Terrible Short Story Things!

Angels and Demons are one in the same

  I was an angel. Not really but you get the idea. I don't understand how I know this. But as I stand with my back towards the moon, as I feel the wind blowing against my back, as I see the ground far below me, as I stand on this building, I feel at home. I feel at home in the sky. As though I have came from the sky. As though I've lived here forever. I shifted my position. I knew a slight breeze would blow me off the roof. But I didn't really care. 

  Because I was an angel. And I have the scars to prove it. All my life I had been looking for those with hidden wings. I've been searching for scars that those who once had wings can't hide. And yet somehow I missed my own scars. I over looked my big invisible wings. I sat down on the edge of the roof. 

  And suddenly I was plummeting to the ground, no I didn't die, but I did land perfectly. I walked around on the ground looking at all the people. And I looked closely. I could hear every thought coming from a person, I had eye sight that was better than most to. It was than that I saw a man. A man who had scars. Scars on his hands and scars on his arms. I smiled at him.

Angels with cigarettes and petty grudges against the heavens for their words. Their minds are heavy with memories like silken honey in which they can no longer taste.

  I sighed. Man did I hate god and heaven. If I really was an angel, which I probably wasn't, he had left me down on this earth. He had left me down here with the others, the others who were trying to get back. I kept walking avoiding everyone as I walked. I had so many bad memories and not enough good ones, and that was the problem. Maybe I was a demon. Maybe I was being punished.

Demons with solemn prayers on their lips, for they are unclean and they only want to breathe without their chest caving in, leaving a mess of bloody lies and filthy truths.

  Every time I breathed I felt the world watching. I have sinned. I have sinned again and again. I have lied and stolen just to survive. I am not clean in the slightest. And anyone who knows me well enough knows I'm not clean.

The angels are ripping the feathers from their backs and sobbing with the pain as blood coats their hands, in shades of gold and silver.

  I looked down at my scarred arms. Did I really deserve this? Was it worth it in any way shape or form? I quietly slipped into an ally way and slid down not caring what could possibly be on the ground. I hugged my knees, waiting. Waiting for what, who knows. Maybe I was waiting for someone, anyone to notice I was here. But I didn't have anyone, so that would take forever.

The demons have long given up on any type of faith, they have succumbed to constant anger, they pity none. They have torn off their claws and have shed tears of blood.

I have long since given up hope that anyone actually cares. I instead turned my sadness to anger. Maybe that's what makes me a demon. Maybe I was an angle but now I'm not. I looked at my hands. I could see all the blood that was on them, despite my hands being clean. This was a constant reminder that no matter what my hands would never be clean. I had sinned. I have murdered, stolen, lied, everything you could possibly think of. 

  I got up and gathered all that anger. Maybe I could go clean later. Oh who am I kidding. I promised myself I would stop sinning a long time ago. But I keep breaking that promise. Because even demons break. Even angels break. And whatever I was, I had finally broken. I was so done with this world.