Hadrian's Story - Part One

         Sarakiel smiled sadly upon his recognition of the sad form infront of him.
         "So, he finally released you, did he?" he inquired of the boy gently, running a hand through that soft, dark brown hair.
         Sarakiel lowered his eyes - retreated - as those big, questioning and frightened black eyes were lifted to his. He'd been watching as Lodi toyed with the boy, watching him torture the poor creature both physically and mentally, tearing him apart inside and out. And it was because of this he felt so guilty, so ashamed, because this boy would never again know that he had been watching, that he had been capable of stopping all his suffering all along and had done nothing. This was the idea that had made him so comfortable in his sin before, and now the thing that made it hurt so strongly now.
         He turned away to his work, leaving the boy curled up, holding himself tightly in the corner of his office. He blinded himself with the draining paperwork that would never, ever end until the end of time itself, busied himself with giving quick orders to the different messengers of death, did all he could to avoid looking upon the frightened man- boy-... thing who had no other suitable place to go.
         The creature that was once Sarakiel's great, great, great grandson was a rarity; the sins in his past were too grave for him to pass into Heaven, but in his current state he neither remembered or could be held accountable for any of these black actions, these offences, so he could not be sent to Hell. There was no longer any place for him but Earth, where he only seemed to get hurt and into immense trouble.
         "What are you going to do with him?" Jocial, a fairly young but immesureably bright angel with light brown hair and stunning blue-green eyes and glasses, inquired.
         "I have not decided," Sarakiel replied. "I've been busy."
         Jocial frowned and narrowed his eyes at his elder accusingly. "You've made yourself busy. He doesn't listen to me, so I'm afraid I must call your attention to him for a moment, however you may resent me for it. He keeps burning himself on the candle in my office and worrying me. I simply won't allow you to keep him there any longer. You must take care of him yourself."
         "You're giving me an order?" Sarakiel demanded.
         "I'm afraid you've left me no choice," Jocial frowned. "Do something with him."

         "What are you doing?"
         A deeper voice than usual from behind. His ears twitched at the noise, but he couldn't be bothered; no, no no. Not now. There were important things in the works! Very important work to be done. Very important...
         He blinked as his wrist was seized, his palm pulled away from the flame, and he was pulled to his feet, urged faster by the jolt of pain that shot through his arm. When he was released, he laughed.
         "Do it again!" he urged, holding out his hand to the man who was staring at him as if he were quite strange or had some sort of funny hat on or something.
         "Do not play with fire," the man with the deeper voice and silver eyes told him.
         "I'm not playing," he responded, holding up his red and bleeding hand. "It won't hurt."
         "What?"
         "It won't hurt," he repeated, lowering his hand to pick at the torn and bloody bits of skin he could peel away. "No matter what, it won't. I can peel it to the bone, - like here, see? See the white? The white is bone. - I can peel it away and it won't hurt. It won't hurt like my arm. Why won't it hurt? Do what you did to my arm, maybe it will hurt."
         The man with the silver eyes seemed unimpressed, and in fact maybe a bit angry.
         "Do you see what I mean?" the man with the food inquired from his place at his chair. Chair, desk. Desk. His place at his desk.
         "Why are you doing this?" Silver-eyes demanded, seizing his wrist and beginning to wrap it with the roll of bandages Food kept there next to him.
         "I told you," his black eyes reflected confusion as he blinked. "It won't hurt. I want to fix it. It should hurt. Shouldn't it hurt?"
         Silver-eyes paused. "Come with me," he said suddenly.
         He tilted his head as his black eyes glittered, and then smiled as Silver-eyes seized him by the wrist and began to pull him away, out of the room.
         "Where are we going?" he inquired.          
         "We're going to get you put back on Earth," Silver-eyes replied, and he heard Food heave a heavy sigh.

