THE
ANGEL OF DEATH
By
Michael
Edwin Q.
The Brazilian sun was high,
sending its radiant heat down on the slops of the mountains; a heat only those
who live below the equator understand.
There were beads of sweat dripping
into Pedro’s eyes as he picked a handful of coffee beans and placed them into
his shoulder bag, and then repeated the process many times over.
“Why must you plant so close to
the edge of the cliff; it’s too dangerous,” warned his neighbors, “A farmer
must be frugal, but one day you will be sorry!”
He took little heed of their
short-mindedness, and continued planting close to the edge of the cliff, so
close some of the branches hung out over the abyss.
Pedro reached out to the farthest
branch, the loose soil gave way and he went flying over the edge – falling to
certain death.
By some miracle, his hands took
hold of a jettison rock in the side of the cliff, and he stopped his fall.
He was hanging by his fingertips.
He looked up and could not see a way to climb back. He looked down to see a
straight drop to the jagged rocks below. His fingertips began to bleed; he felt
his death was certain.
“Do not be afraid,” he heard
someone say from behind him. The sound of the voice, though gentle, startled
him so he nearly lost his grip.
He twisted his head around
slightly to see there, floating in midair, an angel shining in bright white and
gold with a wingspan of nearly twenty feet across.
“Do not be afraid,” repeated the
angel, “You must let go of the rock.”
“I’m just a farmer; I can’t
fly…I’ll fall!” cried Pedro.
“If you take my hand, you will not
fall,” said the angel.
“I don’t think I can?” pleaded
Pedro.
“Look at me. Have you ever seen an
angel more grand and beautiful? You must trust me!”
“You are the only angel I have
ever seen!” answered Pedro. “I’m too scared to let go!”
“You must believe!” The angel
reached out a hand for him to take hold of. “To believe is to have faith. To
have faith is to trust. You must trust me. Let go of the rock and take my
hand.”
With one majestic expression of
trust, Pedro let go of the rock, twisted around and reached for the
outstretched hand of the angel.
The angel backed up a few feet;
and Pedro, unable to take hold of his hand, fell to his death on the jagged
rocks below.
The Angel of Death smiled, turned,
and flew off into the bright Brazilian sun.
THE END
Don't forget I'LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS by Michael Edwin Q.
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