The Loneliest Creature

It's difficult to explain the feeling of loneliness to somebody who doesn't truly know what it's like to be alone. It's especially difficult to explain anything when you don't have the ability to speak, yet you have the ability to think just as logically as any human walking on this planet.

I reside on what you might call the 'penthouse suite' of the Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris in Paris, France. I see every person who enters and leaves this blessed and beautiful place, yet, hardly anybody takes the time to notice that I am here. I mean really notice that I am here. Sure, there are a choice few who are enticed to know more about me and actually venture up this far to visit me, but they only come up here to examine the hideous features that have been carved upon my face. A "gargoyle" is what they call me, and what a horrendous name to be known by. I suppose I was given such an awful name to accompany my ugly features, but if people only knew that I did not have such an ugly soul I feel that I could be justified in my existence.

I prefer to be called 'Anahel'. Even though nobody will ever know my name, it helps me to know that I can call myself something other than that name that I've grown to hate. I've also given names to my two neighbors, who are also called "gargoyles" - to my left is 'Dumah', and to my right is 'Onoel'. I came up with these names because of my ability to hear what is going on in the cathedral below every time an event is being held, and after I came up with my own name I only thought it was right to come up with names for the closest things I could call "friends".

I do not know if Dumah or Onoel have conscious thoughts like myself. I would like to think that they do, because I cannot imagine a life of mindless staring. I wish, I wish more than anything that I could speak to them, I wish I could teach them all I know and for them to teach me what they know. It would make life so much easier to cope with, being able to communicate with one another in some way.

I want to tell them about "Heaven", and how I hope one day that my soul can join the other souls that reside there. I have heard so many things about Heaven and with each passing day I eagerly await for my soul to be rekindled with its maker. I imagine Heaven giving me the ability to walk, and to talk, and to love somebody who will love me back. I believe people won't be able to see how hideous I am in this life, in this form. That's all I need in Heaven.

A heart of stone doesn't mean that a heart isn't there at all. A soul that is barricaded by cement doesn't mean that it can't shine from within. Eyes that were designed to look angry permanently doesn't mean that passion doesn't burst behind them. It kills me to know that nobody but me will ever know that I am just as alive as any other living creature. It just doesn't kill me enough to get me to where I want to be. Not yet.