THE ANGEL ANNIHILATION

My parents used to use a tactic on me when I was younger. They wanted to make sure I led a successful and balanced life. They are very beige, boring people, but this is one thing I always remember.

Aged six I threw a rock at another boy. I bust his head open and he had to go to the hospital. Fourteen stitches it took to patch him up. When my parents found out they asked “Why did you do that?” and I told them I just did it. I didn’t know why. The rock was there, then it was in my hand, then it was flying at his head.

My father said:

“Son, in life, you’re going to find yourself in moral dilemmas. When you need a helping hand to guide you. At these moments you will find yourself visited by an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. The devil will play havoc and tell you to do things like throw the rock at the boy. The angel will try to keep you as safe as possible – he’ll tell you to stay away from the boy, so you don’t feel the urge to throw the rock. The truth is somewhere in the middle. The angel and the devil don’t mean a thing if you can’t assess the options available to you to be the better man.”

And naïve as I was, I listened to him.

I listened to the angel and to the devil. I met halfway and found the right thing to do. I apologised to the boy for the pain I’d caused, then bought him sweets from my pocket money. It felt good. Two weeks later I went home with a bust lip because he’d gotten his older brother to hit me.

Aged fourteen I saw a girl passed out under a tree. The devil told me to leave her. The angel told me to take her home to her family. I compromised and sat her on the nearest bench and tried to wake her up.

When she did wake up she accused me of unimaginable things. The police turned up at my parents’ door, and they believed I was capable of what she said. At fourteen they thought I was that depraved. I cried myself to sleep for a week and swore I’d never compromise again. If only I’d walked away, I would never have been accused of such things.

The next time I found myself in bother, when the angel appeared on my shoulder, I picked him up by the foot and plucked his wings off, feather by feather, tossing them aside, until the angel was weak and useless. The devil on my other shoulder laughed, and I laughed with him.

An angel is only as good as his wings. Shadow wants to be the hero avenging the innocent and bringing retribution against the likes of me, but when I clip his wings he will find himself as weak and powerless as the angel who once tried to guide and guard me. And the devil and I will laugh once more.