write what you know - or not

[higginbottom]

Today, Esther is seated in the Plaza, as centrally located as she can possibly get. She's got a desk in front of her with a typewriter on it (don't ask where she found that), and she's got an expectant sort of smile on her face.

She's been feeling better lately, and so she figured she'd do some work of sorts. That's why there's a handwritten sign at the edge of her desk that simply asks:

What's your story?

and in smaller print, adds:

Recent English major will write your story/poem/memoir/etc out via typewriter for a small fee of your choosing. Very skilled with imagery and metaphor.

Any takers?

Comments

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale beams, all at once excited and nervous that someone will be putting his story down to paper. Some of that's been done before, of course, in religious texts and elsewhere, but it's never been directly from the horse's mouth -- or the angel's mouth, in this case.

"The story starts in a garden. The garden. The humans had just been cast out of Eden and the angel was watching them leave. He was sad to see them go, and worried for them, of course, but at the same time he knew that it was all part of God's ineffable plan.

Then, a... a very large serpent slithered up the wall to join the angel. He was a demon, but the angel was not afraid. The damage had already been done, you see, so the angel didn't see any need to fight, and neither did the demon, actually. He simply took his human form -- a rather lovely form, I might add, not grotesque at all. He had immaculate black wings and long, flowing red hair. His eyes were still that of a serpent's, but they were a beautiful yellow, and anyway I -- I mean, the angel, he was rather fond of snakes, anyway."

He pauses a moment, peering at Esther's typewriter. "You're getting this all down, dear? Especially the red hair, that's important."

[higginbottom]

Esther listens and types, listens and types, dutifully noting Aziraphale's descriptions.

She nods when he interrupts.

"I've got it all, yes, especially the bit about the hair," she replies, smiling. "Descriptions are very important, I agree."

[sohoangel]

"Oh, excellent." He flashes her a quick smile before looking off into the distance. "Let's see, where was I...

"Ah, yes. The angel and the demon, they spent a little time together on the wall, and when the first rain appeared on Earth, the angel sheltered the demon with a wing. It felt like the right thing to do at the time, much like -- um. Well, let's just say that the angel had the habit of doing what he thought was right as opposed to what he was told Upstairs. Just as the demon had a habit of doing the sort of mischief that gives humans a choice, as opposed to... well, the traditional things that demons do."

Aziraphale clears his throat. It's important to establish state of mind for the 'characters' of his story, but he's getting a bit off-track.

"Anyway, after the rain, they parted ways, but over the millennia, they kept running into one another. It's a bit of a lonely life, surrounded by mortals, so it's nice to have someone to talk to now and then about... non-mortal things. And every time they spoke, their friendship grew, until they became best friends."

He pauses a moment and adds, "What they didn't realize -- you might want to use an omniscient narrator for this story, actually, now that I think about it -- is that they were also falling in love with another. A romantic sort of love, but as the angel assumed he couldn't experience romantic love, and the demon assumed that he couldn't experience love at all... well, it took them an embarrassingly long time to figure that out."

[higginbottom]

"Hmm, the omniscient narrator might be a good idea, agreed," Esther says, nodding. "It's a beautiful story so far. Very compelling!"

She continues to type.

"I can always go back and retype and revise later. It's good to just get the first draft done, though."

[sohoangel]

Aziraphale smiles bashfully at the compliment. "Oh... thank you... and, really, you should write it however you see fit. You're the writer, after all."

...he says as he keeps peering at her typewriter. Although he is trying his hardest not to be a backseat writer. He's simply nervous at letting his and Crowley's story out into the world, but it feels good -- almost cathartic -- to share it.

"Let's see, ah... well, by the late 1800s, they had grown very close. The angel had opened a bookshop, and the demon visited him often. They spent a lot of time together, and one day..." He swallows, finding it harder to share this part. "One day, at a nearby park, the demon asked the angel for some holy water. As insurance, he said, in case his side found out about us and came after him.

"Well, the angel... didn't take it very well. At first he thought the demon was treating it like a suicide pill, and then he thought, perhaps, that he was being used a little, as the demon didn't care much for other demons to begin with."

Aziraphale sighs and clasps his hands together. "But the truth is... the angel was afraid. He was afraid of the demon accidentally destroying himself, but he was also afraid of those huge feelings that the thought stirred up within him. He exchanged some harsh words with the demon and then stormed off. They didn't speak for... well, it wasn't very long in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like forever to the angel. It took a war for them to truly reconcile and for the angel to finally realize that he loved the demon, at least platonically speaking."