Read Online Thy Fearful Symmetry by Richard Wright - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Wright
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slowly, he remembered there was a panic alarm next to the bed. One quick lunge, and there would be officers with him in moments. Sluggish muscles tensed, his imagination painting snowman portraits of what might happen if that icy ball were to devote time to his flesh, and he twitched in anticipation of the leap across the cell.
The ball stopped dead, and Clive jerked back at the suddenness of it. Floating there at chest height, it bobbed slightly, as though riding a gentle tide.
Clive could not shake the notion that it was looking at him.
“Help,” he said, but he knew that the squeak he managed through dry lips went unheard outside the cell.
Before his bulging eyes, the ball started to change shape, expanding and deforming, rods extruding from the bottom and sides, a smaller ball pushing up from the top. The rods thickened, the ball gained definition. Larger and clearer the shape grew, even as its light dimmed, pulling darkness in towards it.
Finally, though Clive could not place when the transition from a morphing shape to an identifiable form took place, Clive was looking at a man. In the icy blue light emanating from his body, he was beautiful. Naked, slender, sharp featured, haughty, seductive - Clive was reminded of Ambrose. Arousal and awe battled in him, even as he wondered at the back of his mind what the strange smell bunching at his nostrils might be. There was a faint, unpleasant hint of egg there, but his senses were so overwhelmed by the glory before him that he dismissed it.
“Do you know who I am?” Clive relaxed as the man spoke, his soft, cultured tones wrapping him up like a blanket. There was something familiar about the voice, something that tried to ring alarm bells before being shot down by his stupefied need to venerate this being.
What was he?
What else could he be?
“You're an angel.” Dropping to his knees, Clive stared in open wonder at the face above, absurdly pleased that his words had put a smile on the creature's face, not caring what was amusing.
“You have a unique way of viewing the world, Clive Huntley.” Clive might have suspected he was being mocked, were it not for the sure and certain knowledge that a creature so radiant, a creature so obviously sent from the God he had not believed in five minutes ago, would not stoop so low. “I am certainly not mortal.”
“What... why are you...”
“I am here in search of one of my own. Your devotions drew me to your cell. You worship with surprising vigour, for a mortal.”
“Worship... I...” Clive couldn't think, didn't want to waste his devotions on anything but the creature now exposed to him, and only the feeling that he was expected to fill in the blanks bullied his mind into sluggard motion. “Ambrose?” It made sense. Not bat wings, but great, sweeping angel wings. “Ambrose is one of you?”
The angel dropped to his haunches, bringing his face level with Clive's. The cold stung his cheeks, but he refused to back away. “Yes, Ambrose is one of my fellows, a lesser creature, but serving the same master.”
The cold grew too much, freezing Clive's flesh. Locking his neck, his lips peeling back in a grimace, he held his ground. “Lord,” he begged, “it's too much.” Raising arch eyebrows, the angel stood again, stepping back so that the cold dropped down to bearable levels. As it retreated, the darkness crowded around Clive again, leaving the angel burning with pale fervour in the centre of the cell, like an ice beacon in the dark.
“I didn't expect…” Clive stopped, almost unable to ask questions of this remarkable creature, but knowing he might never again be in this position. “You're so cold.”
“I am, aren't I? The precise opposite of how good Christians imagine Hell, wouldn't you say?” Clive nodded. If Hell was hot, why should Heaven not be cold? The angel's eyes bore into him. “What of you, Clive Huntley? Are you a good Christian?”
Shame plucked tears from Clive's eyes, and he
The ball stopped dead, and Clive jerked back at the suddenness of it. Floating there at chest height, it bobbed slightly, as though riding a gentle tide.
Clive could not shake the notion that it was looking at him.
“Help,” he said, but he knew that the squeak he managed through dry lips went unheard outside the cell.
Before his bulging eyes, the ball started to change shape, expanding and deforming, rods extruding from the bottom and sides, a smaller ball pushing up from the top. The rods thickened, the ball gained definition. Larger and clearer the shape grew, even as its light dimmed, pulling darkness in towards it.
Finally, though Clive could not place when the transition from a morphing shape to an identifiable form took place, Clive was looking at a man. In the icy blue light emanating from his body, he was beautiful. Naked, slender, sharp featured, haughty, seductive - Clive was reminded of Ambrose. Arousal and awe battled in him, even as he wondered at the back of his mind what the strange smell bunching at his nostrils might be. There was a faint, unpleasant hint of egg there, but his senses were so overwhelmed by the glory before him that he dismissed it.
“Do you know who I am?” Clive relaxed as the man spoke, his soft, cultured tones wrapping him up like a blanket. There was something familiar about the voice, something that tried to ring alarm bells before being shot down by his stupefied need to venerate this being.
What was he?
What else could he be?
“You're an angel.” Dropping to his knees, Clive stared in open wonder at the face above, absurdly pleased that his words had put a smile on the creature's face, not caring what was amusing.
“You have a unique way of viewing the world, Clive Huntley.” Clive might have suspected he was being mocked, were it not for the sure and certain knowledge that a creature so radiant, a creature so obviously sent from the God he had not believed in five minutes ago, would not stoop so low. “I am certainly not mortal.”
“What... why are you...”
“I am here in search of one of my own. Your devotions drew me to your cell. You worship with surprising vigour, for a mortal.”
“Worship... I...” Clive couldn't think, didn't want to waste his devotions on anything but the creature now exposed to him, and only the feeling that he was expected to fill in the blanks bullied his mind into sluggard motion. “Ambrose?” It made sense. Not bat wings, but great, sweeping angel wings. “Ambrose is one of you?”
The angel dropped to his haunches, bringing his face level with Clive's. The cold stung his cheeks, but he refused to back away. “Yes, Ambrose is one of my fellows, a lesser creature, but serving the same master.”
The cold grew too much, freezing Clive's flesh. Locking his neck, his lips peeling back in a grimace, he held his ground. “Lord,” he begged, “it's too much.” Raising arch eyebrows, the angel stood again, stepping back so that the cold dropped down to bearable levels. As it retreated, the darkness crowded around Clive again, leaving the angel burning with pale fervour in the centre of the cell, like an ice beacon in the dark.
“I didn't expect…” Clive stopped, almost unable to ask questions of this remarkable creature, but knowing he might never again be in this position. “You're so cold.”
“I am, aren't I? The precise opposite of how good Christians imagine Hell, wouldn't you say?” Clive nodded. If Hell was hot, why should Heaven not be cold? The angel's eyes bore into him. “What of you, Clive Huntley? Are you a good Christian?”
Shame plucked tears from Clive's eyes, and he
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