Extinguish
J.M. Darhower
Extinguish is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright (c) 2013 by JM Darhower
All rights reserved
Published in the United States
ISBN-13: 978-1484162224
ISBN-10: 1484162226
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Table of Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Epilogue
To my mama, who shines brightly above, a twinkling star in the vibrant night sky. I miss you more than words can say.
"Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil." -Friedrich Nietzsche
Prologue
Cold air crept through the small school playground, stirring the abandoned swings on either side of Serah. Once alive with children's carefree laughter, all that could be heard now were the sounds of desolation: the metal chains creaking and clanking as the crisp, earth-toned leaves on the trees crinkled in the thrashing wind, mixing with the menacing, high-pitched noises streaking through the atmosphere, the hisses and clangs only she could hear.
The skin of Serah's arms and legs prickled as she trembled, pushing her brown hair from her face when it flew into her eyes. Her long summer dress flapped in the wind, darkened with filth, obscuring the pretty peach it used to be. Once proper and polished, she'd been ripped apart, tainted with sin and covered in dishonor.
How had it gotten that far? How had she fallen so fast, so hard?
The answer to her question appeared right in front of her face.
She sensed him before she saw him, felt his presence like the bitter breeze. He smelled like lit matches, crackling fire with a hint of peppermint. The electricity in the air intensified, the sky stirring, a red and black swirl of clouds blocking the much-needed sunlight. A storm was coming on fast, and that storm had a name.
"Lucifer."
Serah gazed across the playground as he stepped out from behind the worn metal slide. Although he was yards away, she knew he'd heard her when she whispered his name. Tall, dark, and handsome, while overtly cliché, was the only way she could begin to describe him. His short, dark hair was a wild mess of thick curls, his long-sleeved button-down shirt exposing hints of a solid chest. With broad shoulders and tanned skin, Lucifer appeared sturdy yet harmless, his dimpled half-smirk almost friendly. With just one look, one measured curl of his lips, he invited you in to stay forever. And there was no denying this charismatic creature. While maybe not Heaven, he was certainly home.
But his eyes told another story, a far different one, more angry and sinister, just stealthily disguised by charm. Once as bright blue as a summer afternoon, now they burned black and red like the fiery evening sky, a small glimpse of the festering monster beneath the pretty skin.
"Stop this," she said, her voice a soft breath. "Please."
He stepped forward, moving closer. Serah shuddered violently as the air around her grew frigid, like he’d claimed every speck of warmth for himself. Her heart frantically raced in her chest, so fast and hard it hurt, a jackhammer brutalizing her ribcage. Thump, thump, thump. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt until recently—not until him, not until this.
"I can't," he whispered.
"You have to," she insisted. "It's gone too far."
He stood there, stoic, statuesque as he gazed at her. The sky continued to churn, sporadic fat raindrops starting to fall. One splattered his skin and sizzled as it evaporated into a puff of steam.
The sky was crying acid tears.
"Lucifer, they're going to—"
He cut her off. "I know."
"You can't win."
"I know that, too."
"Then why?" she asked, pleaded, begged for an answer she’d understand. "Why are you doing this?"
He hesitated, taking one more step toward her, his hands clasping the chains of her swing. Leaning down, he pressed his feverish forehead against hers and stared into her eyes, searching for something, as she equally sought out the truth in his.
After a moment, he let out a deep sigh. Pressing his lips to hers, he kissed her softly, sweetly, an innocent gesture for a creature they called "The Devil."
"I have to try," he murmured, "for you."
One
Six weeks earlier
(Or six months, or six years . . . time is but a blink sometimes)
"Ring-a-round a rosie,
A pocket full of posies;
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down."
The two little girls collapsed into the lush green grass. The blonde one, seven-year-old Emily Ann Dryer, kicked her feet with joy, while her brunette best friend, Nicki Marie Lauer, laughed gleefully alongside her. Their classmates ran around them, playing and shouting, enjoying every second left of midday recess.
"Isn’t that about the plague?" Hannah asked, cocking her curly blonde head to the side as she studied the kids. "The Black Death?"
"Maybe," Serah replied, swinging gently back and forth on the center swing. "Or maybe it’s just a nursery rhyme."
"Either way, it’s absurd," Hannah said. "It makes no sense."
"That’s the point." Serah watched as the girls stood back up and grasped hands, spinning around in circles again. "It’s supposed to be silly."
Hannah sighed. "I’ll never understand humans."
Serah glanced at the swing beside her as Hannah’s attention shifted away from the kids. She gazed into the cloudless afternoon sky, her eyes focused directly on the sun. Her red dress glowed under the sun's strong rays, her wings nearly see-through as they shimmered, a shield of gold glitter in the air surrounding her.
Just then, a little boy ran by—Johnny Lee Smith, age eight—and grabbed ahold of Nicki's long ponytail. He yanked it hard, pulling her away from her best friend and throwing her to the ground before running away again.
