The Beginning of War

I dreamt. Darkness swirled in my head. My body flew backwards at high speeds. The ambulance took me from the hospital to an old church. I’ve seen that church. It was then that the dream became a third person view. This was the church she would try to bring me to; the same that my father would sing in and bring its spirit home with him.
I could see the church’s steps, the stain-glass windows, and the Celtic cross on the bell tower. I felt as though I should walk back into the church, and when I did this new body merged with my old figure in the middle of the church’s middle alley in front of the altar. So much happened so quickly, but I saw every detail in it.
The rewind became slower. It came to a halt as I was walking up to the altar. My eyes were filled with salty water; again. I couldn’t move outside of what was happening, my muscles moving on their own, twisting to the recording of past events. I was a passenger in my own body.
The recording played with nothing of value besides me crying over what I can only image was my wife. I would not have had any reason to cry, or care at all, except that it was the death of her. I continued to walk forward. The altar was sanctuary that I strived for. I pushed forward to stand in its shadow. A man with no belief that bows before the altar is a sad sight—but never a lost cause.
I fell to my knees. Tears rolled down my face as though they were lead. I felt helpless. The effects of the recording weighed down on my soul. I sat there, minutes, maybe even an hour went by before I acted. “Why?! Why have You forsaken me?!” tore from my throat; almost roaring.
Something changed, the air was heavy and warm. The stain-glass window above the back of the church was dark and only showed the figure of a cross. Light began to shine through, but how? It was night, I did not know what hour the bells where ringing, but I knew for sure that the moon was up when my third person form was outside the church and staring up.
Light music, soft and lingering, played out of the organ. My head tilted from its prior position from the outburst towards the Heavens and stared dumbfounded at the light. A voice entered the church that was not my own. “Get up you fool.” I stared at this figure, the light shown from behind him as pattern shadows of wings spread over my body. My legs made me stand as the figure instructed. “God has heard your cry. You have suffered, true, but will you give up hope?” My eyes filled with tears again.
“My love is gone, what can I do? The animal responsible, I want him dead… Where is the justice, where is the vengeance!” I could not help but gain more force behind my voice as the words came out—louder and louder with the anger and sadness that came out with it.
“What do you want? God has given you a life worth more than gold to others. What could you ask of Him who has given you so much?” The dream started to flicker. The anger in me welled up to a point I could not hold back.
“Murder! I want the sons of bitches that murdered my wife to know the fear of God!” I almost laughed as my limp body screamed those words. “I want them to know the pain she suffered… how I am suffering. I want them to feel physically what I feel mentally!” I could not help but smirk to myself over the thought of such actions. I must have been going crazy; a shrouded shadow figure of God was talking to me in a church I did not even attend.
The angel’s shadow seemed to be smirking with me. The darkness that the angel created pulled off the floor. It caressed my arms, moved through my back, and poured into my neck like sickly roots. The mark! The pain felt as though the sun’s core was trying to burn its way through my spine. “You shall have revenge. You shall have hatred. You shall feel pain. When the last of the seven that wronged you falls,” the angel came closer to me in a swoop of his wings to whisper the last words with a chuckle, “this human body shall fall. Do you agree to these terms?” He reached out his hand for a deal to be struck.
My hand shook as the burning continued. My eyes flowed around the church in wonder. The snake below Mary’s foot tried to slither away only to have Mary deliver a final blow to its throat. Joseph’s statue placed his hand in a prayer stance, delivering words of wisdom from what few segments reached my ears in this time of blinding pain. I looked up to see another wonder.
Jesus’ eyes bled as His head hung low. His spirit could be seen leaving the body and shining brighter behind the shadow angel. His hands open to me, forgiveness was mine. This was my chance. I would have retribution. I would take their lives, one by one, and make them beg for death; and with that thought the spirit’s eyes bled further.
I reached up with a slowed heartbeat and took his hand, which stung my skin and sent a sensation of cuts through my fingers as though they were being slashed. The angel smiled and the scorching light burned through him in beams. The body soon burst into a full skyline of light, burning my eyes; burning my skin. I could feel the warmth—the power. The smell of singed flesh and decay filled the air, but it did not dampen me.
The statues around me seemed to chant with the chorus of the organ’s song as it continued in the background, louder than before. The lyrics of the song were beautiful, light, and floating. My body writhed in pain as the shadows burned and the light ripped into me. Music lingered above my ears, teasing me with their angelic tune, a joyful event.
Glorious pain. I had never felt such agony; or joy. All the hatred and sorrow in me bled into a mixture of pure loathing strength. This pain that found every aspect of my being; it changed me… and I loved it.
A sigh escaped my body. The music died. The figure of the shadow angel was gone. Figures and images returned to their rightful place. I was alone, my hands palm up on the floor as my shoulders slumped over my knees. Burning on my neck continued as my eyes stared at the ground.
The bell struck its final toll at midnight.