Twilight Zone

The inspiration for this story came from a piece of artwork I’d bought in my single days and no longer have. It wasn’t in oils or acrylic or anything…just a framed poster that’d really grabbed me. It depicted a young girl on the top of a building blowing bubbles and a gargoyle that had broken free from its perch, reaching after the bubbles, bits of that perch crumbling away.

I loved the imagery!

So I penned (keyboarded) a story. It is one of my more disturbing stories…at least to me. Reminds me of the Twilight Zone episode “It’s a Good Life.” I suppose this story could be considered allegorical to elements of the Human Condition (“absolute power corrupts….”), and to be honest, I don’t recall my motive in penning this one…except that the artwork I had was quite imaginative and I’d just wanted to write a story about it….

And then I find this perfect graphic of a little girl and a gargoyle! It really is perfect.

This story had never been published.

 

The Girl Who Chased Gargoyles

© F. P. Dorchak, 1992

 

I knew her long ago…a bright, wispy sprite of a girl. And she loved to climb things. She also loved her bubbles. Blew them everywhere. It was those bubbles that had set me free.

But that was so long ago. And I miss her.

And now I will tell you of her story.

 

Angela was her name. She was so bright and cheerful that I didn’t think there was a thing in the world that could ever bother her. She had long, silken hair and a smile as bright as the sun.

The sun. A sun that had grown dark with the death of her parents.

But that’s for later.

For now, she skipped and sang everywhere she went. And (as I have said before) she loved to climb. Trees. Rocks. Buildings. Anything. There wasn’t an obstacle she would not tackle and this so frightened her parents, for there was nothing they could do. She was a most determined child, and a very sure-footed one—the most sure-footed I have ever seen—there was no fear in her, only wonder and amazement. To her, everything was beautiful. Everything was fun. There was no such thing as evil.

She was indeed the purest of souls.

 

One day, while walking through town with her parents, Angela had spotted a building that had immediately captured her fancy. It was an old, abandoned remain and her father, a construction worker, had told her that it was a building scheduled for destruction. This brought a momentary frown to Angela’s face.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because, Angela, to all things there must come an end.”

Angela thought about this.

“Why must all things die?”

“Well, I think it’s God’s way of telling us that we must live life to its fullest.”

“Well,” said Angela, “that’s what I’m going to do.”

That’s the way she was. Nonplused. Practical (in an idealistic kind of way) and direct-to-the-point. Death didn’t seem to bother her like it did other kids her age. In fact nothing seemed to bother her quite like it did the other kids. She was always the one to explain things to her friends, always the one to comfort them when they lost their favorite marble to an opponent in a game. She was always there when she was really needed and had such a love of life and all that it encompassed.

One day, she came back to the doomed building, and, as do all kids (for she was, after all, but a child) and found her way into it. Blowing her little bubbles, she made her way up the curved banisters, through the hazy interior and up to the very top.

Where she found the monsters.

But to her they weren’t monsters…they were their own form of life no matter how ugly, and, eventually, her companions, her…friends. She would come to talk with them. Have fun, for though she was so bright and sweet she still had no real friends her age, at least any that could understand her. Some people are just born more aware. Her own parents barely (if they ever really did) understood her. Angela was always off dreaming somewhere—and we all know how dreamers are treated.

So, as often as she could Angela would journey into this building and climb the dusty stairs to the top. There she would come out on its ledges and sit among the stone creatures of the sky, the leader of which called itself “Pandor.” She hadn’t known the word “gargoyle” until the monsters themselves told her. Or so she told people…and that made her situation in life very difficult.

“Gargoyles, you say? On top of what building? Do your parents know about this, young lady?”

And all she would do was vigorously nod her head up and down, her smile so bright and innocent, and say, “Yes, they do!” Then she would skip off in some random fashion and leave behind a stunned and indignant lady, poised on the sidewalk, her eyes the size of silver platters. She did not yet know how to keep things to herself, but I suppose that was just a product of her love of life and her desire to share it with others.

It did get her into trouble. Her and her parents.

