanky. Muscular, but not beefy. Fine, dark hair. Golden skin and jasper-colored eyes. Father really did create him perfect, she thinks to herself. She reaches forward and lays her hand on his face. Her palm cradles his cheek.

“You poor thing…” she says softly. “What are you doing in a place like this?” Ezekiel looks up, then closes his eyes and leans into her palm. She holds steady.

“I couldn’t face it, Rozlin,” he says, eyes still closed.

“Did it really scare you so much?” She runs a thumb over his cheek bone.

“…yes.”

The Angel named Rozlin kneels in front of her brother and takes his face in her hands. She kisses his forehead gently. “Come back Home,” she implores him. She takes one of his hands in hers. Her eyes see angry red scars down his wrists. “Oh Sweet Mother…Ezekiel, you tried to…”

He nods slowly, then gives a sardonic smile. “I tried, but Father wouldn’t let me.”

Rozlin stands up, shakes the dried leaves and sand out of her clothes (the four-winged Archangel of God, dressed all in black. Oh, the irony…). She lifts Ezekiel to his feet. “Ezekiel, how in Heaven’s name did it come to this?” she demands.

Ezekiel stays silent a moment. “I’ll have to tell it from the beginning, won’t I?” Rozlin nods. Ezekiel gestured to his mattress. “Then have a seat. This will take a while.” Rozlin sits.

Squeeeeak.

From under the bed, Ezekiel pulls a tin of thin wafer-like cookies. He offers the box to Rozlin. She shakes her head no. Ezekiel shrugs and helps himself to a handful.

A damn good metabolism, too. God, he is perfect.

Yes. Now bring him back to me.

This maybe harder than it seems…

It matters now the difficulty. Fulfill your mission.

Yes, Father.

“I suppose I must start where it all started.” Ezekiel sits down and begins to speak…