The First

Writing Prompt: An angel sees the first human death.

Humans were so tragically finite.

It is truly a marvel that the All Mighty would allow their existence to be so brief. Our Father formed you into existence and gave you your work—to comfort and welcome the first of many into the Kingdom.

You wait. You watch.

You’d been disgusted by the shape of them—grotesque limbs and appendages, insides that squirmed and throbbed. Watched with unfathomable detachment as they filled cavernous...holes?...in their...heads?...with the other living beings of the land. You watch closely when they do the thing called sleep. You cannot understand how they are content to spend a large portion of what little time they have dormant. But it isn’t your job to understand, only to wait.

It happens suddenly, violently. A favorite of the All Mighty is the first.

The deep red of this sin stains the mud and humanity alike. You have work.

It is as you descend and observe his unseeing eyes and laboured breath that you recognize how truly delicate their forms are. That one would...die, is what The Highest called it, simply because a single act has thrown the balance of his body into disarray...

You pity him. But it will be over soon.

He can see you now. You lay a gentle touch upon him and begin to sing him to his rest.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: In addition to my Works in Progress, I often respond to interesting prompts online with micro-stories to exercise. I’ve shared my favorites here on my site.