It had been a day like any other as she skipped homeward, singing to herself, but once she walked through the front door of her home, she felt the change. Slowly she followed the sounds of voices and stalked toward the kitchen. Peeked around a corner. There she saw her mother and father talking with a strange lady she had never seen before. A lady who seemed to ask her parents an awful lot of questions. She was so very official looking, like her teachers at school, only more so.

Do you give her enough food, clothes, and other care?

Is she bathed regularly?

These are her grades, but do you ever discuss them with her?

Do you get involved with her life, play, and fantasies?

Why is it that you let her climb around condemned buildings…

Who was this lady, and why was she asking all these questions?

So Angela left her house and went to seek out her friends, the monsters. It was the monsters that had told her…as she blew her bubbles for them…that this lady was going to try to take her away. That this lady was not to be trusted.

Maybe you should not tell people about everything you do, Angela. Like when you climb up here to play with us.

“Why?” she asked, “why would anyone want to do such a thing? What have I done? I haven’t hurt anybody.”

Because she is an evil person, Angela, prone to sticking her nose into the affairs of others. But do not worry about it, we will not let her take you away from us. We love you.

And we will take care of this lady.

So Angela shrugged her shoulders and continued to blow her bubbles, and the monsters continued to talk with her.

And that was just the way Angela was.

 

When she had arrived home later that day, Angela found her parents waiting for her. They looked very distraught.

“Angela, honey, we have to talk with you,” they had said. They were such model parents. “There was this lady over to see us earlier, a very important lady, who was very concerned that we were not being good enough parents to you. Do you feel we are not being good parents?”

Angela looked from father to mother, then back again. “No, Daddy, I don’t think so. Why—do you?”

That question, even given their daughter’s already sagacious level of development, came as a cold slap in the face to the both of them. However, having grown somewhat accustomed to her often poignant points of view, they replied back to her.

“No—no, honey, your father and I love you very, very much and we work very hard so that you can have the best of all possible things in life.”

“We try to always be there for you,” her father cut in, “but this lady,” he paused to look to his wife (who squeezed his hand very tightly, Angela noticed), “well, she can be very persuasive to the wrong kinds of people. She can take you away from us without much say on our parts. She tells us,” he paused again, “she tells us that there are those out there who are concerned that we are not providing you with proper care. That we let you climb around condemned buildings and—”

“And talk to monsters,” her mother cut in.

“Is this true—are you really climbing around condemned buildings? Tell us this isn’t true, Angela, it’s very dangerous to do things like that. You could get hurt. You could fall and die.”

Both parents looked at Angela very hard.

Angela remained undaunted. She knew what her parents wanted to hear. I would never get hurt, she thought, they would save me, my children, they love me and would never let anything or anyone, harm me—and you too. But she knew what they wanted to hear, and what she had to say.

“No.”

And that was just the way she was.

And we will take care of this lady.

 

It was the next day; an article in the paper. Social worker murdered in apartment parking lot. As gruesome as the details were (parts of her body have not yet been found), her parents breathed a sigh of relief. Granted their file would surely remain in the records even though the case worker was dead, but hopefully no one would ever come back a calling.

That day Angela made her way back to her children and asked them about it.

Yes, we did it. We told you we’d take care of you. Your parents. If something happened to your parents, something happens to you, and we won’t have that. We love you, Angela.

“And I love you. But is that right, what you did, to make someone die?”

Is it right to take away from someone that which is loved by them?

“Hmm. I guess not.”

Wouldn’t that instead make such a person who would do such, evil and dangerous?

“Why, yes, I guess it would.”

Then we have done good, ridding you and your family of such evil, have we not?

“You have. Thank you.”

Then blow more bubbles for us, Angela, we love your bubbles.

And Angela blew more bubbles.

Because that’s just the way….

 

The next day Angela was at the library and looked up what gargoyles were. First she found they were waterspouts, but she knew that couldn’t be right, for water spouts couldn’t talk. Then she found the other description.

 

“Pandor, do you know God?”

Pandor remained quiet for a moment, then spoke.

“Why do you ask, child?”