         Hadrian tentatively flexed his bandaged hand, wincing a bit at the pain.
         "That should heal quickly," Sarakiel told him. "And from now on, so will all your wounds. Your body is immortal, for the most part. You will be reguarded as an Earth Messenger, the lowest class of angel, but you will have no duties but to keep away from trouble. Your body will regenerate from any injuries unless there is immense damage."
         "How immense?" Hadrian inquired.
         "If there is less than four solid square inches of you left, you will not have enough to regenerate. Anyhing else, and you will regenerate. Of course, the worse the damage, the longer it will take," Sarakiel replied.
         Hadrian blinked. "Just how much trouble do you think I'd find?" he inquired, staring at Sarakiel. "What on Earth did I do in my past life"
         Sarakiel smiled. "I pray you never learn," he said. "Stay away from any visitors to this town. You are never to leave the city limits here, ever, for any reason.
         Hadrian looked around at the small town they were standing together in the center of, with it's circle of small shops surrounding the little chuch they were atop the stairs of.
         "Here," Sarakiel said, offering him a small suitcase. "You will have more than enough money to survive here until the end of your days as long as you live modestly, and this is a good start on clothing. If you want more, you'll have to purchase it yourself. You are on your own, now. Good luck, Hadrian, on your new life."
         Hadrian looked around once more, then opened his mouth to thank the angel at his side, but by the time he looked back, the mysterious silver-eyed being was gone. Hadrian smiled, and set off to find himself an apartment.

         Hadrian waved goodbye as he walked out the door of the little store he'd gotten a job at a few months ago as a cashier. There was a young woman that worked beside him, every day, and in his hand he held her address and phone number, and his face held a smile.
         She was a sweet thing with pretty blue eyes and blonde curls, a real beauty and the preacher's eldest daughter. She was still two years younger than he was(or how old he estimated he was), but her father was alright with them seeing each other, so there was nothing to worry about now.
         "Hey," he smiled at Margaret, the flower lady, and she beamed at him.
         "You've got a glow about you today!" she smiled. "Did you finally ask Rialynn out?"
         "I did," Hadrian smiled. "Can I pick up a dozen roses from you about five-thirty tonight, ma'am?"
         "Of course you can," Margaret smiled as she pinched his cheek affectionately. "You know I always have flowers for you, my boy. The only man I know who appreciates them so, you are! If Rialynn didn't have such eyes for you, I'd have to claim you all for myself."
         Hadrian beamed at the middle-aged, chubby woman. "Aw. You know you'll always be my number one lady, Mar. Don't you fret about that," he leaned closer. "Just don't tell Rialynn."
         "Oh, you fox!" Margaret laughed. "I've never met a man like you, you know. Everyone swears you are an angel, and I'm inclined to believe them. You've always been rather mysterious about where it is you came from, after all. Seems like you've got some sort of secret."
         "Don't be silly, Margaret," Hadrian chided. "It's no secret where I come from. I came from a momma and pappa same as any child."
         "Oh, you and your talk," Margaret smiled. "You've got that way about you, haven't you? I tell you, you are either an angel or the Devil himself."
         "I suppose," Hadrian smiled as he picked up a tulip to smell, "That all depends on how much people like me or dislike me, hm?
         "I suppose it does," Margaret nodded.
         "Then let's hope you all never dislike me," Hadrian said. "I rather like being an angel. I don't know how I'd feel about being the Devil. Seems sort of hot and unpleasant. You know how I hate heat."
         "Get on home, boy," Margaret told him. "Go freshen yourself up for your date."
         Hadrian nodded. "Thank you, Margaret. You are just like a mother to me, you know."
         "Mother's day isn't far away," Margaret called after him as he headed off home.
         "Well," Hadrian called back. "Perhaps not that much like a mother!"

         Hadrian paused as he stared at the door to his apartment, which was sitting a few feet to the side from his doorway, completely removed from his hinges. He looked back down the hall, considering running, but then stepped forward cautiously, reaching for his side unconsciously until he caught himself and stared at his hand questioningly. Why on earth...?
         A noise inside caused him to pause, and then he leaned to look around through the doorway.
         "Who's in there?" Hadrian called, then felt a sharp pain in his neck. "What the-?" he began, then everything went black as he collapsed to the floor.

