"I have more time in the past, than I do the future."

Pens&Keys



One of the more elaborate features of Academy West would be this library. You could check out books or you could experience them firsthand as they are being written. Sitting on a dark grey oversized bean bag chair, I watched as a woman named Ires no last name. Wrote about her experience with The Angel of Death. Apparently, The Angel of Death is not a God, nor are they bound by the rules of a GateKeeper. The Angel of Death is simply, death in a tangible form.


As I watched Ires write, her face growing older with every chapter completed. She explained that Ever, Mother of Earth once set a blaze of wrath within The Angel of Death. Thus, birthing the first wave of plaques. This is when Ires first encountered The Angel of Death. When Ires was a child of nine, The Angel visited Ires. Told her that they had come to claim her life. Ires asked the Angel,


“Why must I perish before I grow tired of the world?”


“Why must I perish before I grow tired of the world?” Her story I guess she can make herself sound however she remembers it. However, it’s doubtful a nine-year-old would say anything remotely close to that. “Before I grow tired of this world?” Ires girl.. please.


The Angel replied, “Maybe the world has grown tired you.”


“I do not want death.”


“Little being. Death is no stranger to not being wanted.”


Backing into a corner in my small room. I could feel my face being taken hostage by panic and fear. I did not wish to perish tonight. I must meet Clover down by the lake tomorrow to discuss the topic of boys and floral dresses. This creature could not have my life. The world had not grown tired of me. In fact, I am inclined to believe the world fancies me.


“Go away death.” I screamed from the bottom of my belly. It is my best scream. The one that drove the men away whenever I walked home alone from school. Surly momma and papa would hear my scream and come to save me. They must.


“Screaming usually follows death little being. Tell me, why does your fear feel as if you have experienced it before? Have I claimed one of your bloodline before?”


I held no tools at my disposal on how to decipher what The Angel meant at the time. Instead, I screamed again. Hoping this time my momma and papa would hear me. They must hear me. Please momma papa save me. With fear breeding inside me, it became too heavy for my underdeveloped legs to carry. Thus, I collapsed into the floor. Sitting in a puddle of my own creation, tears flowing uninterrupted. The Angel remaining next to the lonely window in my room. Moonlight spilling across their unseen, or maybe not there face. They appeared to be lost in thought. I wished they would forget why they came here. Soon I knew why they appeared lost in thought. Moving in between the blinks of my eyes. The Angel wiped fresh warm tears from my eyes. With their face inches from mines and the moonlight glowing behind them. My fate was sealed. The Angel pulled me into their gaze.


Silvered eyes that reminded me of melted silver. I could swim in this Angel eyes. Instead, I floated. I floated in tranquility. And while I floated The Angel experienced the familiar terror, they sensed in me. I could view the memory of many nights that terror consumed me. They played across The Angel’s irises. Once the memory ended, I was back on the floor in my own puddle. I was never floating in the sea of silver. That was The Angel’s power.


When I was a child, I thought of The Angels Power as Tranquility. In my experienced years, I now know better. What I experienced that night was the power of Nothingness. The Power to make a soul not feel its scars as the wrinkles from those scars playback like a cinema roll. That night The Angel of Death sparred me. However, not without cost. My life for my parent’s lives. That night I could not understand their why. It would take me years of spell layer removal to understand the depravity that conquered my parents. And many more years to call that depravity by its name.


The Angel whispered into my eyes,


“Though my love for you maybe morbid, it is unyielding.”


With those final words the Angel departed as if they were a nightmare. A nightmare they were not, for when I opened my eyes. Momma and papa stood in my room. Only they were not momma and papa. Their faces resembled something of rotten flesh. Their stench could wake the dead. Momma stood in front of the doorframe; arms outstretched to me like I have seen her do a million times. Only this time her face could not conceal her inner thoughts. They poured from her like curses spoken by a witch.


“Filthy child. I thought Mr. Bluestone would have killed you by now. Instead, what do you do you little shit. You seduce him.”


I felt the sting of tears, but no tears flowed. Papa walked over to the window and under the moonlight I could see steam rising from his flesh.


“One more round that should be enough to pay off our debts.” I heard my father speak the words. What I did not see were his lips moving allowing those words to escape.


What is this? What is happening. Am I still in the grips of death? Momma papa. When have I ever heard them speak such cruelty. Why resemble the undead. Refusing to move into my mother’s stale embrace. She tilted her head to side. Locks of her red hair falling to their grave.


“Come here you little whore.”

Those were not the words she spoke. That did not matter. Those were the words I heard.

Whore? Little Shit, debts? What are these words my parents polluted the air with. Sliding back into the corner, I attempted to shake myself awake. This must be dream. Or am I dead? Death that’s it. I am dead and I have transcended to hell. I am sorry I stole candy. I am sorry I pushed Lucillia into the rose thorns. I am sorry that I hate the town’s priest.


I felt the touch of a hand on my shoulder, papa’s hand. Boils and bones that’s all I could make out in the moons light. That was enough. Pushing his hand off me, I ran for my death life. I must be in hell. That meant The Angel of Death must be here too. I must find them.


As I sprinted for the door, my mother’s arm flesh attempted to stop me. However, I sled underneath her legs escaping. Down the stairs I dove. Only for my body’s motion to be halted by an unyielding weight. Crashing down on the ground. I recognized those shoes. Black shiny shoes. Black shiny shoes with a blue stone in the middle of the laces. I did not understand why, on the other hand my body did. Terror begun to run rampant through my veins. The sound of my heart drowning out any other sounds.


Bending down, retrieving me from the floor. Mr. Bluestone, unaffected by the magics of hell. Smiled down at me. His Blue eyes piercing through everything within me.


“Run.” That voice belonged to The Angel of Death. Were they looking for me?


“Ires, where are you off to in such a hurry.” His voice sounded the same, he smelled the same, he appeared the same. I could not understand why my body moved to get away from him. Terrified of the only person who appeared normal in hell.


“Run Ires or die.”

This time The Angel’s voice strut me in my heart. Placing my hands over my chest. I attempted to ease the pain. Mr. Bluestone placed his large hand over my small ones. It felt like being touched by acid.


“My dear Ires. I am afraid tonight will be our last night. Can you feel it as well?”


As Mr. Bluestone moved us from the front entrance, into the pallor. I quickly secured one of our steal fire pokers in my hand. “Run Ires or die.” I chose to run. Quickly swinging the fire poker at Mr. Bluestone’s head. It connected he dropped me. Once again, I sprinted towards the front door.


This time it was papa standing in my way out of this house of horrors. Something deep dwelled inside. Something I never knew existed up until this moment. Yelling out the words “May ash remain where fire dies.”


In that moment, papa began burning in black flames. My momma must not have been able to view them because the moment she touched papa. The black flames licked her skin. With both my parents burning in black flames. All that rose to the consciousness of my mind was “Black fire?” This must be the flames of hell. The flames of The Angel of Death.

Much later the truth of those black flames surfaced. They belonged to me.


When Ires sat her pen down the light of my red candle went out. Fuck.