Well, the other day our class went to the library looking up mythological creatures n stuff—I know what that means—and I saw a picture of you, I mean what looked like you. I asked Mrs. Gartle if I could do extra credit and look up gargoyles, and she said yes. It said you were…tal–is–mans…used to terrify the devil and forced to serve God.”

Pandor stared back unblinkingly.

“But the worse part was that it showed a picture of you eating people. Like me.”

Pandor stared.

“Is it true? Do you eat people? Do you know God?”

Pandor shifted its dense stone frame, sending dull shudder throughout the stone battlements and up through Angela’s tiny frame.

“We are…what we are. Manifestations. Surrogates. We are the horror that men fear. Gods. We are evil incarnate. Inchoate—”

“—I do not understand—”

“—no one does, child—”

“—teach me—”

“—but it is you who are teaching us.”

“Do you eat—”

“Yes. We eat that which is your kind.”

“Why.”

“Because it is necessary. Nothing more.”

“Will you eat me?”

“It is not necessary.”

“Will it ever be?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“We know.”

“Do you know God.”

“God knows us.”

“Is that good?”

“It is nothing. It simply is.”

“Do you know God?”

Pandor turned away.

“Okay, so you don’t want to answer that. Fine, be childish. Then answer this—do you know your true purpose? The book said your exact function is unknown.”

Pandor smiled, the first time Angela had ever seen him do so. The crack that inched itself across its face sent a shiver down Angela’s back. It looked painful.

“We are…what we are. Child. Do not look too deeply—you may never come back.”

Angela retreated backward and lost her balance, tripping over a loose piece of rubble. As her arms flailed out behind her she closed her eyes in preparation of meeting concrete when stone hands reached out and gently grasped her. Angela looked up to see the carved face of another gargoyle.

“And we do not want that, either. You must watch your step, child,” Pandor said, thickly.

“Thank you. But there is so much I do not know, and I don’t know if I like that.”

“There are many things even those such as ourselves do not know. Yet we still are. We exist. The same applies to you, my child. You still are. You exist. We are here for you. We do not want evil to befall you.”

Angela gave Pandor a sharp look.

“Does that make me God?” she whispered delicately.

“I only smile but once a lifetime, child.”

 

But Angela would not let it die. She became fascinated with the topic of God. Fascinated that her companions seemed to treat her as one. It was a topic that she had never really considered before.

God.

All powerful.

All knowing.

What is God?

Angela thought about how she seemed to know so much, so much more than anyone else her age, let alone the adults.

Am I God?

Have I enslaved the gargoyles to be my talismans?

Could it be true?

They do protect me—

Answer my questions—respond only to me—

But how can this be?

I am but a little girl.

 

A little girl who knows too much….

 

Angela slept and dreamt of her monsters, but it was a dream filled with dread. It threatened her. She saw herself atop the building, like she had been when she had first found them. All silent and still they were, poised on the precipices of their battlements; lurched…but going nowhere. Then she came out to the edges and began to blow her bubbles. Stood next to the one that she had come to call Pandor. It looked so scary, she remembered. So real.

She let loose her bubbles and a particularly large one drifted past the Pandor-gargoyle face. Angela looked back down into her bubble bottle, ready to blow another one when she heard a loud thundering sound and felt a burst of wind pummel her.

She looked up to find she was standing alone on the battlement.

Where once had stood a statue, now there stood nothing but still crumbling mortar. She gasped, turned to run, but instead came face to face with the very monster that had only moments before been motionless beside her.

Angela dropped her bubbles and went rigid.

Tried to scream but nothing came out.

Her eyes traveled down the length of the monster’s form and to its massively taloned claws. Noticed how the creature actually hovered, however heavily, inches above the battlement, its wings beating the air.

As Angela took steps backwards, away from the gargoyle and towards the building’s edge, she felt claws wrap around her. To her horror, she saw other gargoyles were also breaking free. She looked back to the first one and saw it bring out its hand from behind its back. In a cruelly twisted claw, rested a bubble.

I offer this back to you, child.

The dream-Angela reached out and took it.