         When his eyes finally reopened, Hadrian found a bright light hanging above him. Upon moving, he discovered that he was strapped down in a chair, his ankles, thighs, wrists, and arms firmly tied down by leather straps.
         "So you're awake?"
         Hadrian turned his head as much as the tight strap about his neck allowed to see a blue-eyed man sitting at the edge of a large desk, watching him with a smile from behind those glasses and a mess of long, black hair.
         "So good to see you again," the man said as he picked up a syringe from his side carefully and made his way over to stand beside Hadrian.
         Hadrian tried to speak, to ask who this man was or where he was, but his voice failed him and he only wheezed.
         "I suppose you don't remember a thing," the blue eyed man mused as he held a needle over the flame from his lighter for a moment or two before attatching the needle to the syringe. "Smile pretty, now. This is your final chance for that surveilance camera to catch your beautiful face, I'm afraid."
         Hadrian jerked as the man inserted the needle right into his neck, and as the eerie blue liquid was pushed into him, Hadrian's entire body began to burn. He screamed at the pain, and it wasn't long before he felt his mind, too, crumble to the immesureable agony traveling through him. The straps held him fast, and he couldn't move as he struggled; no, all he could do was scream.


         His hands pressed against glass, his black eyes staring out over the foreign surroundings. He was in a valley; he could see a hill on one side of him rising high, blanketed with trees, and on the other side there was another, smaller hill, covered over with grass. 
         He didn't know why or how, but he was in a large box, perhaps five of him long and wide if he were to lie down. The entirety of the top and sides of the box were glass, with four small, round air vents in the middle of each of the walls lengthwise and just inches from the top of the box. The top of the box was tinted darkly, so that some shadow fell inside the box, though all four sides were crystal clear; so clear, in fact, it nearly appeared that the walls weren't there at all.
         The floor was concrete, cool, sloping down to the middle where there was a small drain. There was another hole in the Southwestern corner, too deep for him to reach or even see the bottom. There was also a hose coming up out of the concrete near the middle of the room, which he could get drinks from or use to wash himself and his clothes with.
         The furnishings of the box were minimal; there was a thinly padded rug just big enough for him to lie on in the Northeast corner, along with a small, thin pillow, a counter that took up the northwest corner that always had a tray of food on it when he woke up in the morning, though he did not know how it got there or why it was left, and this was all.
         He had nothing to do but sleep or stare out at his surroundings blankly, praying to see an animal. He would often sit all day and never see anything but the occasional movement of grass from an animal moving through.
         Then one sleepless night, he made a discovery: the valley came alive at night. He saw the silhouettes of wolves prowling on the high cliffs, far off to the west, he saw deer grazing cautiously on the grasses both around his box and up on the hills, and he even saw an owl swoop down into the grass on the hunt on a few rare occasions. And he was so fascinated by the sights that he took up sleeping during the day, and waking to watch at night.
         As the months and years passed, he found himself falling in love with the moon. It was beautiful, constant, and looking at it always calmed him, always made him happy.
         When they had disagreements, however, she would hide herself away in the clouds, and often she would weep profusely, her tears falling heavily from the clouds, until he begged her forgiveness in a way that pleased her.
         However, no matter how many times the rain came, she would always forgive him eventually and the skies would clear away. And no matter how many times she went away to visit her other lovers, no matter how many times she taunted and teased him, he always smiled and was genuinely happy to see her every time she came back to him. She was the only friend he had, and so he accepted her no matter how cruelly she treated him.

