Fallen Angel Excerpts

The sin of blood had stained us all and the only solvent was gin. The world was filled with broken people with broken dreams like so many broken toys strewn about the room. It’s a wordless moment when two kindred spirits meet and recognize each other for the first time. Baggy khaki clothing covering memory-scorched, sunburned skin wound tightly around tan darkened bodies with faded tattoos commemorating warrior victories was our imprimatur. A deep river of respect ran through every unspoken word. The stronger ones hung on tightly to their hopes and dreams and fought through it. Their prayers were answered. Those prayers were the memory of God, and those bars were the waiting rooms of redemption. We stalked those bars with a hungry mind and fixed them with our gaze like leopards stalking prey. We’d lie in wait to catch that singular instance of existence — not before, not after, but just then. With every drink we had the power to stop time in its tracks, to seize the frozen moment and hold it fast and wash it down with a whiskey chaser.

The clouds parted one day, and heaven spit out an angel to do the Lord’s bidding. His name was Robert Stonehill. He came to terms with God a long time ago. He came to terms with Kennedy shortly after that. He was always looking ahead and never leaving anything to chance, Kennedy insisted on Stonehill leading the expedition to ‘immanentize the eschaton’. He was Kennedy’s hedge against failure. If there was a hole in the world, Stonehill could fix it. He understood that his happiness didn’t function in sweeping strokes because he didn’t live in the broad summations like so many others. Many had been considered, but only one made the cut. Some men are distracted by the illusion of order. Some men are not. Some men understand the difference between chaos and calm and have the ability to plan for both. They never confuse activity with accomplishment and strive to control the outcome of their own life never buckling under fire. Like river stones tumbling in the creek waters worn smooth over time, they last, and, in the end, become legend. In the process of defining their goals, they establish the objectives to achieve those goals. Eisenhauer had Bradley. Napoleon had Blucher. Lee had Stuart, and Caesar had himself. Kennedy had Stonehill.