Sighing, Serah snapped her fingers. Johnny skated to a stop and whirled around, pausing for a fraction of a second before racing to help Nicki back to her feet.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Don't be mad, ’k?"
Nicki's tears dried as she nodded. "Okay."
It's the basic things—love, respect, and compassion—that make the biggest difference sometimes. The little boy and girl shared a smile before going their separate ways again.
"You should be sainted," Hannah said. "I couldn't deal with these tiny, fickle creatures every day."
"There are worse things out there," Serah reminded her. "Besides, kids are the easiest. They still have consciences."
"Is that why you wanted this job?"
The girls rejoined hands and returned to their game as if nothing had happened. Resilient creatures, kids. Serah had been elated to take on the task of watching over them—a task most of her kind didn't understand or appreciate. "They give me hope. Reminds me why we all do what we do every day."
"I could say the same about the grass and the trees, but you don't see me volunteering for gardening duty, do you?"
Serah laughed. "I don't see you volunteering for anything."
A bell rang in the distance. The children all bolted for the school building, rushing right past them, a few even knocking into their swings. No one looked their way or suspected their presence, oblivious to the angels lingering in the schoolyard.
They were only seen when they wan
ted to be seen.
As the children obediently lined up to go to their classrooms, something stirred in the air. The vibrant sun disappeared behind a sudden dense cloud covering, the blue sky darkening to the shade of midnight.
"Are you doing that?" Serah asked, looking above.
Hannah slowly shook her head. "It's not supposed to storm today."
They jolted in harmony as thunder roared, deadly lightning flashing across the sky. The kids shrieked, startled by the shift in weather, before rushing indoors to beat the oncoming rain.
Electricity sizzled across Serah's skin, the sky screaming what words wouldn't say.
Somewhere out there, an angel had fallen today.
The two teleported home the same time as countless others, a vast expanse of glowing land on a different plane, far out of human reach. Frantic whispers coursed through the pure white air as they took personal roll call, making sure their friends were all there, Grace still intact.
Hannah flowed through the group, trying to find answers, while Serah took up residence along the outskirts, her eyes scanning the crowd for her brothers and sisters. It was impossible to keep up with everyone as thousands upon thousands of their kind descended. It was rare they gathered together like this—only during times of immeasurable desperation.
And desperation, at that moment, was a severe understatement.
An angel falling, to them, was the greatest tragedy. They were supposed to be unshakable, their faith unwavering, their strength unparalleled, but when one of their own tumbled from their proverbial pedestal, lost to earthly transgressions, it served as a stark reminder that even the invincible weren’t immune to the temptations of sin.
Hannah reappeared. Serah stared at her, wide-eyed. Few things affected them—they felt no hunger, no cold, no physical pain—but even angels weren't ignorant to fear. They were trained to sense it, to detect the smallest hints of danger surrounding them. "Who was it? Who fell?"
"I, uh . . . I don't know yet."
Reaching over, Hannah grabbed Serah's hand and squeezed reassuringly. The two of them had been side by side since the beginning. They'd watched in awe together as God made the universe, watched in fascination as He created man, and watched in sorrow as that creation persecuted His son.
And together, they'd watched in horror as one of their own turned against their Father, bringing down many of their kind along the way.
"I can sense all of the Virtues," Hannah said, visibly relaxing. "It wasn't one of us that fell. We're all okay."
Serah stood frozen, wishing she felt the same relief. Something deep inside of her churned, an expanding void, a connection missing. It was as if a limb had been severed, a part of her slowly but surely ripping away.
A gasp tore from her chest as the link in the chain brutally snapped. "I think it's—"
"Samuel."
The chorus of whispers ceased as the strong, male voice interrupted. It reached far and wide, detached and stoic, but the sound of it carried devastating heartache through the crowd. Serah especially felt it, confirming her emptiness.
Samuel. Oh, Samuel.
Slowly, she turned and came face-to-face with Michael behind her, his massive iridescent wings twice the size of everyone else's. The appearance of an Archangel sent most of the others apparating back out of there within seconds, but Serah didn't move. She couldn't. Not yet.
It couldn't be Samuel. It had to be a mistake.
Had to be.
Michael's gaze trailed over what remained of the crowd before settling intently on her. Sympathy shined from his blue eyes, his handsomely chiseled face burdened. "I'm sorry."
If Serah were capable of crying, tears would've streaked her ashen face then. Samuel—her brother, her best friend—had fallen.
But how?
Although she hadn't asked it out loud, Michael heard her question. "How do any of us fall?"
Sin.
More angels promptly vanished, returning to their endless duties, as others materialized. The Dominion, with their dowdy, gray suits and small, matching wings, quietly dished out orders to the remaining angels. Serah just stood there, staring wordlessly at Michael, hoping something would spill from his lips to make sense of it all, but he chose to remain mute. If he had answers, if he had an actual explanation, he wasn’t planning to clue her in.
"May I have a moment, Serah?"
