The Weapon - Oblivion  - part 11

By Diana the Valkyrie

I stared at the holy feather, lying on my desk, almost glowing in its pristine whiteness, the symbol of innocence.

Update: 07/08/2003 to valkyrie05





John McPherson:



They walked into my office, the two of them. Wendy Mac something and her

friend the thug.



"I must say, you've got a barefaced cheek coming back here after what you did.

What do you want, or should I just call the police now?" I asked.



"We've come to forgive you," he said.



"What? You've come to forgive me? That's rich. You're the blessed thug who

broke my nose, I had to get to hospital to stop the bleeding and get it set.

You punch a man of the cloth on the nose, and you think you need to forgive

me? That's blessedly rich! You're headed straight for hell, my old son,

straight for hell. Eternal damnation, fire and brimstone, and it serves you

bleeding well right."



He leaned forward and looked at me aggressively, but she put her hand on his,

and he settled back in his chair. "I need your help," she said. "I'm just a

humble man of the cloth, I can't help you," I explained, "but God can, if you

put your trust in Him. What's the problem?"



So she started to explain. She was forgetting things. I mean, big deal, so

what. I forget things all the time, I couldn't even remember her name. Mac

something. I do remember that she broke my door last time she was here. So I

reminded her of that.



He started to get out of his chair again, but she pushed him back as he rose,

and he subsided.



"So what do I have to do?" she asked. "Put your faith in God," I explained,

"and He, if He wills it, will help you." "And if he doesn't?" asked the thug.

"If God will not help you, then no-one can," I told him. "You must put all

your trust in God, give him your complete and perfect faith" "And if she does

that, then he might help her?" "He might. Or He might not, it's God's will,

and we cannot fathom it. He works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform.

But you must banish all doubt, all uncertainty, and have perfect faith. Total

faith. Complete faith in Him and in no other. Let not even a shadow of a doubt

blemish your faith."



She looked at him. He looked back at her. "And I will pray for you too," I

said, looking at her, as a sort of deal-clincher. I'd be blessed if I'd pray

for her thug with the over-active fists, he can roast in hell for all I care.



"So let me get this straight," said the thug. "She has to have total faith,

and if she has total faith, then she shouldn't be looking for alternative

cures, right?" "Right. Put your trust in God Almighty, admit no impediment of

doubt into your soul." "So your answer is, she spends the next three months

praying to your god and lighting candles, and maybe, if he feels like it, and

if she's been devout enough, and if she hasn't wondered whether all this

malarky is a complete waste of time, maybe he'll do something unspecified to

help her, which might just be help in accepting her fate. Is that a fair

summary?"



"You have no faith, my son. But that doesn't matter, all that matters is that

she should have faith in Him that orders all things."



"Do you know who she is?" he asked. "Sure, she's Wendy Mcerrrrmm and she works

in a restaurant." He turned to her, and said "Wendy. Show him."



She stood up, and took off her coat. Underneath, she was wearing a very

fetching white outfit, white and gold. And then ... and then ....



Oh my.



Oh bless me.



Oh my goodness me.



Her wings filled the office, great white feathery wings, and they beat slowly

up and down as she rose several inches from the floor, hovering in midair. I

looked above her head to see if there was a halo, but if there was, I couldn't

see it. Maybe I'm too sinful to be able to see it.



"Blessed mother forgive me, you're an angel!"



"No."



"A seraph, one of God's messengers, His Divine Presence on earth."



"No."



"Part of the Divine Presence." I got off my chair, onto my knees. Theology

school never told me what you do with an angel in the room, I feel sure that

offering to wrestle them is not the done thing, even if Jacob did. St Dumas

was long on comparative religion stuff and bible study, but taught me nothing

to cover this eventuality. I had to improvise. Getting on your knees and

praying is always a good plan.



"Oh blessed angel, forgive me my sins and pardon my transgressions ..."



"I told you this was a waste of time," said the angel's companion.



"Look, McPherson, get up off your knees, stop chanting, and just listen, huh?"

said the angel.



"Yes, O angel, I obey."



"I'm not a bloo ... I'm not a blessed angel, I'm just a different species from

you, I guess it was a mistake to show you the wings, you've flaked out like

totally."



"Yes, O seraph."



The seraph sighed. I stayed on my knees, what other position would be

appropriate?



"McPherson, I don't know what's wrong with me, but I keep forgetting whole

chunks of my memory, and that just shouldn't happen, my memory should be

perfect."



"Everything about an angel is perfect, O blessed one", I answered. I'm sure

she already knew this and was just testing me.



"Yes, well. That's the theory, in practice it isn't working out. Do you have

any idea what could be causing this?" said the angel.



"Perhaps God is punishing you?" I'm not sure whether God punishes angels. Yes,

He does, come to think of it, he punished Lucifer, didn't He? "Have you sinned

against Him?"



She sighed again. "Since just about everything seems to be a sin, I very

probably have."



