Seventh Hour

(Photo Credit: Reverbnation)
(Photo Credit:  Reverbnation)
(Photo Credit: Reverbnation)

The sound of the antique pendulum clock on the wall begs for my attention but it is the copper hand, moving every second that enthralls me. Despite the rusting gears, the clock is still in its excellent condition. The complexity behind it reminds me of a man’s brain–every nerve and tissue inside the skull is essential to govern the entire body.

My eyes shift across the boardroom, waiting patiently for the twelve men to wrap up the meeting. The only thing they have in common aside from the white business suits they are in is their pale, expressive faces. I glance at Gabriel, the Chief of Security, sitting at the other end of the long oak table, as he keeps on playing with his pen. Avoiding my gaze, his eyes flit around the room.

I flip the pad of paper in front of me, searching the short story I finished three hours ago. I start to write a poem, beautiful words flowing from my head. Verse after verse, my imagination is on a roll, I smile when I am almost done. At the rate the meeting is going, I can write another poem or short story before–

“Have you seen the latest incident reports?” Raphael asks.

I write the last verse then put my pen down. I scan the spacious meeting room, noting that nothing is out of place. The men look comfortable in their wing-back seats, which still emit the smell of leather, while they’re transfixed by a warfare video on the flat screen monitor mounted on the white marble wall. The white coffered ceiling, void of cobwebs and cracks, holds a five-light gold chandelier in the middle. Decades after decades, there is no visible wear and tear on any part of the room but since it has been used more often than not, I find the urgency to renovate it.

“Yes, of course. I’d suggest a demolition using fire, perhaps?” Vincent grins.

Being the youngest among the elite, his eagerness is understandable and expected.

I turn over to a blank page to draw a not-too-intricate design of a floor to ceiling window to seize the panoramic view of lush woods and greenery outside and to add more natural light in the room. The more light, the better it is for one’s emotions. It might help them change their perspective about–

Michael starts tapping his pen on the table, capturing my attention. He narrows his eyes and scrunches his button nose as he processes information in his head. I know any minute now, he’s bound to flare up.

“Earthquake? Flood?” Michael asks.

“Can you be more creative?” Vincent mocks.

Michael flinches while Rafael glares at Vincent. The rest remain silent.

“Creative? Bear in mind that we’re not talking about an art project…” Gabriel pauses as he stares at the screen.

“I don’t care anymore. I just want it done!” Michael snaps.

I’ve never seen much fury in his hazel eyes before. If I haven’t known him since the beginning, I might think his red hair has caught the flames from his eyes. Of course, I know it’s silly but I’m trying to humor myself.

Michael rouses all kinds of emotions after his outburst. Obviously, they have forgotten that I am in the room.

As they shout at each other simultaneously, I accomplish another thing I received in my email. Attending a meeting, designing a new window and fulfilling other matters with utmost urgency, all at the same time, make me an expert at multitasking. Time is precious and with the number of people relying on me, failing isn’t in my vocabulary. Also, I take advantage of the technology but only for the sake of enjoying man’s ideas.

Clock says that the meeting has been running for seven hours already–time to end their misery.

“Even angels make mistakes,” I say.

My distinct voice resonates on all four corners that the Seraphs fall silent, a crack of thunder follows. They all turn to me with a horrified look on their faces but I stifle a laugh. I listen to the voices in their heads and Michael’s thoughts rise above.

“But God, look at their ways. They do nothing but sin! They deserve to die,” Michael’s face turns red in anger and I stop myself from rolling my eyes.

“All they do is mock you, I’m tired of it!” Vincent cries.

Their shameless audacity will take them nowhere.

“That’s enough!” Gabriel barks. I feel his remorse beating him to pulp.

Gabriel has been on the look out for ambitious Seraphs ever since Lucifer fell from the heavenly realm, thousands of years ago. He keeps them on their toes through team building, non-pride and other humility training. My trust in him encompasses budget approval without much thought.

“God, I’m sorry. He experimented with coffee a while ago,” I hear Gabriel’s thoughts.

I know what Michael did earlier but it doesn’t justify his action towards me. In his distracted state, I take the caffeine out of his bloodstream and let it vanish into thin air. He relaxes, instantly.

They asked me to grace the meeting not to seek for my approval to something they have no right to partake but to convince me to let them do what they think is right. I only allowed myself to stay for seven hours because I hoped that they will change their mind. Free will is a privilege used recklessly, oftentimes.

“Who are you to judge their ways? The next time you call me for something like this, make sure we’re having tea to celebrate finding the lost,” I say.

Guilt and shame are choking the Seraphs.

“Why? I don’t understand. Please enlighten me.” Vincent says.

They have my best interest at heart but still, it doesn’t fit with the entire master plan.

“I love them. They are my children. I will never get tired of seeking them out and neither you nor the devil can stop me from doing that,” I look at Vincent’s eyes and understanding soon fills them.

Before I turn to walk to the door, I glance at Gabriel, who has been keeping his head low since I spoke. It breaks my heart to see him this way but something must be done. He knows it.

“Gabe, I need you and your men to take a refresher course on Scriptures. You’ve spent so much time on other training that you’ve forgotten the most important,” I say, “After that, we’ll play golf.”

A smile creeps on their faces. I walk out, feeling excited with the upcoming renovation of the meeting room and with the increasing number of the found sheep.

About LeslieAnne

A fickle-minded wife, mother, sister, friend, 'hobby-hopper' and coffee lover. I love writing blog entries, 'hobby-hopping' and 'online-window shopping'. My personal missions are to live, to love and to laugh. I dream of touching lives, sky-diving, bungee jumping and saving the world. I'm usually curious about things though my brain is not wired to think (logically) most of the time. I have poor judgment. I have artistic inclinations--I love to sing, I sometimes dance, I can act (quite useful with my kids). I can draw (but not really good at it). I can be a make-up artist (though I rarely wear make-up). I can sew or do something 'crafty'. I am the author of Only by Faith, the first installment of the three-book series about Love.