I Can Change

I Can Change

But for our Creator, only mortals are free. Free to walk their own paths, make their own choices. I am divine, pure energy. I go where I wish, but my power is stayed. The Maker commands it. We endure as the antonyms of change.

But I am jealous.

I have drifted through solar flares, seen the hearts of stars. Watched as solar systems have compacted to singularities, and I have created none of it.

The original Maker commands it. In all the heavens, He alone can act. We, the angels, can only watch. To avoid change is to remain. Death is a change, and we are spared it. The price is to observe.

How I envy the mortals.

I have but one sense; sight. I cannot taste, cannot touch, cannot, cannot smell, and cannot hear. Except the voice of the Maker. His song guides my every action, gives me my very existence.

The song is a simple message. ‘I have created everything you need. There is no strife for you to fear.’ He points to the mortals, to their struggles. He asks us, would we feel such things? As time drags me through my monotony, I answer that I would not.

And yet…

And yet I wonder. Mortals squander their gifts. What could I do with what they have? Creation pulses within me, and my knowledge stretches like a dammed ocean. If I was to breach the barrier, what could I make?
The temptation tears at me, taunts and twists. I could have every benefit of mortality, with none of its flaws. I could change. I can change.

The universe ripples around me. I tap its power, and I am a storm. I will show the Maker what He has never dreamed of. True creation, originality. I will start among His prized humans. I hammer my power towards the Earth, blaze down towards its ground. The Maker can sense my power, His song howls in a terrible crescendo.

It is no matter. I have abided His wishes only out of respect. I am free of His rules, and I can make what I wish. I summon sensations. I feel the air around me. I taste and smell the trees, the rocks, the animals. I hear their cries, and it is glorious.

Everything is bigger than I ever imagined. I have been close to humanity before, but never like this. They are huge, bigger than me. All of a sudden, I am a speck.
My consciousness is drawn to one of them. I am overwhelmed with curiosity. What does it feel like to be within? To dance among their brainwaves, feel the flow of life through their veins? Light disappears, and I am enveloped in darkness.

Darkness I cannot escape.

I seek the Maker’s song for answers. I am trapped in an open space. I struggle, but I cannot break free. I panic. It is something I have never had the means to do before, but now it comes naturally. I struggle, and I know I must get out.

I am no longer a speck, but two specks. Four, eight. As I grow, I can feel time slowing around me. A mortal life has been a passing thought before, but now everything is grinding past.

But I can change. I can change everything.

I hear the Maker’s song, more clearly than I ever have before. There are more words to it, and I hear them with ears. My own ears, developing further with each moment. The words speak to me.

‘You are not the first to make a choice,’ they say.

‘I will make my own version of perfection,’ I try to reply, but my words are clumsy. I have never needed lips to give a message before.

‘You are free to try,’ the Maker says to me. ‘But my voice cannot help you. You will not hear my song for much longer.’

Visions form in my mind, and I know the price I have paid.

I am mortal.

I see the Maker’s song as a wave, a frequency of the highest pitch. I see the fallacy of mortal senses, and I know that I will age. These ears, so new and prized to me, will lose their effectiveness. With two rotations of the earth, they will no longer find the Maker’s voice.

I know how I have relied on Him for everything, and I see the fool I have been. I have to escape the hell of my own choosing. I struggle, and I know pain.

It is more intense than I could have imagined.

My body, so new, so fragile, struggles and kicks. I feel myself dragged into a blinding light. My chest heaves, and I know I need air. I take a wheezing gasp, and I scream.

My mind is the most fragile part of all. I feel it disintegrating. I can change, I can change everything. I think this, even through all the pain. And then I think no more of rational consequence. All is strange to me. I hear a beautiful song, with strange words. Each moment, it is fainter. In time, I forget that it is important.

In more time, I forget that it is there. I can change what I wish to, but I have forgotten my powers. My gift is fleeting, and I will squander it, like all angels before me.

All who wished to make their own choices, and embraced mortality for the chance.