Angel

Signing her name in the Book of Life.

She was an angel.

So young, and so very beautiful. She couldn’t have been any more than thirteen years old, with golden hair and a starfield of freckles along her face and chest. Her eyes were round, the purest blue. Her skin was soft, pale. I would have wagered she had never spent more than a few hours in the sun.

I threw my coat over her, to hide her from any predators who might have been about.

She was beautiful, I thought. Absolutely perfect. And, as I stood from her body, I whispered a prayer for her. Every angel deserved a word of prayer.

The knife I tossed into the river, and the rope into my fireplace. Now she was just an angel among her brethren, one of many who had finally found their true place among the stars.

As I settled at my desk, I grabbed a pen. Slowly, with careful precision, I drew each letter of her name. A-N-G-E-L-A. Angela. Angela. Angela.

God, it was perfect. Almost poetic.

With a sigh, I placed the pen back into my pocket. Her name had joined the others in my Book of Life.

Author's Note

(First flash fiction. Done for a writing assignment.)