The Flaming Sword of Michael

"He drove out the man, and at the east of the Garden of Eden he placed the Cherubim and a flaming sword that turned every way to guard the Tree of Life." -Genesis 3:24

Awakening

Michael woke up slowly, as he always did, making loud, smacking noises in his dry mouth with his chalky tongue. He reached for his thick, well out of style, glasses on the nightstand. How typical this morning was! Considering, of course, the events to come this particular day.

As usual, Michael couldn't help but be disappointed, and even a little revolted by the smell in his room. He was 16 years old, overweight, under washed, and slept in flannel pajamas. The source of his odor problem wasn't as obvious to him as it is to you, or this humble narrator.

The state of his room, however, was. The floor was invisible, being covered in dirty clothes that actually seemed to be climbing his walls. Empty food containers littered the peaks of this laundrous topography, while comic books did so to its valleys. Neither of these factors were of any help in the long ago lost battle against stinkiness.

I will say though, before you form an unfair mental image of our hero (and as you'll soon read, I use the term hero with a total lack of irony) that given his slovenly nature and typically greasy skinned age, Michael was possessed of a nearly flawless complexion. Cherubic as his cheeks where, they held a high pink blush, making their chubby elasticity appropriate. His small, but sparkling dark eyes gleamed forth from their perch above his delicate, upturned nose. A nose that wafted gently up from his thin, red, puckered lips.

All of these, not unattractive features where bunched appealingly in the middle of a pale, freckled face that looked like nutmeg dusted over eggnog. I say, "not unattractive" and mean it. That's because I haven't told you yet what makes that tragic combination "not unattractive." Here it is. His smile.

His smile lifts his heavy cheeks into tight, bright pink, glossy balls that seem to cram all the light in the room right into his eyes which reflect it back out through his thick glasses tenfold. His thin brown eyebrows lift into delightful arcs on top, and a little chin pokes out just at the bottom.

I wanted you to know these things about him before I tell you his tale. I need you to see him as I see him now. So when I tell you that when he breathes the disappointing odor of his room out from his nostrils, pinches himself in the middle, shrugs his shoulders, smiles, and heads to the bathroom to do the necessary, you too are not disgusted by him. Rather, he fills your heart with the warmth that fills mine.

There. Now that that's taken care of I can begin to tell you the tale of Michael, and his flaming sword.

As I said earlier, this morning started out as so many others. A fact that only makes the events following it so much more extraordinary! After leaving his deposit in the bathroom Michael shuffled his way to the refrigerator. His parents had already left for work, and if there was one thing they could count on him to do, it was feed himself.

After doing so he went into his room to change. I'll spare you the uncomfortable details of his undressing and redressing. Suffice it to say, he'd worked up a good lather in the process. It is important to note that despite what you or this humble narrator might consider (or in my case used to consider) depressing circumstances, Michael had then, as he does now, a rather sunny disposition. A disposition not born of ignorance mind you, but of an innate serenity in his soul. He knew smelling as he smelled this early in the morning was off-putting. He wished, like anyone, that his thighs weren't nearly finished with their mission of burning holes in the denim that separated them.

He had his insecurities just as you or I might. It just never seemed to dampen his spirit, or inform his attitude toward others. I guess, looking back at what came to pass, I know it is this very quality that makes him perfect for what he has become as a result of the following.

As he turned toward the sidewalk after locking his front door, he noticed an odd looking cat sitting on the rail of the front porch. The cat was gray with white feet, a white diamond on its chest, and a white chin and nose. These were not what struck him as odd. It was her eyes. They were staring at him intently. That alone was somewhat unsettling, but the cat's eyes not being centered, that was just plain bizarre. She was looking right at him, but neither eye could be said to be on him by themselves.

He was going to be late for the bus to school, and as soon as Michael had that thought, the cat blinked, hopped down to the sidewalk and headed in the direction of the bus stop. As he followed her around the lilac bushes forming a fortress wall around his father's precious yard, he saw a not unfamiliar sight. Clint Christy was harassing the younger kids waiting there.

The cat stopped well short of the hubbub, turned and faced Michael. The bus wasn't anywhere near, so he paused as well. She looked back to the bus stop, and he followed her gaze.

Clint Christy was less jovial in his abuse than normal. And this time he was picking on JoAnne. JoAnne was Michael's only friend. She was only 13, and he was a little ashamed of the crush he'd developed on her. Michael felt himself approaching the bus stop as if he were on wheels, and someone else was pushing him. And when he opened his mouth, what came out could only be explained by demonic possession.

"Leave... Leave her alone Clint. Can't you see you're hurting her?"

Clint Christy let go of her hair. Clint Christy slowly rose to his full height. The smile on Clint Christy's face as he turned toward Michael promised nothing but pain.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Clint Christy said in an almost stately fashion. "Is it bothering you that your little girlfriend is getting what she asked for when she laughed at me?"

Clint Christy had stumbled on a poorly tied shoelace upon his arrival at the bus stop. The scene had deteriorated since.

"I don't care what she did. You shouldn't-" Michael never got the rest out. Clint Christy slapped him so hard across the face, he could taste the blood before he even hit the ground.

"YOU SHOULD LEARN TO MIND YOUR OWN DAMN BUSINESS! THAT'S WHAT YOU SHOULD DO!" Screamed Clint Christy.

Michael was lying still, looking between Clint Christy's shoes. He saw the strange cat sitting calmly next to JoAnne. JoAnne, with tears still running down her cheeks, absently reached down to stroke the cat. The cat closed its eyes and raised its cheek to her hand.

Clint Christy was finished yelling at Michael, saying something about not being done with his little girlfriend. Michael heard it, but was not afraid. Michael was now transfixed on the cat. The cat looked up at Clint Christy. The cat looked over to JoAnne. Then the cat leveled its eyes onto Michael's. The world froze for an instant.

Then, just as Clint Christy regained his grip on JoAnne's hair, the earth began to rumble. The pavement cracked. Michael was lifted to his feet! A sword of flame erupted from his right hand! The cat smiled at Clint Christy and stepped aside.

Clint Christy's turn was just as slow as before, but this time he wasn't smiling. This time the scene that greeted him was completely different. Michael stood with his feet wide, left hand clenched at his side, right hand held straight up with a sword made entirely of fire pointing to the heavens. The light cast deep shadows all around them.

Michael pulled his gaze from the conflagration that didn't burn his hand, and turned his eyes to Clint Christy. In a powerful voice not his own, these words boomed forth.

"You will never touch another human being again in any way they deem unwanted!"

Without any thought Michael brought down his sword upon Clint Christy's chest, sending his shirt away in ashes. Over Clint's heart Michael laid a brand. A brand in the shape of a flaming sword. A brand that would bind Clint Christy forever to the words Michael had spoken. Neither Michael or Clint said so, but both knew it to be true.

As quickly as it had begun, it ended. Clint Christy ran home crying, with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. Michael had returned to normal, and JoAnne was sitting in a state of stunned silence. The cat came back onto the sidewalk, sat down, and licked her right fore paw.

She looked up at Michael and said, "My name is Lilith. You have been chosen."

To be continued...