Unknowns

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Unknown awoke in a desolate park. Shivering, she stood, wiping the mud from her short dress. Her violet eyes blinked away the sleepiness, and, squinting, they saw leafless trees in the distance. A smile widened on her face. Nature is beautiful, she thought, running up to a tree with her dress whipping behind her.

Once there, she hugged the tree. Its sap stuck between her fingers. She licked a fingertip of it, recoiling from the taste. Then she smeared it onto her sides. Still, she loved the tree, her heart beating heavily.

As she started away from it, she stepped on a wildflower's stem. The crisp crunch abruptly caught her attention. She crouched down to the ground and held the crushed flower in her frail hands. A tear trickled down her freckled cheek, dripping from her chin, and splattered over the flower's corpse.

Her hands shook. The flower was dead. She killed it. Its beauty was destroyed, and its life ended too soon. This girl, Unknown, killed a flower.

Wailing in agony, Unknown sprinted, holding the dead flower by her aflame breast. A petal fluttered off as she ran. She cried harder. Frantically, her head cocked in all directions, looking around for anywhere without life. When she found an empty patch of dirt, she dove to the ground and skid her knees. She scooped up the soil, ignoring the dirt in her nails and the sharp pain in her bleeding knees.

With a round stone, she marked the flower's resting place.

Up above Unknown, perched upon the clouds, were two winged creatures that looked down upon her. To the left was an angel, who gazed at Unknown with tear-filled eyes. He wiped his eyes and smiled at her. She is pure, he thought.

"She is vile," laughed the fallen one beside the angel. His flaming irises shifted to the young angel.

"What makes you think so, Seriktiel?" the angel asked. His calm tone belied his hatred of the experienced fallen one. "She cares for that flower."

Seriktiel chuckled, slapping his thigh. "Oracheal, you are a child, but I never pinned you down as ignorant," he mocked. Then he pointed his finger down to the weeping girl. "She murdered that flower, and did you see how disgusted that tree sap made her? An Unknown either loves or hates this world, and it seems to me that this one hates it. Therefore, she belongs in Hell."

The angel's face glowed red. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. "She will become an angel!" Oracheal shouted. "You speak lies, ancient shit! And I am no more a child!"

Seriktiel's maw was wide open in a smirk, and his teeth shone in the moonlight. His fiery eyes brightened. "There's the lovely Oracheal I've heard so much about, brimming with rage and cussing. 'The Dark Angel,' you are called, yes?"

Oracheal scoffed and rose, unfolding his proudly white wings. His arms were crossed at his chest. After the young angel's gesture, Seriktiel stood, too, sending gusts of wind cutting through the air with his mighty, ebon wings.

"And you are known in Hell's brothels as 'The King of Whores,'" Oracheal taunted.

Winking, Seriktiel said, "A noble title to my people."

Oracheal laughed aloud in an outburst. He wiped his watering eyes, and he glared at the fallen one. "A noble title to filthy creatures," he said with a sneer, hopping into the air from the cloud. He dove to the ground like a preying hawk toward the mourning Unknown.

Looking off into the night sky, Seriktiel stamped his heel. "Filthy creatures? How does God's ass-kisser claim to be clean?" he snarled. He combed his hand through his shaggy, blond hair to regain his egotistic composure. Then, wearing a grin, he whispered, "Let us see who is better, Dark Angel," and descended to the ground.

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