But that was where any similarities from her past ended. No sooner had dream-Angela grasped for the bubble, when it suddenly burst open and spewed blood all over her. Angela looked around to see the faces of other gargoyles. They all leered. Hissed. The first gargoyle stepped aside, and behind him sat a box. It was a dark, subtly vibrating box, Angela thought, but didn’t vibrate physically.

No matter how much she didn’t want to go, she came closer. She had to see. The box was blacker than black, and slowly it opened. Angela heard whispers…multitudes of dim voices. Something tugged at her mind. Voices that rose in a crescendo as the top of the box opened farther.

Something called her name. Reached into her soul.

It was then that the dead light began to pour out from the opening—

Angela awoke.

And found herself standing alongside her bed, bent over and soaked in sweat.

 

The next day found Angela dreamier than usual, aloof even.

While at school people would find her sitting in class, or out in the play yard, just staring off into space. Several times classmates had come running up to her to see if she was okay and she would just ask them Are you God? Do you know God?

When one of the children mentioned this to Mrs. Gartle, Mrs. Gartle simply had to investigate.

“Angela, honey, are you all right?”

Angela continued to stare off into the clouds.

“Angela, it’s me, Mrs. Gartle, can you hear me?”

“I hear.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Why nothing, Mrs. Gartle. I am contemplating.”

“Really, child, you simply must get more to the point. And where do you get all these big words, anyway? Come with me.”

“But I don’t have to.”

Mrs. Gartle froze and choked out a half-choked, “W-what?”

“But I don’t have to go with you, Mrs. Gartle, it is not immutable—”

“You will do as you’re told this instant, young lady! Just because you think you’re smarter than the rest of your peers doesn’t mean you’re smarter than me. You will listen to your elders!”

Mrs. Gartle grabbed Angela by her arm and dragged her back into the school building. That night Angela’s parent’s received a phone call from Mrs. Gartle. About the disrespect she had displayed toward her and the students. Mrs. Gartle was curious if Angela had been behaving this way at home, and why, and when Angela’s surprised parents replied that she hadn’t, but that they’d certainly deal with it, Mrs. Gartle took them at their word and hung up. It wasn’t so easy for Angela, however, who found herself answering before her parents and then performing an extra regiment of chores before going to an early bed.

But in bed, one can dream, and in the dream, Angela met a white light. A light that asked her

Do you question God?

I question everything.

Why?

It seems to be my being. It is what I am.

It is?

Is it so wrong to question?

It is not.

Why do I question?

It is as you have said.

What I am?

You learn quickly.

What is my purpose? Am I God?

You are intensified. You are…more than you are.

I don’t understand.

The white light laughed. Be careful. Do not ungrace yourself, little one.

I don’t understand.

 

Angela awoke. Felt different.

Empowered.

For Angela had decided she was God.

 

Angela sat in front of Border Elementary School when Mrs. Gartle, the principal, and another student, came out the front doors. Heavy storm clouds and gusty winds were rolling in, but there was as yet no rain.

“There she is,” the little girl had said, pointing matter of factly. “She’s right over there.”

“Okay, thank you, Susan. You may return to your class, now.” Susan turned and left. The principal and Mrs. Gartle looked to each other. It was the principal who spoke first.

“Angela—Angela would you come over here please?”

Angela looked up from the thing that occupied her attention and stared detachedly at the two.

“Would you come here, please?”

“Okay.” Angela got up and walked over, still clutching her object. “What would you like?” she asked.

“We would like to know what you’re telling the other children,” the principal said.

“That’s easy.”

“Well, what is it, then?”

“That I’m God.”

Mrs. Gartle brought a trembling hand to her mouth and squealed, but principal Phillips remained quiet, somewhat annoyed at Mrs. Gartle’s inadequate reaction. Angela looked up to the two, proud of her newly realized discovery.

“Is that all?”

“No. No, that’s not all—Angela, why do you believe such a thing?”

“This-this is blasphemy!” Gartle exclaimed, but the principal motioned for her to remain quiet.

“Why do you think this, Angela? We’re very curious.”

“Because…well, because of the way things are.”

“We don’t understand. Can you be more specific?”

“Well, I can’t really tell anyone, you understand, I did once and that person died.”

