Every day he flew to the edge of the sky from where he could see the earth down below. With as much disdain as anticipation, he rummaged for human souls burdened with sorrow and trials; and he found them in plenty. War, torture, murder, hunger, poverty, injustice, arrogance, ignorance, pride and hatred; it was all there. And there were victims; helpless … hopeless.

He could cruise that distance of a million miles in as much time as it took for an aching heart to call upon God. But he hadn’t had his orders yet. In all those times of pounding ordeals, he saw not one from his assembly of angels of hope, flying down and ingesting comfort into a broken heart. He didn’t understand the reason for this delay, so he didn’t complain.

One day, in a small African village, he saw faith in angles flying out of the heart of Uzuri. This was painful; it was as if he saw his own self becoming the victim of mercilessness of human race. He wanted to help her; he wanted to show her that he exists, that there is hope. He wanted to bring himself back into her heart, but he didn’t have his orders yet. Sitting at the edge of his painful wish, he looked up towards the heaven for an order. There was none. Uzuri’s agony would continue. As slow as he could move, he walked back to his bunch.

A few days later he went back to see what happened to Uzuri; she was in utter pain as she left her home to an unknown destination. Not having the heart to see it any further, he bowed his head in grief and sat their silently. A few moments passed and he heard some soft steps ruffling the spotless clouds. His orders had come. “Be the angel of hope … for Ezeamaka.”

On his way down, he kept thinking about Uzuri; what will become of her? As he descended on earth and wrapped his wings around Ezeamaka, he caught sight of Ezuri and her family. There were clouds of angel wings wrapped all around her. He smiled and looked up towards the heaven.

Angels were falling from the sky.

Angels, that were supposed to come barging in with unseen miracles of help when a kind human soul was in trouble. She never felt any angel’s steps ruffling the air where she breathed.

She was expecting another child; this was proving to be too much. Six children in equal number of years while there was nothing to live for; no hope for life to exist and Mwamba, her husband, was insistent on bringing more life to a world infected by famine, poverty, disease and civil war. Two of her sons and a daughter had already been taken away by disease.

Some two years back, she named her newly born son Ezeamaka; it meant ‘as splendid as the king’ and it was so appropriate too, for Ezeamaka was a child of extremely good health in a region with its trademark malnourished-children.

Last night her village was burnt down by the rival gorillas because two days back, the warriors from her village had ransacked another village some seven miles away. A disturbed life tasted displacement for a change and she had to leave with her husband and children to a safer place, if there was any.

Ezeamaka ate more than the other two kids combined and they were running out of food. This was not what she had desired for; but did she ever desire for anything? “My son is as splendid as the king, he shouldn’t be with us; only if there were angles I would have left him with them” she thought; and then made a decision.

The gorillas had been chasing this migrating group and were approaching them fast. Before the sun came out, the herd took off towards the north. With a heart that ached more than it beat, she let Ezeamaka sleep and left him there. She carried more pain in her heart than the love she left with Ezeamaka.

As she walked away on a heavy heartbeat, for the first time she heard some voices in the sky.

Ezeamaka woke up only to find himself surrounding by dry land and abandoned luggage. He was about to start crying when he heard the sky roar a gentle roar; he looked up.

Angels were falling from the sky.

(Fiction based on the photo.)