She flew through the air at lightning speed and crashed against the cinder block thus crushing her skull and shattering her wings...
I was so excited when Father Barnard informed me that I was chosen to decorate the Christmas tree.
It was a honor usually bestowed to a senior. Finally, I could do something that my parents and teachers would be proud of.
Dad sent me to the secluded Prep School, he said they would "make me pay attention". He said I was lazy and couldn't focus, if I didn't change my ways, "they would beat it out of me". The school was run by tough monks who fought their way out of communist Hungary. We wore uniforms, ties and beanies. They wore Black robes and carried paddles for "Discipline". It was an all boy school, no girls were allowed on campus, no cheerleaders, Moms had to call ahead. The Nuns stayed next store at the Abbey, where they served the Men.
Father Damian, The Art Teacher, arranged for me to stay after exams, at the end of the fall semester. After classes, I ran down joyfully to the Basement Studio to craft the Ornaments. Father Damian was busy with Finals , so I worked alone in the dark basement studio. Handel, Tchaikovsky and Gregorian chants flowed from his, always on Motorola. I figured I needed 200 ornaments to decorate the 12ft Blue Spruce. I sculpted little Angels. Each one, lovingly, carefully, crafted out of clay, each one, perfect. I wanted them to look like beautiful Angels, like my Mother. It took a few days, just Me, the Clay and the Heavenly Music. Finally, I placed them in the kiln, for a slow bake.
"Mr Hurley, please report to the Art Studio Immediately" blared the school intercom. I thought it was odd, as I was starting my Latin Exam and couldn't believe that they would interrupt that. I ran down the halls in anticipation of the great accolades and praise that I was about recieve for making such beautiful works of art.
She flew through the air at lightning speed and crashed against the cinder block thus crushing her skull and shattering her wings.
Another Angel flew by my head, BAM, then another SMASH . Father Damian was picking them up one by one smashing and throwing them at me, as I entered the Kiln Cave. Beethoven could not be heard over the screams of the Monk. "Boobs" "Boobs" he screamed. "Angels do not have Boobs" he hollered. "Angels are not Girls" "Angels do not have Boobs" he repeatedly cried. "They are messengers of God, not..Not Whores!" I couldn't believe it, I let him, and God, down. I did not realize who angels were. The angel ornaments that we bought at Woolworths where beautiful blond women, The Angels that I saw on the Bob Hope Christmas special were beautiful buxom girls. Dad always called my sisters his "Angels"... I didn't know that Angels, were not Girls.
He came at me with a Hammer. "Kill Them" he said silently, "Smash everyone of them" he trembled with a face redder than blood. "I didn't know" "I'm sorry" I bawled, "I didn't know", I whimpered. Hammer in hand, I began the extermination with a horrific bawl. Bang, Bam, Smash, Crack, Crash, Crumble.....It was all over. His face was frozen white, he saw my fright as I kneeled crying in a grey cloud of angel dust amongst tiny broken hands and heads. He grew silent... He turned and ran. I just laid there in shock, alone, I had murdered my Angels... I sobbed, Mozarts' Requiem played on...