HEAVEN MAY CRY – By Michael Chimaobi


His voice rumbled across the heavens, with sparks of lightning running off the edge of his staff as he thumped it on the silvery floor.


“Yes, Father.”

“My spirit, it’s troubled,” he sighed.

Barachiel’s eyes bulged, then he made a knowing sigh. It must be one of these humans, he shrugged. He’s used to this, anyway; every angel here is used to this: Michael, Gabriel, Uriel… Every time his spirit got heavy, he did something nasty, breaking his rules, for mere humans. He’d even once sent Jesus to die!

“Stop. I know what you’re thinking.”

“Of course, my lord,” Barachiel smiled, “it’s one of your little lovelies, wrong?”

“I think you angels are beginning to misuse the power to read my mind, I’ll confiscate it.”

“I didn’t use an atom of my power, even the dumbest human would tell what’s on your mind right now,”

“Get out!”

“Yes, my lord.” he stands, wrapping his wings around himself as he walks.

“Stop, I was joking!”

“I know.”

“Then where are you going?”

“I was going to check how your sons are fairing.”

“Oh. There you go, reading my mind again!”

“I didn’t! Even the dumbest humans-”

“Stop blabbing, genius,” he said, fed up. These little angels easily annoy him. And he awaits the day his human sons would finally come. He’d completely ignore these spoilt, winged children.

“Check on this man, Ikenna. His case, his prayers… they’ve been burning fervently on my altar. And this flame, it smells of agony, of strife, and of immeasurably heavy burden. Bless him if it’s time..”

“Of course, Father. I will. Good thing his time is ripe, just a little while and someone will testify!”

At these words, a smile beamed from God’s face. He stands from his throne and walks, with fog covering his feet. His voice came like a roaring sea as he spoke the words he once gave to Isaiah:

“Comfort my people, says the lord. Comfort them…”

Barachiel spread his wings, heading for heaven’s gate as the words of God trailed heavily. He moved like lightening, piercing the clouds in a heavy decent, with his two-edged sword in his right hand, in case these demons showed up.

God kept speaking. To him, this was poetry…

“Raise the valleys,” he said, “level the mountains… Let the glory of the Lord be revealed. Let all people see it!
The Lord himself has promised…
Even the young grow weak; and the strongest of men get tired. But those who trust in the Lord shall renew their strength.
They shall soar like the eagles; they will run and not get weary; they will walk, and not get tired…”

Storried Heaven May Cry

It was night when Barachiel arrived.

Ikenna’s home was quiet. There’s a lantern burning on a stool. He wrapped his wings around himself. He would meet Ikenna on his sleeping bed and bless him.

“Weeping may endure for the night,” he said, “but joy cometh in the morning…”

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, mildly surprised.

He didn’t need to go all the way to Ikenna’s bed. Ikenna was right in front of him, swinging from the ceiling, on a rope that’d squeezed his neck.

He sighed.

Just if he knew how close he was…
Now the flames on God’s altar would’ve reduced to dying embers, fading away.

He would tell God, but God certainly knew already. Maybe this was just another lesson…

Somewhere behind these mountains, the sun slowly rose, but for some people, it would be a very dark day.


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Chimaobi is a student of Information Management Technology at the Federal University of Technology Owerri. Shy, loves sleep more than many things and enjoys Accapella music.

One comment on HEAVEN MAY CRY

  1. Amaka. Chukwuma. J says:

    its nice
    ….but I wonder why I can’t post stories here…….

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By Michael Chimaobi


His voice rumbled across the heavens, with sparks of lightning running off the edge of his staff as he thumped it on the silvery floor.



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