Fallen

Chapter One

     I've never met my father. Mother tells me that he is a righteous man. If that's true, then answer me this: how does a righteous man abandon his child before she is even born? Doesn't seem very righteous to me. Seems selfish. Cowardly.

     But, of coarse, I never express this opinion to my mother. She would be heartbroken if I spoke so ill of him. Seeing as I've never met him, and he was the love of her life. I think she still loves him, despite not having spoken to him in 17 years. She hasn't told me much about him other than that he is loyal to the Lord, and his name.

     Castiel. I find it an odd name. Odd yet captivating. The name makes him seem interesting. So much so, that I almost want to know more about him. Then I remember that he walked out on my mother in her time of need, and suddenly I'm not so interested. Mother once told me that he has a very important job. If his job is so important, doesn't he get paid enough to support a family? I'm just one girl! I don't even need to eat as much as other people.

That fact worries my mother, but I don't understand why. We've been to the doctor multiple times about it, and they all say that I'm perfectly healthy. I think it's a little strange too, but what can I say? I just get full faster than everyone around me. It's really not as big a deal as Mother thinks it is.

But back to my scum father. Mother once told me that if I ever wanted to talk to him, all I had to do was pray to him. She's crazy, really. I think I once heard her mutter something about angels. Sure, I get it, everyone wants to believe that they have a guardian angel, but it's ridiculous. Angels aren't real. Plain and simple. I'm surprised my mother hasn't been admitted to a mental facility, honestly. She started blabbering on about God and angels when I was 10. It didn't take long for me to teach myself to tune her out.

She drags me to church with her every Sunday, but I tune that out too. I can't bring myself to tell her that I don't believe in any of it. We have church today. In other words, we have three hours of an angry man yelling about how God will return and smite everyone who doesn't believe in him, along with hillbilly hicks fanning themselves with their bibles and randomly shouting "Amen!" Hooray. I can't wait.

"Celeste, we're going to be late!" Mother shouts as she bangs on my bedroom door.

I fling the door open and feel its wind blow my black hair back. "Do I have to go?"

"Why do you insist on doing this dance with me every Sunday? Yes, you have to go, now move it! Get dressed!" She argues.

"I am dressed," I say looking down at my graphic tee and ripped jeans.

She sighs. "Again, Celeste, we do this every Sunday. You are not wearing that to church! Put on that dress Aunt Margo got for you!"

I sigh back. I really don't like arguing with her, but I also really don't like wearing dresses. "Fine," I mumble and close the door. I put on the pastel colored floral dress and my grey Converse. It actually matches quite nicely. I open the door to see her still standing there. "Okay, let's go," I say speeding past her into the living room.

"Stop!" She sternly says. I obey but keep my back to her. "Not so fast," she says. She grabs two pieces of hair just below my temples from behind me and brings them back to her. I feel her secure the strands to the back of my head with a small clip. She walks around me to admire her work. "There!" She says triumphantly. She looks me up and down and stops at my shoes. She sighs. "Close enough, I'm done arguing with you. Let's go!" She turns her back to me and walks to the front door. I roll my eyes and follow.

At church, I do just as I do every Sunday. I make sure to sit behind someone that will ensure that Father Andrew can't see me zoning out.

What feels like a lifetime (but only ends up being halfway through the service) later, I mange to hear Father Andrew ask, "Who here knows for a fact that they have an angel watching over them?"

I try to ignore the preposterous question, but my mother smacks me on my arm and pulls me back into reality. I give her a slightly scolding look and see that her opposite hand is raised. She can't be serious. A few other people in the church also have their hands raised, but it's less than a fourth of the whole church. She gestures for me to follow her actions. When I don't do so, she lifts my arm up for me. Too bored to care, I leave it up.

"I want those of you with your hands raised to please come join me up here," Father Andrew says.

     Great. See what you did, Mom?

Mother pulls me to a stand and leads me up the aisle to the front of the church, where Father Andrew stands at his podium. The few of us that had their hands raised stand on either side of Father Andrew. He goes down the line asking if any of us know our angel's name. Most say no, but a few say names like Jedediah and Isaiah. Figures.

Father Andrew gets to Ms. Ava standing next to us. She's a nice old lady that lives across the street from us. She's your stereotypical cat lady who's almost definitely going senile. Father Andrew asks if she knows the name of her angel, and she replies, "He hasn't told me his name. He comes to me in my dreams and tells me about what my grandmother does in heaven!"

I can't help but roll my eyes. Father Andrew smiles at her and moves on to my mother. "What about you, Emily?" He asks her. "Do you know the name of your guardian angel?"

"Why yes, I do," she says. I let out a small chuckle that's barely audible. "His name is Castiel."