Falling From Grace

I was finally able to get out of bed and drag myself to the downstairs half of wherever I was, despite the dull pain that continued to burn throughout my body from my injuries. As I walked down the stairs, I noticed the bold change in my clothing - they were still the same clothes, but they had just been... altered, I suppose. Instead of being a glorious snowy-white, they were now completely jet-black, which I could only assume was from being stained by the ash at my crash-site or something, and were also ripped in several places. I wasn't bothered by it though, as my fashion choices were currently the last thing on my mind.
I limped into the kitchen, and there they were - three familiar faces, dressed all in black, sat around a table and talking quietly. I saw a piece of paper upon the table with something written on it, though I couldn't make out what it said. I stood silently in the doorway for several moments before The Destroyer finally noticed me and, in turn, caused the others to turn around and see me as well. The Mystic and The Deviant both gained great beaming grins as they saw me for the first time in what must have been several years at the least. It was good to see them again, though I wasn't in any kind of mood to display joy.
"The mighty Prophet awakens at last!" The Deviant chuckled jokingly as he walked over to me, wrapping his arm carelessly around my shoulders, sending pain through the gashes in my back from where my wings had once been. I grimaced and he let go of me, apologising profusely.

We all sat around the table and I stared at the piece of paper, deep in thought; the paper had five names written on it in a list. Four of the names were crossed off, and the fifth, the only name without a line through it, was circled - 'The Mourner'. The image of The Mourner falling through darkness into the mortal world beside me, unconscious, flashed through my mind, and I shivered as the events of that dreadful day replayed through my thoughts. The Mystic saw this, and placed his hand carefully on my shoulder, flashing me a sympathetic yet weak smile.
"So he's definitely here?" The Destroyer asked, looking over at me. I nodded.
"We got exiled to this world at the same time. He fell right beside me, but when I woke up, he wasn't with me," I explained. The Destroyer furrowed his brow and looked blankly out of the window, falling silent once more as he continued to think. I felt so guilty. I was with him, I thought, resting my head in my hands, so I should be the one to know where he is. But I don't. I lifted my head as the silence was broken by the sound of The Deviant's voice.
"What if he just hasn't arrived yet?" he mumbled, half to himself. "Like, what if, for some reason, he's taking longer to transfer to the human world than The Prophet did, even if they were banished at the same time?" We all looked around at each other, considering the idea. Well... It's not impossible, I suppose, I thought to myself.

* * * * *

I stayed in that place, which turned out to be The Destroyer's home in this realm, for several days, as my friends all helped to teach me things about this foreign world. I was learning, slowly but surely, yet it was still extremely frustrating. Why were we banished here in the first place? I wondered angrily, clenching my fists as I sat on the couch. Why not some other group of Angels? Ones who didn't do their work? We never did anything wrong, yet we were still punished! As I got deeper and deeper into my rage-fueled thoughts, I found myself needing some sort of physical action to relieve myself of my fury. I paced in circles, fists and jaws clenched tightly. I ran my hand through my hair, sweeping it out of my face, as I tried to calm myself. I wanted so badly to just hit something with all my might, yet I didn't want to break anything in The Destroyer's home. My thoughts were interrupted, however, as the door swung open and The Mystic walked in. He froze, seeing me pacing around, and I could see the confused and slightly concerned look on his face.
"What are you doing?" he asked, staying positioned by the door.
"I don't fucking understand it!" I spat through clenched teeth. "Why were we the ones chosen to suffer? We never did anything wrong! There were others that deserved this fate a thousand times more than we did, and yet they still sit on their lazy asses up in Heaven whilst we've all been sent down here, doomed to a mortal lifespan!" I could hear The Mystic sigh as I continued pacing around, yet I didn't actually look directly at him even once as I spoke. I was forced to a halt, however, as The Mystic placed his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes.
"Look, we don't know why we were chosen to be sent here," he began, never breaking eye contact with me, even for a moment, "but there was obviously a reason." He paused for a few moments, likely trying to think of what to say to calm me down. "What if we're the only ones that God thought could handle being sent to a lesser world? I mean, we're the only Angels to be sent here. If it was because we'd done something wrong, we'd been down in Hell, not in the human world. You're right, there are people in Heaven that don't deserve their place in Heaven but, think about it, they probably couldn't handle being sent here. We can. We're stronger than them, we are better at adapting to new situations and have a greater amount of willpower."

While The Mystic had spoken to me, my rage had slowly converted itself into misery. I ended up falling to my knees, a once-powerful Angel from Heaven now reduced to a sobbing mess on the floor in the human world. The Mystic sat beside me, wrapping his arms softly around me and pulling me into a comforting hug. I sobbed uncontrollably, tears flooding freely down my face and dripping onto The Mystic's shoulder, though he didn't seem to care. He soothingly rubbed my back, being careful to not touch my injuries, and just let me cry.
"We'll all be okay. You'll be okay; you're The Prophet! You can live through anything!" he chuckled, and I couldn't help but smile at the comment. I sniffled softly and pulled away from the hug, wiping my now-bloodshot eyes. I sighed softly, pulling my knees up to my chest as I sat with my back propped up against the couch.

I just want to go home.

Notes