Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: The Critique/Review (for writers) (05/06/10)
TITLE: EVER THE CRITIQUE
By mick dawson
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‘Let’s take her home,’ her father said, kissing the child, and wrapping an arm around her mother.
For the first time since she met him, the angel looked concerned as his eyes darted about him.
What’s wrong Barak?
He showed her the parchment; the very manuscript of her existence. It told of her transformation of death to life at birth and how he kept vigil over her the following night. The smile left her as if she had been slapped when she read on. Her face contorted into tears at the mention that the demonic horde which now lingered nearby would destroy her on the journey home.
No, I’m meant to do something at seventeen.
Her mother pressed her to her breast at the sound of her cries.
‘Such a critique of my writing,and yet you are a mere day old’ Barak guffawed, averting his gaze to the words of her father.
‘I’ve parked the car out the front,’ he said to her mother. ‘Let’s pray for a safe journey home.’
Axella rolled her eyes to the parchment dangling in Barak’s grasp; his gaze locked on her parents. His lips curled into a grin as the prayer was muttered while the words of her death faded from the page. The leaf disappeared as he leant over her, still smiling.
‘Time to pave the way,’ he said, his gaze shifting.
She followed his stare, spying the large demon in black armour with dark orbs for eyes and oversized fangs, standing by the elevator doors. In the nook of her mother’s arms, she drifted down the corridor toward the fiend as her parents chattered happily, oblivious to all that was happening as they existed only on the physical plane.
‘He reaches for the lift cables,’ said Barak as the hand began to dip through the metal doors.
The angel sped down the length of the glass walls, shattering them as he went in the spiritual realm. In his panic, the obscenity spun, about to draw its sword, when Barak swept his blade across his torso and shouldered the fiend out of the breach in the wall. Even as the demon fell screaming in a flailing of limbs, Barak leapt out into space, and twisted in mid air with his weapon poised to stab. Axella watched the entire scene unfold in a microsecond, yet the motions were slowed in her spiritual sight as if it had taken minutes.
‘I will see you on the ground, little one!’ He shouted, then thrust the blade into the wall of the hospital.
Still holding the pommel, Barak slid down the side of the structure in the spiritual plane and tore it free as he kicked away just before reaching the pavement, now facing a greater demon standing waist high, above and beyond the family car. The ten foot monstrosity picked up the sedan, leaving the physical car behind and hurled it at him.
Barak’s blade flashed down, severing the vehicle in half, harmlessly flying past him, crashing against the wall on either side of himself. The demon grinned evilly, but the grin left him as the angel disappeared and teleported in front of him with sword extended into his chest. Orange sparks erupted again as Barak leapt to the top of the car once the doors had closed.
The car pulled out from the kerb threatening to topple him until he thrust his blade in the roof for balance. His face waded through the ceiling as if in a pond.
Axella giggled, kicking delightedly but squealed as her expression became more serious.
I don’t understand, the manuscript said that I’d be killed.
His hand waded through the ceiling toward her, holding the blank section of parchment.
‘Ever the critique,’ Barak smiled warmly, but then words began to appear. ‘Your father empowered me with his prayer, and now history is being re-written as we speak, behold.’
Axella gaped in wonder; she read of her safe journey home and the warmth of her parents’ love, and later asleep in her own cot under the smiling vigil of her protector.
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