At this point Mrs. Gartle, brought her other hand to her mouth and rushed away from the two of them, back into the building. The two could still hear her as she cried out about blasphemy and damned souls. Mr. Phillips turned away and suddenly found himself sweating.

“Angela, now you know this isn’t true. Did you think you had this person killed?”

“Well, not me. Others. But I told you—I can’t tell you. You might die.”

“Angela, would you show me what you’re playing with?”

Angela brought her hand up to Mr. Phillips. “Here.”

Mr. Phillips grabbed her wrists and felt his legs go weak. “What do you think you’re doing with that frog?”

The frog’s eviscerated entrails hung down and over one side of Angela’s tiny, pink hand.

“I killed it. I was just trying to make it come back to life.”

“Angela, I think you’d better come with me—would you do that, please?”

“I don’t really want to.”

“Would you do it as a favor to us mortals?”

Angela thought for a second. “Okay. But only for a minute.”

“Thank you.”

 

Angela sat in the office. She had lost track of just how long. Her feet didn’t quite reach to the floor, so she contented herself by dangling them against the frame of the chair. She wasn’t happy with Mr. Phillips. He had made her give him her frog and had thrown it away. It was only in the trash a few feet away from her, but Angela was still mad. Because she had been made to sit in the principal’s office and not move, she couldn’t bring the frog back to life. It was such a waste.

But she was God.

Nobody made God do anything.

Angela looked to the principal and Mrs. Gartle, both of which stood outside the office and talked rather loudly. Angela knew they had called her parents.

She was God.

But what she really wanted right now was to bring that little frog back to life, otherwise, she wouldn’t have killed it.

Angela hopped off the chair and went to the plastic waste basket. She saw how the dead frog lay belly up on wads of crumpled paper and she looked back out into the outer office. Then she reached down into the trash and grabbed it.

Possession.

She cradled it against her chest and began to hum.

Live!

Live!

Come back to me, little frog—come back!

“Angela! Put that frog back into the trash!”

Startled, Angela dropped the frog back in the garbage.

Principal Phillips.

They wouldn’t do this to me if they knew….

Disheartened, Angela quietly went back to her seat and sat down.

Phillips closed the door behind him and thoughtfully went to his chair, leaving Mrs. Gartle somewhere outside. He leaned forward in his seat and clasped his hands together on the desk before him.

Oh, great, now he’s going to act real grown-up on me, Angela thought. I hate it when they act this way.

“Angela, I’ve called your parents. They’re on their way. What do you think of that?”

“I don’t like what you’re doing and neither do my friends,” she said, her forehead scrunched up angrily.

“Let’s talk about these friends of yours, shall we? Just who are they?”

“I’m not supposed to tell.”

“Because I could be killed, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And they’ve killed before.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t supposed you could tell me who they killed, could you? I mean, it’s done, isn’t it, so no harm could come of your telling me, now, could there?”

Angela paused. This is a trap, I know it. I feel it.

“Why should I tell you? I don’t trust you.”

“Because I want to know more about you—”

Just then the door opened and in came another woman. “Hello,” she said. She was about the age of Angela’s mother, and pretty. She carried a little black notebook.

“Now, Angela, this is Mrs. Beale, she’s a friend of mine and is also interested in helping us.”

“Hello, Angela. I hear you have a dead frog you’re trying to bring back.”

“Yes.”

“Now, Angela,” Mr. Phillips continued, “Would this person who was killed be Mrs. VanWygyn?”

“I don’t know a Missus VanWeegin.”

“Okay. How about the lady the city had sent over to see your parents. Could she have been the one killed?”

Angela froze.

How did he know? He’s not God.

The frog. Live, little frog, live!

I’m God.

“How did you know?”

Mr. Phillips looked to Mrs. Beale. “We know a lot.”

“But I know more. You’re in trouble and I don’t like you. You took my frog away from me—I wouldn’t have killed it without bringing it back to life! You’re also keeping me in here! You probably also sent that mean woman to my family, too! I don’t like you at all! I hate all of you!”

Angela was now standing on her feet and shouting. Her face ballooned into a puffy red and she felt different.

