Angel

You were the one who talked too much. Words flow from your lips... Scraps of prayers, some numbers and names. At first, people laugh, and then... you guess something.

You're schizoid. It says so in your papers, which you carry with you for some reason. You hallucinate. You see an angel. The angel never spoke out loud, only bowed his head when necessary. You believe in him. Not because you want to, but because without him, it seems impossible to even breathe.

Now people don't call you by your name. You're called the Messenger or the Blessed One.

You were brought to everyone in need.

And you try to help. You place your palms on people's foreheads and feel the fear stirring beneath them. You say whatever comes to mind, because if you remain silent, the angel will come closer. Sometimes your words actually make people feel better. Sometimes worse. And sometimes someone dies. Then you cry when you're alone. You apologize to the angel. "I'm trying. I'm really trying to be there for them," you whisper. At such moments, the angel breaks into a wide smile, revealing many sharp teeth.

Gradually, over the years, people began to trust only you. You see how your words turn into laws, prohibitions, and prophecies. But you didn't want this. You simply wanted to be kept in your place.

One night, an angel stands before you. "They're listening. So you must speak even more," he said. And you speak. About sin in the blood, purification, the destiny of each person.

The very next day, someone in the city is exorcised. "I meant it!" you shouted desperately. But everyone thought it was just a test. You stopped going out; they came themselves, waited, and prayed. The angel doesn't leave anymore. You can smell the rottenness on him. "They need you. Without you, they're blind."

....