Minds are Like Books

Blake awoke staring at the white ceiling. Goosebumps had spread across his cold skin, and he felt as if his heart would explode. His head felt the same way. It was pounding loudly, like the sound of flapping angel wings. His skull felt like it were split in half, and he thought there must have been something in his head that was trying to expand out of his head without squeezing through an open spot. It just expanded until his head would blow up.

            His mind swirled, and as did his vision, thoughts racing quickly through his head. He closed his eyes, and he felt the pain heighten, and started feeling shooting pains in his back. His head started to feel like it was going to crack open, and his thoughts would leak out of it. A blinking word kept appearing behind his eyelids, burning like the heavenly fire that Raphael was holding as a sword: Nephilim. Blake stood up, pain shooting through his skull like shockwaves of throbbing racing viciously through his head. He stumbled out of his bedroom door and struggled down the stairs, using the railing with both hands. When he got into the kitchen, he popped two Aspirins in his mouth and swallowed a gulp of water. Instead of relieving it, his head began to pound harder.

            “Headache?” asked Whist from behind him. Blake acted on quick reflex, and in a second, he’d turned and was facing Whist with his sword pointing at his throat.

            “Oh, sorry,” Blake said, tapping the sword into the wand and tucking it away.

            “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast,” Whist said. “Anyway, so you do have a headache?”

            “Yeah, and it kills,” he said, his head throbbing. He turned away from Whist and began to leave.

            “I think it’s because you’re stifling your angel temperament, Blake,” said Whist. Blake became angry, and turned around. He gathered searing flames in his hands. They started glowing bright gold and blue, and he cupped his hands around them. Then, he felt a tugging at his mind, and he saw the image of the flaming sword that Raphael had held in his dream. Suddenly, the flames jumped at each other, coalescing into a weapon of gold and blue holy fire. He pointed it at Whist, and realized what had happened. He’d allowed his angel nature to best him. He held the sword, and then let it fall from his mind. The sword dissolved into small embers and vanished. “See?”

            I see nothing but your blindness overcoming your sight,” said Blake.

            “I’m sorry?” asked Whist.

            “I said that I see nothing but your blindness overcoming your sight,” replied Blake irritated. “What? You didn’t hear me?”

            “I heard you alright, Blake, but you were speaking some ancient language. I’ve never heard it before. And you’ve never said anything like what you just said. You spoke so formally…” said Whist.

            Blake ignored him and trudged out of the room, his head still throbbing. He walked frustratingly over to the living room, and went to sit down. He missed the couch and stumbled away. Then, he laid his hand against the wall, the whole world spinning out of control. He felt his senses heighten, and all of a sudden, he could hear everything; the chirping of birds three streets down, the wind moving through the tree branches in the forest far away and someone talking about him. He felt like he knew the voice, and he did. It was Whist. He looked through the doorway, but Whist wasn’t talking.

            “If he neglects his nature, then he could literally die from this. He needs help,” Whist said. His lips never moved.

            “I doubt I’ll die,” Blake said to Whist, his mind beginning to cloud.

            “What?” asked Whist.

            “You just said that I’ll die if I neglect my nature then I could literally die from that. I don’t think I will. And you can’t even prove that I’m a Nephilim or whatever the hell it is!”

            “I never said anything,” said Whist. “And now I do have proof,” he added, smiling.

            “What?” asked Blake. “What the hell can you possibly say? I told you I was done with this Whist. I can ignore the hearing of chirping birds far away! I can ignore—”

            “The hearing of people’s thoughts?” asked Whist.

            “Huh?”

            “Blake, I never said what you just told me,” Whist explained. The moonlight outside made his blond hair silver, and when he smiled he looked curious. “I was thinking it.

            “You were thinking it?!” said Blake angrily. “Oh no, that’s a lie. There is absolutely no way that you were thinking that.”

            “But you just understood when I thought, ‘I was thinking it,’” said Whist. “Blake. You need to stop fooling yourself.”

            “I’M NOT YOUR PRECIOUS NEPHILIM!” shouted Blake. “Get it through your substantial, ludicrous mind! I’m not this stupid son of a mortal and an angel that you seem necessary to refer to! Understand?”

            “Then look in The Mirror, Blake,” said Whist.

            “NO!”

            “Why not? Are you afraid that you’ll stumble upon your actual heritage? Or do you truly believe that you can just walk away from all of this?” asked Whist. “You’re a Nephilim, and you need to accept it. If you don’t, then you will die.”

            “I have no necessitation to accept anything involving angels being linked to me,” said Blake. He turned away and walked to the door. He pulled on his shoes and walked into the silvery moonlight that was casting a luminous glow on his suddenly tawny, golden eyes. He closed the door behind him, and began to walk, without even using the angelic magick that Nathaniel had given him.

            He trudged into the darkness.

The End

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