         Rain fell hard that cold, autumn night, rapping against the window and calling him to it. His hands pressed against the glass, icy coolness tingling over his fingers and palm as he tried to will it through that glass so he could feel the rain on his skin, feel anything real on his skin. He prayed for a miracle he was afraid of with every wave of mist that covered the window, every breath that passed his lips as his black eyes stared up at the moon, which was teasing him, taunting him through a little break in the rain clouds that growled and flickered dimly from within.
         How long had it been?
         He wanted to look around for a clock, a calendar, anything that would whisper some hint of the length of his captivity, but he was too afraid to look away, afraid that the moon would escape.
         Anyway, he knew there was nothing. Nothing he could look at, nothing he could hear. There was just nothing.
         A soft thunk on the glass near his feet drew his black eyes away from the glowing moon, and he stared with curiosity and some awe at the small creature staring up at him. He knelt to see the frog more closely, its little suction-cupped feet already beginning to carry it up the wet glass that surrounded him.
         Of course, this creature had no interest in him. No, his home – prison – was simply in its way. And yet he couldn’t help but watch, fascinated as it made its way steadily over the obstacle of glass. Even after the rain stopped, after the moon abandoned him and left him for the sun again(he’d never really gotten along with the sun, no, but now the moon was tiring of him, it seemed, and this news made him quite sad), after the rain dried away and the frog reached the top of the glass box so that it could hop across and travel quite far, he watched.
         When the moon returned, it whispered to him its disappointment of his abandoning sleep(one of the moon’s dearest companions) to watch this creature, which would surely leave him as soon as it was over the glass. But he ignored the moon, still angry with its hiding from and avoiding him for so long, and so the moon covered itself in clouds and began to weep again.
         (The frog seemed to be quite happy with this development, and also with the discovery that it had reached the far edge of its obstacle. And the frog did not think twice about its successful completion of the obstacle as it leapt away from it, of course, as the difference between animals and men is that animals live everywhere men cannot or are afraid to go(and often are the reason for the latter) and going somewhere is not quite so impressive when you have a cousin’s cousin who’s lived there for years.)
         As he watched this little creature escape to the black of distance stretched out in front of him, the sight of places he could never go again haunted him for the first time in so long. Usually, he didn’t mind. Usually, he enjoyed the scenery.
         However, watching this little creature escape to where he could reach was painful. His body sank down to the floor, pressed against the glass as rain ran down from the outside and tears ran down from the inside.
         He looked up to plead to the moon, but she had hidden herself away because of him again, and so his tear-filled black eyes were cast back down to the earth as he laid himself down against the glass before sealing his cursed black eyes into the blackness of sleep until he had the strength to open them to watch the world turn around him in silence again.

         He had seen rain before.
         He stared out from behind the glass, behind the southern wall of their glass prison, watching the sky. He had seen rain before, but never this much. It seemed like it would never stop, like it would swallow everything.
         He couldn't imagine the sky holding so much water, not even in the big, fluffy, black clouds that had rolled over him and stolen his love, the moon, away from him.
         How could those clouds hold so much water? He glanced down at the rising water around the glass at his feet. It was nearly to his knees, now, and was still rising, filling up the little valley he'd been trapped in for so long.
         His heart raced at the thought of the entire valley filling up, of the water pouring through the four air vents around the top of his glass prison, of feeling the water against his skin, of swimming. He dreamed of fish, of little water creatures for him to play with. He dreamed of a boat, a white boat with two long, thin oars, a boat with... people. People to rescue him, to take him far, far away. People who would...
         But he could only dream. He pressed his hands against the cool glass and stared at his hands – dirty hands, hands no one would want to touch and hold if he were to reach out to them - as the water rose ever higher.
         His eyes dimmed further, then, as movement caught his eyes, and he stared out across the dark, flooding valley to watch a mother deer and her fawn scrambling to get up and away from the water. They were stumbling, losing footing in the rain thanks to all the slick mud it was producing. If they didn’t make it, the fawn would surely drown, followed by his mother.
         Tears pricked at his eyes as he watched the poor animals struggle, but soon enough they were up into the trees, away from his sight, and his sadness for them subsided. Perhaps they’d survive… he could only speculate on that.
         He sat down, body feeling unnaturally and uncomfortably heavy, and looked at the line of the water, which was now well above his head.. He couldn’t see anything in the murky water, but his head was still swimming with images of bright happy little fish and curious little… otters? Is this what they were called?
         He leaned against the glass and watched, waited, not knowing quite what he was waiting for. His feelings were tangled, nagging and pulling at different parts of his mind, growing louder until he was begging them to quiet down, to let him rest.
         He wanted the water to overflow the valley, overflow the tank, and he wanted people, people in boats, to come and rescue him, and he wanted the fish.. On the other hand, however, he also wanted the water to leave the valley, to spare all the little creatures that served as his only entertainment and company.
         But most of all, he wanted the moon, his only friend and companion, back. He wanted the clouds to part so he could see her beautiful silver face, so he knew he was not abandoned. He mourned for her return just as he mourned his own imprisonment, and as grief and loneliness took over and silenced all his other emotions and thoughts, he cried for her and for himself as he’d never cried before.

