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A Tough Assignment for the Medival Knight
by Julie Michaelson
01/19/11
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Now
war arose
in heaven,
Michael and
his angels
fighting
against
the dragon.
[Revelation 12:7]
******************
(The Throne Room door
opens softly, and
the smell of a midnight
camp fire, up in the cool
mountains...
fills the Heavenly
air. The sound of a rush
of enormously immense
Heavenly wings gently
caresses the brilliant
Light of the King's Hallway.
The sound is the
only thing present
in the quiet stillness of
the King's Presence.

Far below, on Earth,
lies tumultuous uproar
surrounding Satan's throne:
the sound of
crying, and misery,
and pain, and sorrow...
of flesh ripping, and
blood dripping and
hearts breaking, and
enough tears to fill the
mighty vacuous caverns
of the entire globe...and,
through it all the soft,
underlying thread of
Satan's dark laughter..
and the metalic smell
of human blood on the
vemonous tongue of his
beautiful, and
very sensuous mouth.

To the King, His eyes
full of sight of
the vicious cycle of misery
happening on
His Celestial Creation,
the lovely incense
emanating from
His Archangel's presence
provides a precious moment
of supreme relief. Satan's
scent had once been just
as unbelievably lovely....
until the awareness of
his own beauty and his
pride in it had destroyed
him, for all eternity.)
_________________________
[SOFTLY CALM,
AUTHORITATIVE VOICE.]
"Come in,
Michael."

(The angel doesn't
speak, but only moves
purposely and swiftly,
on bare feet: toes slightly
touching the cool
tile of the Throne Room's
pure gold floor.
His feet,
as firm and light,
and muscular...
as a cheetah's,
are plainly and cleanly unshod:
they have never felt
the material of
any foot-covering....ever.
It is the sign of a humble,
worshipful servant.)

(Silence.)
(The angel immediately
falls face down on the
royal blue, pure gold-threaded,
velvet cushions
that adorn the gold floor
before the Two Thrones
of the Father and Son.)

[GRUFF VOICE.]
"The Time
is drawing
close,
Michael."

(Soft, very heavily
accented voice:
the tone of which
is neither musical
nor melodious;
almost an inaudible whisper.)
"Yes,
My Father."

[GENTLE VOICE.]
"The Battle is drawing
nigh."

(Whisper.)
"Yes,
My Lord."

[SOLEMN, GRUFF
VOICE.]
"This War is going to
end.....though the sight
of Its Climax has yet
to be seen by Our Human
Creation."

(The subtle hues of
the rainbow, and other
colors which have never
been seen before by
the human eye, sparkle
from the softly folded
wings of the Archangel.
They are so immense that,
even when drawn
together as in
the kneeling position, its
golden-tipped feathers
never touch the ground.)
(Whisper.)
"Yes,
My Father."

[GENTLE NOD.]
[SOLEMN, THOUGH
FAR GENTLER VOICE.]
"Satan's armies
are beginning to stir
up in the Northern Left Quadrant.
Many of Our children
are in grave danger;
the Serpent's demons plan
to DEVOUR... them!"

(The angel stirs, but
never without lifting
his head from the royal-
blue velvet cushions.
His halo, greatly dimmed by
the Light emulating from
the Two Glorious Thrones,
never budges; even in battle,
it never wavers, as though it
were invisibly anchored
by a length of steel, to
the Archangel's head.)
(Whisper, fiercely.)
"Yes,
My Lord!"

[TENDER VOICE.]
"Sit up,
Michael."

(The angel's head,
weighted with a mass of
heavy, long, dark tendrils
of flowing curls,
rises from the floor.
His dark intense eyes
are surrounded by
incredibly soft, dark lashes:
as velvety and smooth
as the cushion they had
just been caressing. Michael,
though, has no awareness
at all of his own
indescribable beauty;
every thought and breath
is for his God, only.
Never has a smile
touched his lips; they are
as curvacious and sensual
as Satan's, but have
never been used for
anything, except for
speaking humbly and
reverently to his Lord
and Master, for
issuing strong commands
to his fighting legions of
angels........and,
for rebuking the
ferocious demons
that have forever
plagued mankind
in the spiritual realm.
Never has food or drink
touched Michael's
beautiful, soft lips;
the only refreshment
he craves is the
worshipful Presence of
his One and True God.
The Archangel's lips,
even more artfully
sculptured than Satan's...
do often tremble,
but only out of
fierce love for
the Father and Son,
and of intense passion...
during battle.)
"Yes,
My Lord!"

[GRUFF VOICE.]
"We want you,
Michael.....
to take two of your
Northern Command Squadrons
and travel to the Third
Layer of the far
North Eastern Corner over Earth."

[GENTLE NOD.]
"Satan's legions are
assembling as We speak;
presently, there are at
least three billion troops there,
already."

(Michael does not speak,
at first;
he only gives an abrupt,
furious nod.
His fierce breathing,
much faster and at
a higher rate than
that of any human,
causes the soft,
gauzy material over
his chest to move
ever so gently.)
"Yes, My Lord!
Each of our Northern
Command has a million
of our FIERCEST*....Third
Layer Warriors!"

