I love Yapping about my sillies (OCs)

His angel

He was 9, it was the summer. They were visiting his grandparents. It might've been the first time he met them or perhaps the second. He couldn't tell you. Their faces were unfamiliar that's for sure. They went in an orange church with white crosses. The mass started. Beside the priest there were two boys, helping him. One of them grabbed his attention. He was older than him. He looked so graceful as he walked in that white dress. During a song, Zaphon could hear the boy's voice, it was so melodious, so beautiful.

An angel, he must've been an angel. No human could be so graceful, so perfect, so he must be an angel. And if he was angel than God must be real. He spent the rest of the mass staring, observing that angel walking among mere humans. Gracefully helping the priest in his work.

After the mass, he was near the door, handing out flyers, he had the softest smile and the kindest eyes when he handed one to Zaphon. As they walked back to his grandparents house, He couldn't stop talking about him, his parents seemed annoyed but his grandmother smiled. "You can do that too, you know. I'm sure they need some altar server back in Missouri."

He did. He became an altar server. He wanted to become an angel, they made him a sinner. He told his parents and they never felt greater shame. How dare he? How dare he tempts such a holy man. How dare he lead him to sin. Their words were sharp and their palms were hard. He didn't told them the next times it happened. He just pray, and pray, and pray, pleading, begging to be clean again, to be pure, to be holy. His prayers were left unanswered.

Even tho he kept quiet, his parents knew, he could tell. They had that glare of disgust when they'd look at him, the same glare that the small statue of the Christ on the cross that sat above his bed had as he looked down at him. His parents hated him, all he did was bring them shame. They would viciously remind him his place with both their tongues and their hands and Zaphon, poor Zaphon, would shrink, and shrink, and yet, could never seems to be small enough. He wanted to disappear, be invisible, he wanted for people to stop looking, staring at him with that pity and disgust that is reserved for the ones that lives in sin.

How long did that lasted? 4 years, but it felt like it was always like this. Zaphon had forgotten how it was before. This was all he knew.

It was an evening, he was praying, begging for forgiveness, as usual, when he heard something, a strange noise coming from his parents bedroom. A struggle. He froze. The sound kept going. He wasn't allowed outside his bedroom at that hour and his parents, if they caught him, would make sure that he regrets his insolence but the curiosity was too strong to be ignored. He got up and, without a sound, made his way to his parents room. The sound of the struggle had stop by now. The door was slightly open, Zaphon leaned forward to take a look. Then he ran, he got out of the house and ran, and ran, until the exhaustion made him clumsy and he trip, and fell, then he started yelling, screaming for help, people got woken up, got out of their houses to see what was happening and asked him what was wrong but when Zaphon tried to answer, he remembered the foul, metallic odor that came out of his parents bedroom and puked. The police was called.

Zaphon knew what he saw. They could tell him that it was a trick of the light or his imagination or that it was too dark and he saw wrong, he knew what he saw. The police could investigate as much as they wanted they wouldn't find a perpetrator, they wouldn't find a murderer or even a motive because there were none to be found. Zaphon knew that what killed his parents wasn't human. It didn't moved or looked like one and probably didn't think like one either. It was a demon. He knew that. He told them but they didn't listen, they didn't believed him. They would look at him and ask him if he often seen demons. They thought he was insane. He wasn't. He knew what he saw and no matter how many "reasonable" explanations they would give him, he knew what he saw, he knew it was a demon. They interrogated him. They thought maybe he was responsible. Obviously, they knew he wasn't the one to commit the act. He didn't had any blood on him when he was running on the street and he lacked the muscles to commit such savagery. No, he didn't directly do it but maybe he made someone else do the dirty work. Maybe he was behind the murder of Mr and Mrs Sanders death. Zaphon thought so too, but for different reason. He didn't paid anyone, that's for sure, but he did sometimes wished for his parents to leave him alone. Prayed that they would stop seeing him, stop hitting him, that they would just shut up and, sometimes, that they would just die. He'd always regret it and ask for forgiveness. Seems like it wasn't enough. His prayers has been answered after all, but not by God.

He was declared innocent, there weren't any substantial proofs against him. He was sent to live with his maternal grandmother.

Upon arriving he discovered that his grandfather had died the year prior. His parents had received the invitation to his funeral and decided not to go. His grandmother have been living alone, without receiving any news from her daughter or grandson, well, until now that is. She welcomed Zaphon with open arms. She hugged him crying, he let her but didn't hugged back and his eyes stayed dry.

For the several weeks that followed his arrival at Albuquerque, he locked himself in his room and closed the shutters. He was convinced that the demon had followed him and that it was lurking outside, eagerly waiting for him to get out so it could finish what it had started. He was terrified and would pray all day for protection, forgiveness or just to be heard. He couldn't sleep and the subtlest noise would sent him in a panic.

Eventually, his grandmother convinced him to visit the town. He wandered around all afternoon, looking at the unfamiliar building and trying to avoid the eyes of the people he would walk by. When the sun started to lower, he realized that he had no idea where he was. He tried to follow his steps back but all the street he'd end up in seemed new. He was trying to hide the panic that was bubbling up inside him as his walk got more frantic. He didn't wanted to be out at night, the demon would get him, he needed to go home. By some miracle, he ended up in front of the church, the same church from all those years ago, the one with the orange walls and the white crosses. He looked around but couldn't seem to remember which street would lead him home. Tired and defeated, he sat against the wall and started to silently sob.

A soft voice got him out of his despair, "Hey, what's wrong?" it said, with an slight accent. Zaphon looked up. It was him, his angel, right there, kneeling beside him. He was just as beautiful as the first time he saw him, if not more, and he was right there, looking at him and so close. Zaphon tried to answer him but all he could do was stutter as his face began to go red. He must've looked so stupid but the man didn't laughed. He simply waited, patiently for Zaphon to get his head straight and tell him he was lost. He offered him his phone so he could call his grandmother. She said she'd come pick him up and apologized several time, said she should've came with and promised to buy him a phone.

The man waited with him. He presented himself, said his name was Jacinto and asked for his. When he told him, he mentioned how they both have uncommon name with a slight smile. When his grandmother arrived, she, again, apologized over and over to Zaphon. She also thanked over a thousand time Jacinto. As they left, he said "goodbye Zaphon!" and hearing his name in his melodious voice sent shivers through him.