The Argument by Lorraine Poulter 2016

The Argument 
by Lorraine Poulter 2016

      The God of All Things Good sighed deep and mournfully. “I’m bored!” he uttered from the depths of despair. He looked down on his world, his beautiful newly created world. The rivers flowed, the tides ebbed, the clouds formed and fell, the grass and plants grew. His work was done. He rested his chin in his hands and a woeful expression came over him.
      The Angel of Light who stood to his right although a few steps behind said lightly. “You should rest. You’re exhausted. You have worked endlessly for almost a week.”
      “I need more than rest, Mikey. I have reached my peak. My work is done. I am finished. I have nothing more to give. The Conclave will retire me and I shall be sent to an Old God’s home to spend out the rest of my days. I can’t bear the thought.”
     “I think you are merely over tired. The Conclave are fairer than that. You’ve used a lot of energy in creating your world. You sit right there, put your feet up and I’ll fetch you a piece of Battenburg and a cup of tea.”
       On the table beside the God of All Things Good appeared a cup and saucer of the most delicate design daintily  patterned with Lily of the Valley flowers. Beside it was a bowl with rather large sugar cubes (brown sugar because the God of All Things Good had been put on a diet by his Beloved). There was also a delightful jug with milk. On the tea plate was the slice of Battenburg.
      The God of All Things Good turned away, his face and heart awash with misery. “I have no appetite. He looked sorrowfully at the Angel of Light and his lower lip trembled. The Angel was alarmed for he felt sure the Great God was about to cry.
        “Tell me, God of All Things Good, when you set out to create this world, did you not by doing this, make sense of all the nonsense going on in the Cabinet? Did not your new world bring peace to the warring  Conclave? Did you not in building this world imbue your very essence into every atom of its being,implant your favoured images in the faces of your new people to find so they would know they were not alone? Did you not create these people in the image of yourself? You have succeeded where others greater than yourself have failed. Why are you so-so disappointed in all you have done?”
      The Great God swept back from his forehead a strand of white hair. From beneath his fringe his pale watery eyes peered out. He nodded. “I did, dear Mikey. I did all that. But I see nothing of myself in them and it pains me. My beautiful world. I poured my heart and love into creating that place but it has all been in vain. It is a cold vicious world. The winds howl, the rain lashes, the sun scorches and those abominations in my likeness believe they own my world. I haveno place with them. So I shall have nothing more to do with them.”
        The Angel of Light paled, if it were possible to do so as he was whiter than white already. “You will abandon them. Leave them without your guidance?” He asked, his words not so bereft of humour yet tinged with doubt. The Great God had said these things before, sometimes in jest but mostly to test his angels, to seek out those of dark tendencies. Today however the Angel of Light felt there was a change in the Great God. There was no humour in his voice, no pleading for their supplication. The darkness that surrounded the God seemed far from shallow. Its depth frightened the Angel of Light.
          “I will leave them to their own rule. I wipe my hands of them.”
         The Angel of Light felt cold. He had not known such coldness since his promotion to the Guardians. “Please assure me that you are jesting? All the time, your endless work and energy poured into this creation. The Clave will not allow it.”
       “I tell you. I do not care what the Clave nor the Cabinet thinks. I know here in my heart this was a mistake.”
       The Angel of Light spluttered and finally gave way to silence. A silence broken by the twang of breaking hearts, filled with the sense of genuine loss. A silence that stretched across the stars into oblivion.
“A mistake?” The slight but silken voice of the Angel of the Left said. He was more handsome than the Angel of Light. His brown eyes were pools of sensuous delight blighted by only by the resentment lurking in their black corners. His hair was curled and glinted silver. His chiselled cheekbones spoke not of famine but careful planning. “A mistake, did you say?” he said. The smile that curled on his lips showed his inner pleasure and he found it difficult to hide his glee at seeing the Angel of Light in such distress.
        “You heard me right. I wish I had never created it.”
        The Angel of Light could stand no more. “Please do not say such things,” he begged. He was all too aware that his he was weakening, that the light that radiated from him was waning.
        The Angel to the Left smirked. For the first time the Great God doubted. He doubted not only himself but he doubted the Angel of the Light. An unusually warm sensation filled him from within. “And what would you have us do?” he asked.
       “Nothing,” the Angel of Light interjected. “He will do nothing,”
      The Great God glared. “And what would you have me do?” He slammed his fist down upon the table sending the tea cups crashing to the ground. “Have tea?” he raged.
       The Angel of light stepped back, covering his face in fear of the Great God’s wrath.His mind a whirl of horror. What had he done to incur such anger from the Great God?
        The Great God was beside himself with rage and frustration. “I curse them,” he raged.
       “Noo!” cried the Angel of Light. “Do you not hear their cries to you?”
      “I hear their constant demands, their desires, their lusts and passions. They even fornicate in my garden. They seek my counsel and when I give it, I am wrong. I tell you I shall stand for it no more.”
        A smile flickered across the face of the Angel of the Left. He leaned close to the Great God. “What would you have me do?” he whispered.
        The Great God turned and looked at him. He saw the relish in the eyes, the darkness of his soul. His face contorted in the throes of deep dark rage. “Send for the horses,” he said coldly.
       “You mustn’t. You-“
       “-Can’t?” The Great God said with bitter irony, his face now alight with a terrible smile. “I shall be avenged.”
“And you shall,” The Dark Angel said.
      “Release them!” The Great God ordered.
     “Stop,” the Angel of Light cried. “You have surely lost your mind.” He turned to the Angel of the Left. “Nick, summon the medics. Before something terrible happens.”
     It was already too late. Four horseman astride four powerful armoured horses fled from the stables. They stormed their way to the earth below with trails of vapour, with loud shouts. As they neared the earth they parted into four different ways. With a loud thunderous sound they landed. As soon as they did the world trembled. The world died. The incoming storm destroyed all in their wake.
        All three looked down as the horsemen ravaged the world. The Angel of light, his eyes bright with tears and shock.The Angel of the Left triumphant. The Great God was still. Not a muscle twitched nor a an eyelid blink. His face as stone. Still on and on the horsemen drove their horror into the world.
      “Please,” whispered the Angel of Light.
Volcanoes erupted, lightning, tidal waves, famine, war, disease and death. The people cried to be spared.  Their voices rang through the skies, their sorrow, heartbreak and suffering.
      “You gave them life, let them live,” The Angel of Light said.
      The Great God turned to face him. “Call them off.”
     “What?”
     “No.”
     “I said call them off!”
     The Angel of the Left stood back. His handsome face contorted with his bewilderment and rage. His hold over the Great God had faltered.
The Angel of Light leapt. “Call them off,” he shouted.
     The Great God turned to both of them. He was alight with anger, his being weighed by the uncommon emotion welling in him. “Go. Now,”
      Both Angels looked to each other. The smile of the Dark Angel’s face was replaced with uncertainty and fear.
     “Not you, Mikey. Him.” He pointed a withering finger at Nick. “I played the test and you failed. You are banished from the Cloudsphere. I send you to my world as immortal, and for each act of desolation you encourage you are condemned to live another year. Your name will be synonymous with all that is evil. Go. And as for you Mikey, you are weak. Your softness of nature makes you soft in your dealings.”
      “I tried.” Mikey said.
   “Yes, Mikey, you are trying. Now put the kettle on. I fancy a cup of tea and some Battenbourg.”
“Wonderful to have you back, sir. What of Nick?”
     “Don’t worry about him. I’ve a feeling we’ve not heard the last of him.”

©️ Lorraine Poulter 2016