Little Angel

 

It was one of those days, so dark and glum out it seemed as if the sun had forgotten the earth. The streets were quiet and deserted. Heaters working overtime to repel the unnatural chill from houses. Darkened skies threatened to break open and release the tears of the lord. All the animals hide under ground or in silent trees, unwilling to venture out.

 

That was why the boy was staring out the window with a quizzical look on his face. The silvery light glowing in his back yard did not belong. It looked so out of place, just floating there. He thought it must be so lonely outside in the cold, by itself. Absently he started to wander over to the back door. He turned the doorknob and stepped out on to the cold stone in his stocked feet. An involuntary chill crept up his spine, he did not notice, his innocent blue eyes again fixed on the light. His small feet padded over to the stairs, his arm reaching out to trail along the wall. Fingers jumping in and out of the groves, dropping back to his side as he reached the ground.

 

As he moved forwards and stepped onto the grass, his socks soaking up the moisture in the ground, the light began to change. It began to take shape; it grew brighter and stretched out. His eyes widened in amazement, his jaw dropped, forming a soft ‘o’ in his lips. Suddenly the light got much brighter, then dimmed. Leaving what looked like a little girl sitting on the ground, her back was turned to him. His paced quickened and he was running towards her across the long yard. He wondered in the back of his mind where her mother was, and why she let the little girl out in the cold. He slowed as he approached and he could see that she was wearing a very pale lacy dress, pale golden hair spilling down her neck and shoulders.

 

“Hello?” he tentatively called out to her. Slowly he walked around so he could see her face. Her back curved out, and pale arms wrapped around her folded knees. The golden hair spilled down over her head, resting on top of her knees, and onto her arms.

 

“Little Girl?” he asked. Her head lifted off her knees as she looked up at him. Her oval face was surrounded by a halo of hair, her lips were pressing together lightly in a sad smile. Tears streamed out of her grey eyes, down her cheeks around her delicate nose.

 

He could see all of her now, she was bathed in a soft silvery glow, it was as if she was made of light. He reached his hand out to help her up, then dropped it when she did not move. He wanted to say something but he could not. She just seemed so sad, with tears that seemed to glow spilling from her eyes. He dropped to his knees before her, no longer able to support himself. Salty tears were slipping down his cheeks, spreading through the crack in his lips and collecting beneath his chin.

 

He wanted to help the little girl; she was so sad and he did not understand why. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, like his mother did when he fell or was afraid. She must be afraid he thought, being unable to imagine anything that would make her this sad. He looked around the gloomy back yard for anything scary, but there were no monster, scary men, terrible pictures or illusions. He turned back to her and she looked up at him, reaching her little arm out in his direction. He tried to take her outstretched hand, but found his arms were made of lead. She started to fade, as if pulled back by some unseen force. She was calling out to him now but he could not make out the words, then she was gone. He fell forwards catching himself with his hands and crumpling down to his elbows. Resting his head on the ground, he cried and cried.

 

“Robert,” his mother called from the porch. She looked around spotting him in the yard. He was sitting on his knees, head in the grass, little convolutions racking his body.

“Robert?” she called out again, an urgency creeping into her voice. Then she was running, down the steps, out across the yard. Fall in to her knees before her little boy, reaching out and taking him in her arms.

“Robert, Robert,” she cooed as soothingly as possible seeing that he was crying. “Robert, honey, what happened? Are you alright?” she questioned, fear creeping into her voice.

“The little girl,” he whispered.

“What little girl?” she asked, looking around and seeing no one. She was crying now too, as she strocked his hair, unsure as to what happened.

“She was so sad,” he rasped “She gone” his little voice cracked and with an intake of breath, he stopped talking.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” she whispered, as she rocked him slowly back and forth on her lap in the moist grass.

 

 

Thousands of miles away, across the ocean; another mother was crying over her child. Her tears falling on the fresh dirt that was pouring into the small grave where her little girl lay.