"Man is sinful by nature, but angels are perfection by nature. It is our

normal behaviour to sin, but for an angel to sin, you must have done something

exceptionally bad. Can you think what that might be? Perhaps if you sincerely

repented of that sin, God would forgive you, for He is a merciful and loving

Father, who ..."



"Stuff that, priest," said the thug, crudely, "last time you took that track,

you convinced her that she'd sent her only love to hell for eternal torture.

Don't you have any other tunes to play?" "Shut up, David," said the seraph,

defending me. He glowered at me, but shut his mouth, obeying the command of my

beautiful angel.



"McPherson, I'm not an angel, I'm not a seraph, I'm not even a cherub. I'm

just one of the People, and I've got what is probably a medical problem, or

possibly it's a psychological problem, or I don't know what. I was hoping that

you might have some insight into this, because humans get a similar thing with

Alzheimers, and you might have parishioners that you've counselled on this.

And since I'm still one of your parishioners, it seemed to me that it was

worth asking you about it. Now stop this snivelling about me being an angel,

get up from that stupid grovelling position on the floor, and talk sense."



You don't disobey a direct order from one of God's Messengers, so I got up and

sat in my chair. This was obviously some sort of test, like with Abraham.



"Yes," I said, "I have had lambs in my flock who have had Alzheimers."



"Good, now we're getting somewhere. So what did you advise them to do?"



"Accept God's will, and pray for the strength and courage to pass on to the

Next World gracefully, and with serenity," I answered.



"Roll over and die", said the thug.



There was a pause.



"Throw in the towel," he said.



Another pause, while I glared at him. "No, you pray for the strength to accept

what cannot be changed, and the humility to ..."



"Go toes-up without a struggle," interrupted the thug.



"Shut up, both of you," said the angel, coming to my rescue again. Or maybe

she was an archangel? I read somewhere that there's only seven of those, like

Gabriel and Michael. But she was female, that was pretty obvious. I suppose

there would be female archangels too. Maybe there were seven males and seven

females? Or maybe each angel, being perfect, is both male and female at the

same time. Maybe Wendy is the female manifestation of Gabriel. Or Michael. I

gazed in admiration at her perfect form.



"Wendy, this isn't going anywhere," said the thug.



I tried to remember if there was an archangel called Wendy, but it didn't ring

any bells. Or harps. And I couldn't remember a Saint Wendy, or even a Blessed

Wendy. Evidently she was one of the highest ranking angels, who didn't

normally come into contact with us mere sinful mortals.



She sighed, and looked down at me, frowning. I trembled in her sight. Was I

about to be carried off to heaven? She sighed again, said "Come on, David,"

and started to leave. He fired one last shot at me. "All you can suggest is to

give up, take the coward's way out."



At the door, she turned back for a moment and looked at me, and I felt as if

her gaze was penetrating my very soul. Then she plucked a single snow-white

feather from her wings, smiled angelically, and presented it to me. "Now you

be a good boy, you hear?" she said. And she was gone.



I got back down on my knees, and closed my eyes, trying to make sense of this.

Why had one of God's Messengers just visited me? Obviously to convey a message

from the Most High, blessed be He, but what was the message exactly?



Of course! The key was what she said right at the end. I had to remember to be

good. But the word "you" is both singular and plural, and it was unlikely that

God would have sent that message just for me, since I, in all modesty, live a

good and devout life, just one poor shepherd trying to guide his little flock.

No, it was meant to be passed on more widely, I was just a little tool, an

instrument of God's Love.



I got up, and rushed to my desk, I got a pencil and paper, and started to

write down everything I could remember of my encounter with the Archangel

Wendy, and the message that she wanted me to pass on to the rest of the world.

I felt proud that an ordinary priest such as myself had been chosen for this

task, and resolved that no stone would be left unturned in making sure that

the message reached the ears of the waiting world. The message that we should

all remember to be good. And why should we suddenly be told to be good? There

could be only one explanation - this was our very last chance. The Day of

Judgement was at hand!



I stared at the holy feather, lying on my desk, almost glowing in its pristine

whiteness, the symbol of innocence. I felt humbled by its presence, yet proud

that I had been chosen as the unworthy vessel to convey its message to the

world.



Reverently, I touched the feather. But when I looked at my finger, I saw

blood! And this was from the merest touch. Surely a miracle, surely a sign,

surely this was meaningful. I tried again, brushing my finger lightly against

the feather, and again, there was blood on my finger - but none on the

feather. The perfection of the feather was not marred by my unworthy blood.



It's been a long time since we had a verified angelic manifestation here on

earth, and if anything was newsworthy, surely this proof of God's love and

grace was. And by getting the media involved, I'd be able to spread the

message that had been entrusted to me. It was the Return, the long-prophesied

Second Coming. It was important to tell the good news to everyone I could. I

picked up the phone and started dialing.