The screeches of tires from the street behind me alerted everyone, shortly after, two blazing cars skidded into the boulevard, drivers faces twisted in rage. The skidding stopped and both drivers managed to get out of the cars right before they kissed the sky in a fiery embrace. They exploded, you might want to say, as both drivers went for themselves, one with a knife, and the other with a bat.
People rushed to separate the sparring drivers, each appealing at the same time but at different paces, the babble metamorphosed into a symphony only I could comprehend and appreciate and control; Anger.
So when the first fist collided with a random jaw, I felt a frisson of energy surge through me, the beginnings of my reinstatement into the ranks. I, Af, the angel of anger.
I crossed the street, picking up a glass from a table here and a bottle of unopened wine from a table there, finally settling for a corner table, a smile at the edges of my lips. I busied myself with the wine, as more and more people got sucked into my vortex. A woman kicked another man in the shins, he went ahead to throw her stroller down the street, with the baby and everything. She stabbed him in the neck with a shard of glass from the wreckage. His blood bubbled and frothed at his neck and lips as he dropped. Gunshots sounded from the homes behind me, explosions rocked the ground, I imagined what the media would make of this. I looked around longingly, people choking to death on their own blood, others impaled on broken off chair legs. It was beautiful. I slowly raised my glass of red to the sky, wondering what the angels of the firmament thought about my grand reentry into the ranks. After all, Father authorized me to. It was in my job description.
“Go forth Af, play your masterpiece upon the maddened strings of my children.” I muttered his words to the chaos before me, then coughed my way into fit of giggles. God didn’t say it like that, of course.
No one paid any mind to the dark haired girl sitting a fair distance from the melee with dark red bands appearing all over her forearms. Knives sliced through the air, finding home in warm skins. I felt good, very good. It was so good to be back. Eons ago, I was said to be a cardinal sin, from Abraham and all his children, so I was asked, no, I was commanded to take the back seat, while Armaros, the angel of undoing presided over His earth, but now I’m back. Azrael will have no choice but to adore me, Hasmed will praise me. I’m back, Earth.
Anger is back.