We will let no one harm you, Angela.

We love you, Angela.

We are your friends.

“Live, frog—live!” Angela cried aloud, rushing to the garbage, but Mr. Phillips got to the trash before she could. Even though she was faster, Mr. Phillips was closer. He snatched away the trash can and placed it on the floor behind him.

Angela fumed.

“You’re all alike! You all want to rule us kids! You never let us do what we want! You think you know it all, but you don’t! I do! My friends do, and we’ll kill all of you!”

(we will take care of them, Angela)

(go)

“I no longer want to stay here! Let me go!”

“Angela, please sit down,” principal Phillips said. Nurse Beale got up and nervously came towards Angela.

“Angela, we can help you, if only you’ll let us—”

“I won’t let you do anything to me! I’m God! I have made life.”

Nurse Beale looked back to the principal. “What do you mean—”

A sound came from the trash can.

“Come forth!” Angela commanded.

Mr. Phillips and Nurse Beale looked to each other.

The trash can moved.

Outside thunder and rain suddenly and furiously unleashed from the skies.

“You…are doomed! Both of you! I warned you but you wouldn’t listen! I tried to tell you, but now it’s too late. Too late!”

The trash can jiggled.

Mr. Phillips shot back in his chair. Lightening flashed outside the window behind him. Angela began to laugh.

“It’s too late,” Angela said.

The frog leaped out of the trash can and onto principal Phillip’s desk, portions of its intestines trailing behind.

We’ve come for you, Angela—

A powerful concussion catapulted Principal Phillips forward and over his desk while Nurse Beale was knocked up against the wall. Rain and storm now blew in through the destroyed window behind Phillip’s desk. When next he looked up, principal Phillips found Angela laughing, her face rain-swept and still swollen. Nurse Beale was shaking her head back and forth, a nasty cut across her forehead bleeding all over her. On the window sill, and occupying the entire opening, sat a stone nightmare, its massive wings unfolded behind it. Water fell from its features like a newborn hellspawn and its mouth was a grotesque caricature of pain. Phillips looked to its fangs and claws. Looked into its cold stone eyes.

“We have come, Angela,” the monster said.

“I warned you about this—I warned you! Now you must die!” Angela cried. “I am God and you have transgressed!”

The gargoyle looked to Angela.

“You must pay!” she said.

The gargoyle continued to stare at her.

“Take me away, Pandor, and do what must be done.”

The gargoyle continued to stare at Angela, then to the principal. Lightening flashed close by and the smell of ozone filled the room.

“Kill them!” Angela shrieked.

Principal Phillips stood up, his clothing torn and his body bruised. He knew there were broken bones somewhere. “Angela, what are you doing? You are not God—but you have the devil at your command! Stop while you still can! We can help!”

The gargoyle looked to the man. Lightning and thunder again struck, this time shattering the remaining office window.

“Kill,” Angela commanded.

The gargoyle hopped inside the room and snatched Angela off the floor. Principal Phillips made a move towards the two but the gargoyle backhanded him with such force that before the rest of his body had collapsed, Principal Phillip’s head had flown off and hit the wall next to Nurse Beale—who promptly collapsed into unconsciousness.

Angela and Pandor flew out into the angry purple sky.

 

Why do you act this way, Angela?

Because it is what I am.

Is it?

Yes.

You have changed. You compromise what is.

I am God. I am what is.

You have become evil.

No. It is you that is evil. God is

Dead.

No.

No.

Nooo.

 

Angela, you have corrupted yourself.

I do not understand. I made the frog come back to life.

No. That was not you.

Was it you?

It was what I am.

Answer me directly! I tire of these games!

I am only a product of the force which drives me. I am not what controls me. You said so yourself—I am a tool.

I see. So it was God.

So you say.

Enough!

Angela, we cannot serve you any longer. You no longer suit the purpose which suits us.

Angela held back a rising choke. She looked back at the stolid stone face which she had come to call a friend. But Pandor had become more than just a friend.