         Black eyes fluttered open at the sound, the feel of something knocking up against the glass he was lying against. He sat up, groggy, and rubbed his eyes before looking to the glass next to him to see the most peculiar animal.
         A boar, he knew it was called from some far-off memories he could never fully grasp but he sometimes dreamed of. It was grunting, ramming itself up against the glass. Perhaps it was angry with him?
         He pouted at the thought. He'd never even seen the thing before; how could it hate him so? He tried to shoo it away, to wave it off as backed up and readied itself to charge at him once more, but that only seemed to make it angrier.
         He jerked away, jumping to his feet as the animal collided with the glass, a whining and cracking noise screaming from the glass that had been silent for so long. He gaped at the long gashes in the glass as the animal backed away once again, and then yelped when the animal collided again and sent shards of the glass tumbling onto the mat he'd been sleeping on only moments before.
         He fell to his knees and picked up one of the shards carefully, staring at it. It glittered in the sunlight as he turned it in his hand. It looked like... it looked like the stars he watched every night. It was beautiful.
         Another crash pulled his attention back to the boar, who was now trying to force its way inside the hole it had made. Its snout and head was getting all sliced up in the effort, but it seemed determined.
         His black eyes widened as he watched the blood run from the poor thing. Wasn't it tired? Wasn't it hurt? Why did it keep trying to get through? Was it trying... was it trying to save him from this place?
         He waved his hands again, pleading with the thing silently to stop, to turn away. Surely he could get himself out now that an opening had been made, it didn't need to hurt itself. It didn't need to hurt.
         The boar rammed and wiggled, smashed and twisted as blood gushed from its face and legs. He watched helplessly, unable to sway it from its task, until the boar stopped moving, stuck impaled in the hole it'd made, blood soaking into the mat on the floor. He covered his mouth as tears began to leak from the corner of his eyes and he sank to the floor.
         Why was this? The first thing that had tried to rescue him and... And it...
         He squeezed his eyes shut tight as he scooted himself back, back to the far wall where he sat and held himself. He prayed that this was all some sort of horrible dream, that he would wake up to find the moon smiling down at him. He prayed that none of this had ever happened.
         At the sound of shifting glass Hadrian lifted his head again, hopeful that perhaps the animal had only been made unconscious from blood loss and had, in fact, woken up again. However, what he saw made him cry again.
         Wolves. Wolves were prying the boar from the window, pulling it out of the small opening in the glass. He watched them take it, drag it across the ground, and he watched them tear it apart and begin to devour it.
         He couldn't watch anymore. He lowered his head, closed his eyes and covered his ears, hoping for sleep. Hoping for anything to take him away from this place for a few hours, a few months, a few years even.
         The glass moved again, and his eyes slid open once more to see a small fox inside his box, licking at the blood the boar had left behind. He stared at it, its silvery fur glittering in the rising moon's light. He couldn't help but be amazed.
         Surely this creature was from the moon. It was there to comfort him, to save him. To clean up the blood and make the horrible memory of the day go away.
         The fox watched him with fearful amber eyes as he began to crawl closer to it. He begged it not to go, not to run from him. He begged it not to abandon him, not now.
         The moon creature was hesitant. However, when he retrieved some meat from his tray of food and offered it over, the moon creature seemed to understand and accept, moving closer to him to take the offering. It retreated, however, when he reached out to touch its silvery fur, and left him waiting, alone once again.