Divinity incased in a Shattered Pearl

A story about my character, Angel, after his mother's death.

Pure divinity, a key to eternity. That is how my mother described me, she would tell me over and over how I was the one thing that saved her. I was her beacon of light to eternal paradise. It all happened roughly nineteen years ago, a young teen girl with a cardboard box and a note. She had planned on giving me to the church's orphanage, but she said when she placed me onto the steps I had began to weep. So out of pure reaction, she had picked me up and held me to her. Her father had not let her hold me before this, would not allow it and instantly she knew why. The church door opened, and an older woman with a kind face looked at her. She had invited her into the church, and in that moment she said I had saved her life, both eternal and mortal. Though in truth, I did not feel like such a key. My mother was kicked out of her father's house, looked down on within the church form being an unwed mother, and I seemed to get in the way with her relationships... The list can go on, but I hope my mother finally rests in eternity although the church says differently. She committed suicide when I was seventeen. The worst sin one could commit under the Catholic beliefs, going back for many centuries. Although, I do not agree with all the beliefs. A little insight but absolutely no one who holds a position within the church does. Whether it be the diligent choir boy, the bishop, the Cardinal, or the Pope himself; For we who have devoted so much study, life, and energy within this religion know the holes, know the bent images that have been forged by men to interpret what they think our Lord has told us. ---


Angel took a breath, and put down his freshly opened spiral. One of his many spirals that he had been collecting through out his life. It seemed no matter how he tried, he could not start the first entry without expressing his anger and ever so tired fight. Laying his forehead on top of the book, the young male took another deep breath before moving out of his bed. Climbing down the old metal latter of the bunk bed. He was currently on a mission trip with his child hood priest. At the moment, more so interning in a way and attempting to decide on which way to turn on his fork on the road. But he felt like he would have never met such a fork, he had never prepared for such a thing with his highlighted path of life. But now it felt as if the well lit path had been eaten with darkness, darkness that was constantly licking at his heels, his heart... 


Ever since his mother's death, Angel had felt so distant from everything. He had tried praying naturally; however, not in as such a way he expected God to use divine power to fix him... Praying in such way was foolish, but it was for consol or support. Angel continued to think of things as he dressed. Ignoring the shifting of the two bodies who were currently tangled with one another on the lower bunk. Then he felt a hot breath on the back of his neck, just as he expected. "Ey, I am sorry for last night sweet heart... The bloke over there explained it al'. "Oh?" the boy replied politely. Though on the inside cringing at the memory. He had been walking back from a swim on the beach, and had attempted to go around the party of sex crazed young adults, A mixture the group he was with and the home town kids. The next thing he knew he was being called over by, Richard. And knowing from child hood, it was better just to appease the male than out rightly defy him and his "friends".


 So Angel found himself sitting among quite a few drunken fools, biding his time for when he could slip away. But then, a young woman had continued to persistently touch him. At first his hair, which he allowed but gently attempted to bat her away as she continued to press against him. They had all let on he was a virgin, and for some reason found that he was embarrassed by such title, which Angel was not. Though he knew Richard's real aim was for him to be so mild manor with the girl until he shoved her hands down his pants and felt exactly why he was one. But by then, he had shoved the girl into the sand not having much choice otherwise. Then again, she more so landed on the sand from being plastered. Excused himself, and walked away. By then Richard and his friends had gotten their laugh. "Yes... He said yo-you were converting, though love, if you like Blokes I dun't se-" Angel let out a soft chuckle as the hung over girl began to speak. "Is that what he told you now?" he questioned, which to be truthful Angel liked girls as much as he liked guys. Which that was the biggest joke of all, he liked neither. He had absolutely no sex drive. It was prevented when his mother had him castrated at the age of seven. "You should probably go back to sleep," Angel finished shortly, finishing buttoning his shirt and walked down the hall. Most likely he was the only one awake, the sun had yet to rise and most had been partying, having sex until the wee hours of the morning. Angel had seen the brunt of booze and other drugs through his beloved mother and her various boy friends, sex supposedly was possible but Angel had never seen interest in such things. 


Lightly tracing the crimson rosary that hung around his neck, the boy pushed the thoughts from his mind as the salty breeze ran through his hair, and kissed his skin. Stepping onto the sand with his bare feet, he began his customary walk along the area.


"Ave Maria,"


A song began to fill the air, a sweet, high tone sung with grace and strength but not increased volume. Angel could hit notes that sounded like something that should never come from human lips, not always beautiful but a freight that only Castrato could do. Their vocal cords elongated with multiple levels of singing that even the most strong female singing could not biologically hit. Nor could men, of course that is after puberty. Boys. Could not because of the years of practice exceeds the times given before puberty along with the lack of air that could fill their tiny lungs. Thus the Castrati were formed, Angel's voice did not falter as the images from he night before fed into his mind, and any other time he felt sickened from a lustful touch of a girl or woman... His mother had always bragged about him, continuously of how he would never feel lust for a woman. That he was ever so pure form such sin. Sin that caused men to be evil, thus her son would never be like the cruel men nor would he ever have to fight not to be. 