Rain still pounded out of the skies and assaulted the two of them, and thunder and lightning continued to crack open the heavens. She watched as the rain ran down the gargoyle’s features. In Angela’s mind it made Pandor look like he wept.

“How can you choose your own purpose—I control you! You said so!”

I did not. You merely used the magic which you are and set us free. I never said you were our purpose, I merely said we loved you and would have nothing harm you—

The conversation was broken off by the sound of sirens in the streets.

They have come for you, Angela. We cannot save you from yourself.

“I don’t…I don’t need you. I am—”

A bolt of lightning hit the battlement nearby and sent a huge section of the building toppling to the streets below. One of the gargoyles tumbled over with it. Angela watched in disbelief as the monster made no attempt to recover itself and return to the battlements.

You have done this, Pandor continued. You have reopened the box…

Box. What box?

The box…

Listen to my name, young Angela, what is its true ring?

Angela searched her mind. All this time she knew it had sounded eerily familiar. Now it finally dawned on her.

Pandor.

Pan-dor-a.

Box.

“That was nothing more than a myth,” Angela angrily replied.

No, it is much more than that, young one. I am what some myths referred to as the First Woman. The releaser of all that is evil to humanity through my insistence of opening the box. I have been made to pay for that transgression by becoming an instrument of humanity. The form does not matter. Only the idea. The substance of what is.

“I do not believe. You are here to serve me.”

Pandora remained silent.

Another bolt of lightning struck another precipice, but on the other side of the battlement. Though she couldn’t actually see it, in her mind Angela saw another gargoyle tumble over.

You have destroyed what was. Now you must reap what is to come. Form does not matter, little one.

“Angela. Angela Pedernasy. Can you hear us?”

It was the police. Angela looked over the side but choose to ignore them.

“Pandora, have I done wrong?”

Pandora held her gaze. What is done, is done. There is no guilt assigned. There is only the present.

“But—b-but I don’t think I understand! I’m…I’m losing something here. I…I feel funny. What is happening to me? To all of this?”

Pandora looked to the sounds that came from below.

“Angela Pedernasy, your parents are here. They have something they want to say.” There was momentary silence as the blow horn was passed from one set of hands to another.

“Angela, honey, this is your mother.”

Angela stiffened.

“Angela, please talk to us, we want so much to understand. We want to help!”

“They cannot help, can they,” Angela said flatly.

Pandora shook its head side to side.

They cannot.

“Angela—we know we have probably not been the best of parents, but we tried. We’re here for you and want to help. Please, honey, talk to us!”

Then another bolt from the sky hit the building, with yet another section of it tumbling streetward. As it fell, Angela felt clammy. Something felt awfully wrong.

Then there were screams. Explosions.

Her parents.

Mommmmmyy—

“Daaadddyy!”

Angela rushed to the building’s edge. Saw the rubble below. The smoke. Emergency personnel were clambering around the broken bodies and destroyed vehicles in the destruction below.

“Mommmy—Daaaddy! What have I done! I’ve killed you! I’ve killed my parents!”

Pandora came to Angela. Lightning strikes were now continuous, chipping away at the building and sending both rubble and gargoyle alike to the ground. Those in the streets below fled.

“I am not worthy to live! I have killed the very parents who have given me life!

“Pandor, I wish to remember you the way things were. I have made a big mistake. I may have been wise for my years, but not for my humanity. I have destroyed my parents and I have destroyed you. There is no cause for me to live anymore.”

Then another bolt of lightning struck and this one took Pandora with it. Angela watched as the gargoyle seemed to topple in an exaggeratedly slow fashion over the side.

The form is not all, my child. The idea is.

Pandora’s eyes seemed to grow and fill her mind.

“Pandor!”

Gone.

Angela stood alone. The building quaked all around her.

Oh, my God, what have I done?” Angela said…

And threw herself over the side.

Because that was just the way she was.

 

The form is not all

my child.

The idea

Is.

 

And thus is the story of a brilliant moment of humanity. Of a silken-haired girl, called Angela. She was a special one to me and still is, for she still lives, but on a different level now. And I, Pandora, also live.

For it is not the form that matters.

But the idea.

And she was the girl who chased gargoyles.

 

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