Luke 4:10

I knew the moment of death was upon me. Strange how in a matter of a few days it had come to this. I realized I was shaking and had to work quickly before …I didn’t want to think it.

I grabbed the tiny dagger. Though deadly, the weapon I held was beautiful. Tiny etchings glinted in the gold handle, retelling the story of the Archangels’ fall from heaven, their story delicately carved into the deadly blade.

I swallowed hard. Would God accept me now?

Splinters of uncertainty swelled within me, but my mind was already made up.

Without another thought, I plunged the dagger deep into my heart, hoping my plan would work. Gasping, I lurched forward, scrambling for anything my fingers could touch. I found the curtains and brought them crashing to the ground, the rod ripping out of my wall, leaving huge gaping holes. As if mimicking those holes, the velvet night ripped itself open, rain falling to the ground in wet torrents. My eyes closed to the haze that was now enveloping me, and I lay there as the rain quickly stained the weary sky and the heavens wept for me.

It was there again.

The fluttering. The wings.

My eyes squeezed shut and I once again convinced myself there was no way this could be real. I was dreaming — again.

But, sure as day, I felt a breeze on my skin, felt my hair shift around my face. The air around me was in motion, my heart beating faster. I gulped down my panic deep into my stomach and did what I knew had to be done.