Images replaced those, the warmth of his mother's skin as he laid his head upon her lap, his voice ringing to the ceiling as he felt he fingers stroke his hair... The warm tears that would splash onto his own cheek as he made his mother weep with joy, the only one whom could ever make her weep from joy. Then again, he had always had an ability to make people weep from his voice. He sang hymns in Latin for the most part, and even those who were not religious would find them stopped dead to hear them. Though, living as a Castrato in such a world as now was very harsh. And the more he was teased, the more he was bullied for being such made him more and more glad his mother had found an under the table operation. He saw the evils of men, the carnage in both history and current day unfold before his eyes. Angel truly felt saved by his mother, from the blinding and tightening curse of lust. Not to say he was hell and brimstones on the subject, while his mother was. But, lust seemed to be one of the most damaging sin from his stand point, it blinded people of all types. It surely blinded his mother, and she knew this as well. Jaws locked as he stopped singing for a moment, staring out at the rising sun on the ocean and not even that could stop his fists from clenching. 


Men like Richard used his mother. playing her like a flute. "A-ah, huu," Angel gasped clutching the fort of his shirt and quickly trying to push his memories back. Everything back. His mother's face in the back of his mind. Since he had began to write this morning the pain had been growing in his chest as it had been for so long. But when the pain receded, he felt so hallow. So disconnected from anything, so many times he had admitted to himself that he felt there was no God, but he continued on this path. He had never questioned such before, but all the warmth he had felt at the thought of God, had all been placed by his mother and her joy to see him among the choir. Feeling her warm hand laced with his own as they prayed every night with one another. 


Yet, here he still was with the church, still on the path to become a priest. His main goal would never change, he wished to go on mission trips and help people. Not these "mission trips" or "communions" were they went to relaxing beaches and were not held to any schedule nor moral guidance. Letting out a slow and concentrated breath, Angel pushed down his anger once more. Pushing down deep within side and once again the hallow ness seemed to lay upon him. Almost comforting as a heavy blanket settling upon your body on a cold and stormy night, but just as painful as falling into snow and feeling the icy burn but too helpless to move. Out of habit he began to reach for his rosary that hung around his throat. However, before he touch it, he felt the back of it being harshly pulled. Instantly slamming the front into his delicate throat, choking him. 


He woke up choking, attempting to swallow but finding his mouth that of cotton. Slowly he opened his root beer colored eyes, eyes blurred, wincing feeling that his whole body was restrained and his rosary still around his neck. He heard quick voices, and instantly his eyes flashed to three large individuals. Noting the red eyes, quick chattering speech... Great, junkies. Growing up in inner city he could spot them a mile away. From the way they were acting and the strength of the rosary choking his earlier he guessed it was Meth to blame. A few moments later, one of the tweaker's blood shot eyes flashed towards him. The look caused chills to run down his spine.


"Oi! Hoooooo-la," the tweaker called out, mutilating the Spanish word just for him apparently. Not that he knew much Spanish, his mother was Caucasian and he had never been exposed to the Mexican roots.


"Ah-haha what luck h-heheee hehe~ made it alive," the tweaker sang merrily.


"Y-you know pretty hombre, we didn' believe it when the word got to us that there was a little ball-less bloke run' 'round the beach," One of the other tweakers began, this ones eyes holding malice and sadism that he had seen before. Feeling his cheeks flush against his own will.


" 'nd Ya know? When we first laid eyes on ya, we were even more sure someone was a f****n' liar. But whatcha know, looked down under and it is quite proof," the second continued, grabbing his hair roughly. 


"Ngghn," Angel grunted feeling his hair being tugged at, flinching at feeling the dirty hand stroking the cheek. 


"Though, godda say' Thank ya lad. For being who you ar' sum un' been asking for a pretty lad like you. Quite a bit of someone's, and that voice will sure get us some good stuff, but for now... Good night!" before Angel knew what had happened a fist struck him and everything went black. 


Groaning softly, brown eyes once more flickered open. Though this time he felt very different. He was higher elevated, and in and in a different place, a clothe placed between his lips made his already dry mouth ache, throat feeling raw. He could see the ray of lights shining through the dusty cracks of the small shed. A bang drawing his eyes over to a far corner. One of the tweakers before, the one that hadn't spoken. He was smaller than the rest, nervous looking and seemed to be having the harsh shakes. Maybe coming off of an over dose, hallucinating and talking quickly in tongues. 


Then suddenly, the tweaker shot out. 


Knocking his over, tied to a chair, Angel realized to get to a door and the male was gone... Leaving him very naked, tied to a chair with a pounding head. The crimson rosary still hanging from his neck, Angel closed his eyes tightly. Where ever the tweakers had move him while he was knocked out, they had done none too gently. The ropes were digging harshly into his skin, over and over and over again showing their paranoid. How long had he been out? A chemical stench was still stock in his nostrils, and he felt so weak... They had used some type of drug to keep his knocked out... Were was he? Feeling too weak from lack of water, and stress he felt himself lose consciousness a third time. Waking up, feeling the cool breeze of night caressing his naked skin.


 Groaning softly into the clothe stuffed into his mouth, thoughts were un able to be held back, he was too weak to fight and his demons were enjoying the feast. From being teased about his femininity/ being a castrato, to feeling like a false prophet of sorts, to his mother abandoning him and choosing suicide, and to himself for being so complacent, and all the way to feebly the embarrassment he would feel once someone found him, that is if he did and he did not die from dehydration. Brown eyes closed slowly, a few tears dropping on the floor as he feebly attempted to shift but he was bound too tightly to the chair that pressed into him. He had lost regular feeling in his limbs hours ago. And in so many ways, he hoped no one found him. 


This world had no room for a castrato orphaned, and to this world Angel could only look upon with disgust right back. 

Author's Note

Once more I have no beta/ editor (always looking for one!) Also, I am aware 'making' a boy a castrati is illegal- Angel's mother battled against drug abuse and being a religious fanatic so she had it done under the table in one of her fits of dilution that she was saving her son, and honoring the church for her sins.