The Black Angel

The black angel walked on top of the ocean’s waves and it walked alone.

Its wings jutted straight out from the back of its head, making the angel look rather like a particularly large black moth. They were nothing flashy. They were plain and almost rubbery in appearance.

Yet, they held their own beauty.

In their lines.

In their symmetry.

In their perfection.

The ocean’s cold waves lapped at the angel’s feet and splashed up on its black robe. But the angel did not tremble. The angel did not doubt. It kept its head raised and its face to the horizon.

Although the water was wide and seemed to touch the sky, even though the angel was completely alone, it did not fear.

For it knew beyond all doubting that it was not alone. No matter where its travels led it to, even into the darkest of places, the angel was never fully alone.

Beams of soft, gentle light spilled through the overcast sky. It warmed the water and took away the chill in the angel’s feet. Joy, peace, and love filled the angel’s entire being.

Another angel, one with pure white wings, flew towards the black angel. It called out to the black angel in unearthly words, in a language no man had ever heard nor spoken.

The black angel responded in kind and flew up into the beautifully warm and comforting sky.

It was going home.


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