Excerpt from Black Doves, The End Part 1

Because my story was so long, I decided to pot the ending of the story for you to enjoy!

Black Doves, The End, Part 1


It was 2:45. Raziel was no where to be found. The rubber soles of Holland’s shoes crunched against the wet pavement, in hot pursuit of a six foot eight demon from heaven. He was passed by a drunken bum, stumbling down into the street clutching a bloody nose, and hobbling on one leg, the other mangled. Raziel was here. Holland turned on his heel and grabbed the bum by his collar. With wide eyes the bum stared into Holland’s face, which beheld an expression of unbridled rage and fear. “Who did this to you?” Holland shook the bum, blood from his face splattering onto Holland’s sleeves. Still holding his nose, the bum gasped out “He…he was a man with wings like…like a bird.” Raziel had definitely been there. Holland released the dirty man, and stepped back. He was no match for rRaziel, with his scrawny five foot nine bank teller frame; he didn’t stand a chance against Raziel’s brute force. The bum had disappeared, the street was empty again. Holland flexed his hands, palms clammy. He had to do something about Raziel. He had to find him. There was no way to save the almost innocent people that Raziel was undoubtedly mauling as he made his way through the underbelly of Chicago. Holland couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. He knew he couldn’t face something so powerful. He wasn’t strong enough. His mind wasn’t strong enough. A newspaper page tumbled down the street on heavy summer breeze. Sweat clung to the back of Holland’s shirt, and Holland collapsed into a crouch in the middle of the dark street. Palms against the asphalt, Holland pressed his chin to his chest and fought back tears. He was too weak, he’d always been. And now everyone was going to die because of him. Raziel, the thing he had asked for, the avenging angel he had needed that hot June night, was no angel, and he had released it into his city. People would find out Raziel had come from him. People would learn that he had released a demon onto the city of Chicago. The police that had arrested him previously had let him go on the basis of insanity. This time, when everyone saw Raziel and his evil, Holland would be jailed, incarcerated for life, he would be tortured by the government, his life as a depressed bank teller, over. God, thought Holland, what have I done? Then he heard it. Footsteps from an alley perpendicular to the street he was crouched in. Holland raised his head; cheeks wet with sweat and tears, and sank to his knees. Standing not five feet away was Raziel. He was a sight like no other. Taller then the average man, and built like a lanky linebacker, razor sharp wings folded behind his back, Raziel clenched his wide hands in fists. Holland trembled “Ra…Raziel….” He choked out. Raziel twisted his neck, brought a large arm up to run his fingers through his short brown hair, with every movement Raziel practically glowed in an humanlike way. “I knew where you were.” Raziel growled. “I…I was looking for you…” Holland said, in barely a whisper. Raziel’s attitude changed then. The righteous fury in Raziel’s eyes glowed, “You are a coward,” he barked out, pointing his hand at Holland’s kneeling form.

Bibliography 

Jacobs, William Wymark , and Gary Hoppenstand. The Monkey's Paw: And Other Tales of Mystery and the Macabre. Chicago : Academy Chicago Publishers, 1998. Print.