The monotone voice diverted Serah’s eyes from Michael. She turned to an awaiting Dominion, her voice guarded as she replied, "Of course."
Hannah’s grip tightened for a brief moment before she left in a pop of static electricity. A large hand grasped Serah’s shoulder then, heavy and strong, pulling her down while raising her up at the same time. It was comforting, yet concerning—welcoming, yet fearsome. The presence of an Archangel was uncommon, the touch of one practically unheard of. The lingering angels vanished in a heated murmur of gossip, leaving Serah and Michael alone with the Dominion.
"You have a new task," the Dominion declared. "Your presence is required at the border between the righteous and the wicked, at the edge of Earth where everything descends into flames."
It took Serah a moment to grasp the instruction. "Wait . . . the front lines?"
He nodded in confirmation.
"There has to be a mistake," Serah said. "My calling is with the children, not in this war."
"There are no mistakes," the Dominion said. "You’re a Power. This is what your kind does. You protect the innocent from evil, and there’s no greater threat than what exists there."
"What am I to do?" she asked. "What’s my directive?"
"You’re to report to the gates."
She gaped at him. "The gates?"
"You’re to demand a cease-fire from the leader of the uprising. The fighting has gone on long enough without reprieve. Too many have fallen. You have until the snow falls on you to establish the truce."
"I’ll do it," Michael chimed in. "I’ll go in her place."
"You can’t," the Dominion said.
"I can, and I will," he replied. "She has no history with him."
"That’s the point," the Dominion said. "He has none with her, no harbored resentment or long-standing grudges to get in the way. There’s a greater chance of cooperation if—"
Bitter laughter erupted from Michael. "Cooperation? You think he’ll cooperate?"
"There's a chance he will, if she can appeal to his original nature. Serah has proven herself to be patient and persistent at tapping into a soul's conscience. It's her talent. She cultivates it. If you went, Michael, the plan would never work."
"It won’t work either way," Michael declared. "He has no conscience to tap into! Don't you understand? We’ve sent men down there for ages to convince him to stop this utter nonsense, and he never listens! So I’m going instead, to spare her the pointless journey."
"It’s not your job."
"Not my job?" Anger stirred Michael’s voice. "When the final battle comes, it is my duty to face him—mine and mine alone."
"Yes, I'm aware, but it's not time for that yet."
"You may oversee the other angels, but you don’t order me around, Dominion. You don't dictate what I do. You don't tell me what it's time for."
"While true, Prince," the Dominion sneered, the first bit of emotion Serah had ever heard from one of them, "it’s not our order."
Michael hesitated before muttering, "it's His."
"Yes, and I’d hardly refer to God’s will as pointless. He has reasons even if no reason can be found." The Dominion turned his attention back to Serah. "It’s imperative you report to the threshold straightaway. He’ll be anticipating your arrival."
A loud crack ricocheted through the land as the last of the Dominion dispersed. Michael’s hand on Serah’s shoulder grew heavier, weighed down by resignation.
"Come away with me," he whispered. "We’ll spend the night together."
Serah reluctantly shook her head. Numbness coated her mind, slowing her reactions. She was in
shock. The gates? She'd never known anyone to have gone, only hearing stories of the horrors that existed there. "You heard him, Michael. I have to report."
"Tomorrow," Michael insisted. "Nothing will change overnight, Serah. In fact, nothing will ever change when it comes to him. There's no point rushing just to get nowhere. Besides, you could probably use the extra energy."
It wasn’t difficult to convince her. Serah relaxed against Michael, her golden, shimmering wings folding into her. Her back flush against his chest, she let out a deep, submissive sigh.
The war had been brewing since the beginning of time. One night wouldn’t make a difference, right?
Michael wrapped his sturdy arms around her as he leaned down, nuzzling into her neck. "Where to?"
She gripped his forearms. "You choose."
It's a myth that Heaven is a singular place. There are no pearly gates leading to a fluffy sanctuary, no Saint Peter monitoring names and determining if people are allowed inside. Salvation isn't run by a book. There's no Naughty or Nice list, à la Santa Claus.
No, Heaven’s an idea. Heaven’s the space a free soul inhabits once it has been expelled from the body, the energy that once lived inside a person crackling on in its own little corner of the atmosphere. You could call it an illusion, pure imagination, but it's deeper than that. It's a magnificent dream on an everlasting loop. It’s still existing, even though you technically no longer exist.
Heaven’s what you make it, whatever you want it to be. A lifetime of obedience earns you an eternity of freedom.
Michael and Serah materialized in the middle of a wide-open field, the grass nearly as tall as their knees. Brilliant wildflowers blanketed the isolated land—reds, oranges, yellows, purples, and pinks all mixed in with the vibrant green. It’s Heaven to a woman named Margaret Lou Jackson, who spent all 48 years of her professional life crammed in a small office cubicle. She’d always wanted to travel and see the world, to enjoy nature and experience true peace, but she never got the chance until she passed away.