I see angels.

I see angels, and demons, and other things a mortal does not see. Things a mortal should not see.

In a sea of faces, camouflaged amongst the humans, they weave in and out like circling sharks. A fleck of silver in one’s eyes, a flash of fire in another’s.

It’s these things which set the mortals apart from the immortals: Mortals’ eyes are dead. Lifeless windows reflecting the light back into the darkness. It’s been this way since our creation. I was once a shadow in that dark, mortal plane. An abyss of despair like victims of the Titanic wading through an endless, black ocean. Hope keeps some afloat while desperation pulls the rest into its chilling embrace.

There are some mortals who have awakened. From out of their shells, something links them to another plane, and opens their mind to the things in the beyond.

They see Us.

The fire in our eyes, so alluring and seductive, they become easy prey for our kind. We have but to speak.  They fall over themselves to comply, and do our bidding.

Even those of strong faith succumb to the seduction. In darkness, one will always seek the light, like a beacon calling them from the other side of the veil. The thrill of elsewhere pulling at the strings of their soul like a marionette. They are ours to control.

There are accounts of Us. Those with the sight have written about their experiences, and yet . . . we are safe. Lost are the words they commit to ink and paper, forever buried under the labels of “fiction,” or “sci-fi.” The authors never complaining when the check that bought their souls weighs down the purse, or bank account. Their safety is ensured by their own hand, etched across parchment, sealing the deal.  To them it’s a livelihood… to us, and our pawns, it’s a contract.


All rights reserved. No part of this may be used, reprinted, or sold without express written consent from Lisa Vasquez.

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