Prisonerís Freedom

by Katherine Rose


I am back. Being here returns memories. Usually She thinks, but today I can remember. It hurts, I hurt, every time, until I forget about the pain because it has hurt so many times before. Lonely. Once I saw another, and she smiled at me. But she is gone. No, that is the past. I see her here now, and it really is now. I am almost sure. 

She is here, the angel in the depths of the Lab. She does not belong; He may do anything to her. He cares nothing for what is, only what could be, and He seeks to replace perfection with perfection. I will let her go. I will free her. Make a diversion. They will forget the angel for the monster. I open the door while they are still sleeping but she wakes and sees me. She is the only one who has ever smiled at me, a true smile. She has a dark, reddish mark on her arm. I am too late. But maybe I can limit the cost. No diversion is too great. I will kill the leader of this place so she can be free. So she can fly with her angelís wings. Not be bound by His chains. Or by Hers. I smile back and whisper to her to sleep. Her companions will help her to get out while the rest are confused by the monsterís attack. Now I must go before She learns that I am still capable of thought, and She squeezes it out of me. It is too hard.  

Fleeting glimpses. These are all I have of her. There are but moments that I can slide away from Her view and see the angel. Often I must pretend to see her companions, as there is one that She is interested in. All to the better. I can pretend to watch him when I am really watching the angel. 

One night I come to her window. I pretend to merely keep an eye on the group but I stop at her window and watch her face as she sleeps. Her eyes half open and she turns to smile at me. 

I can almost feel her, like the blonde one. The mark on her arm remains. She tries to hide it but she rubs it when she thinks no one is watching. They do not see me following them as they follow my trail; I have made sure of that. But I worry about the angel. Has He used his Lab, has He tried to make the angel into a monster? He thinks that I am perfect. He doesnít know that the angel already is.

She is a healer. That is obvious from watching them. I am a killer, born and raised to it. But that is all that Hers can be. Twisted, consumed. Hateful. The angel must not be twisted. It must be stopped before She can take over and use an angel for her own purpose. For the angel is stronger than she looks, and with Her in control she would not be a healer. Everyone would hate her. She would hate herself. That smile must not be made to hate.

The angel is alone. Not with the blonde one. I go while She is busy. A forest and I see her; golden light falls through the trees around her. Her smile is so warm but so sad. She knows. She knows everything. She is so strong. I cannot see and my throat hurts, but I blink and nod. We will both know when the time is right. She only has to be strong for a little longer. We only have to be strong for a little longer. I can give in after that.

So I close my eyes hard, and when I open them I can see to fix the image of my angel in my soul forever; not my mind, for She can go there, but the part of me that is me and that She cannot reach. Green, and pink, and golden. I make a rose of the same colors out of the substance I use to project myself; it will soon fade away, but it is all I can give to her. Tears flow from her eyes and soon neither of us can see, so I reach out to touch her hair, the soft golden-brown blur, just once. Just once. She whispers, "Thank you." I tell her goodbye, and I go.

Then I must wait. I must make Her wait. I think of how much I want to twist the blond one into a useful tool, a puppet. I think how much the angel is a threat to Her and to me. I think how much I hate them both. I think it until I almost believe it. It is enough; She believes it. A general must be an actor; neither friend nor foe must be permitted to see any fear or weakness. I must be an actor within my own mind and play the part of the monster even there.

The blonde one comes. Not much time. He doesnít see the monster waiting to consume her, the monster ready to take over her being; he sees only the angel in her, so he finds strength to stop himself. The orb in her hair glows; it is enough time. The angel looks up and smiles, one last smile for her companion. Gladness at seeing him once more. Gladness at finishing her task. Hope of freedom. I think I can feel her soul reach out to mine, pleading. The angel will be tired now and I must stop Her from realizing. So I jump before She can change our mind and I set the angel free. Even the way she falls is graceful. Filled with joy and triumph, I smirk at having outwitted Her who hears my thoughts and I relax my mind, letting Her see how close she was to having another extremely powerful puppet. She is angry at being deceived, and She wonít let it happen again. I know this. But I donít mind. It will be so much easier this way. As I let the last of my mind go, I send a prayer to my angel. I pray that her companions will hate me enough, will be strong enough to kill me, so that I may see my beloved angel once again.