[GRUFF VOICE.]
"The sheer numbers
should not worry you,
My child."

(Michael immediately
repsonds. His chest
heaves with each
intake of breath.
The left side of
his garment gently
slips off one
muscular shoulder;
Michael's bare skin
shimmers...
as if in soft,
hazy moonlight.)
"NEVER,
My Father!
NEVER!
YOU ARE WITH
ME,
ALWAYS!"

[GENTLE CLEARING
OF THE THROAT.]
"Now......
about SYLVESTOR**.."

(The beautiful angel,
so huge and magnificent:
is suddenly moved to tears.)
"I HAVE FAILED YOU,
MY LORD!"
(Michael lays his haloed,
beautifully sculptured
face back down, against
the velvet pillow. He
sobs.)
"I have FAILED
YOU!"

[GENTLE PAUSE.]
[SILENCE.]
[GLANCE OVER AT
THE FATHER.]

[GRUFF SIGH.]
[REACH DOWN TO
LAY HIS HAND UPON
A SHUDDERING
SHOULDER OF THE
GREAT ETERNAL WARRIOR.]
[TENDER VOICE.]
"Michael, you have
not FAILED...Us."

[GENTLE VOICE.]
"No
Michael,
My child.
We LOVE...
you."

[GRUFF SIGH.]
"But, something
needs to be done.
It is several months
now.....
and Our Sylvestor
has yet to retrieve
his SWORD...."

(Michael sits back up.
His face is covered
in tears, and his lovely,
dark-lashed eyes are
red and filled with
painful misery. His
heavily-accented voice
rises to a terrific shout.
The Guard Angel, on
duty at the Entrance to
the Throne Room, glances,
just for a moment,
at the kneeling
form of his fellow servant;
the Guard-Angel's
stony face, though,
shows not one hint of
emotion.)
"DARTH-DEMON
is FEROCIOUSLY
SPITEFUL,
My LORD! FOR ONE
OF THE LESSER DEMONS, HE IS
POSSESSES UNUSUALLY GREAT
STRENGTH AND UNCANNY
CLEVERNESS!"
(Eyes glazed with tears.)
"SEND ME,
THIS TIME,
My LORD!
I WILL FIGHT FOR
SYLVESTOR AND
BRIGGUND!"

[GENTLY FIRM VOICE.]
"No,
Michael."

[GRUFFLY STERN VOICE.]
"Absolutely NOT!
Those two have to
face their DEMONS,
again! Sylvestor
and Briggund have to
be ready for the
Coming DAY!"

[GENTLE NOD.]
"And,
so they MUST
learn how to fight
as true Warriors of
the HOST."

(Michael, with unashamed
humbleness, wipes his
wet lashes with the back
of his hand: the same
hand that swings the
huge, gold-edged sword
at the Greater-Demons
of the North West Corner
in the First Layer
of the Heavens...
the same sword which
causes the eyes of
Satan to give pause.)
"Perhaps.....
with Your Permission,
My Lord....
I could TRANSFER
them.....to lesser DUTY....."
(Michael's face, still
damp with his tears,
is exquisite
in the Thrones' Light,
though he has no awareness of
it; all of his thoughts
are on worshipping,
and pleasing his Lord,
and his Father.)
"...with Your Permission,
my Lord....
...as Guards...
to one of our Earth
Messengers....they will
be in less DANGERS..."

[GENTLY REBUKATIVE
VOICE.]
"No!
They must learn
to be Fighters,
Michael! The
Time is drawing
too CLOSE."

[GRUFF NOD.]
"That is your
second ASSIGNMENT,
Michael! YOU are to
TAKE THEM UNDER
YOUR WING......"

[GENTLE SMILE!]
[NOD.]
"And.....
to TEACH...
them."

(Michael, gripping
the gold handle of
his magnificent, and
shining sword...the tips
of his wings standing
on edge, as if to take
ready flight at the sound
of his Master's Voice:
instantly replies.)
"YES,
MY LORD!
As soon as POSSIBLE!
I WILL SEND FOR THEM,
IMMEDIATELY,
MY LORD!

(The Guard-Angel,
named Guardino,
standing stoically at
the Entrance of the
Throne Room, shifts
his bare foot by just
barely an inch. Guardino
knows Sylvestor and
Briggund, very well;
he was in their Fighters'
Squadron Class back
300 centuries, ago.
Guardino lets a miniscule
sigh escape.....
only to receive a Gently
Rebuking Look...
from
the LORD.)
*******************
And
the great dragon
was thrown
down,
that ancient serpent,
who is called
the Devil and
Satan,
the deceiver
of the
whole world -
he was thrown
down....
and his angels
were thrown
down
with him.
[Revelation 12:9]

_______________________
*In the Heavenly Realm,
no fighting angel
is better than another,
in the human sense of the
word. Each of the Heavenly Host
is individually gifted,
uniquely and particularly,
for The Battle. Humans
are all blessed this way too,
though because of Earth's
sinful atmostphere,
few of them ever discover their
own peculiar, and God-
given gifts.
**See 'The Lost Sword',
'Facing Your Demons', and
'The Angel Who Never Smiles.'.


Copyright 2011.

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