Member-only story
The Smoker and the Renegade Angel
Oh, he fell for her on a night much like tonight.
I had been a prince of hell for long enough that I knew every rule between the smokers — the denizens of the deep — and the angels who walked in human skin.
The girl stood waiting for the next train. She was a burst of color in a black and white world. Her red jacket stood out from all the other mute shades the people around her wore. It was so easy to be drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
She didn’t know that she was an angel. If she had, she would have thrived on the madness of humans. She would have sucked their souls like candy for the sweetness of their anxiety, their depression, and their insecurities. I knew since I had been there myself once upon a time.
As I watched her, my curiosity grew. Nowadays, I was a vigilante who bore down on the city streets at night to right wrongs and trespasses made by humans. I particularly liked going after the men who thought they could dominate and suppress women. It was a kink of mine to see such men get their just desserts.
In another life, I would have told myself I had to get close enough just to kill her. A soul like hers was too much for a gray world like this one. To cleave it — to save it, to sustain it — would be a mercy. She wouldn’t need to suffer…
