Angels Calling

Inspired by 'Angels Calling' by Rooster.

The quiet look on his face screamed at me. I wanted to tear his face apart. Yet, I wanted to stroke it too. How could someone so beautiful be destroyed by something so dreadful? He was not for anyone’s taking but his own.

 

“Don’t look so sad, Evie,” he said with a bracing smile. The desperation that shone in his eyes betrayed it anyway.

 

The tears fell anyway, off the edge of my eyes, like loose stones shaken from their own places carved in the ground, leaving a dent in the spot. Why do constants never remain so?

 

“You swore you’d stay forever,” I said softly. I channelled my savagery into wiping the tears away, picturing smudged ink, indelible.

 

I ventured a look up at him. Through the veil of tears in my eyes, he was a glistening mirage – the most perfect wish promising to come true, but eventually deceiving you. People died from believing in mirages too much. They scraped at sand, hoping their oases were there, as they envisioned, but eventually perished under the sun. Was that what was happening to me? Was I digging at something that was not there; was I only driven by a desperate desire to make it exist?

 

“D****t, Benji. You swore.”

 

“It’s Ben,” he corrected gently, his eyes wet too. “Benji was a chubby ten-year-old who mixes his Coco Crunch with OJ –”

 

“And who once riffled through the trashcan for his smelly blanket his mom threw away,” I added, forcing a smile.

 

“And who also once made you so mad you threw sand at me –”

 

“But who later built me a sandcastle, complete with a flag from the ice-cream stall, just to appease me,” I played on. “Oh, Ben!” I reached across and pulled him into a tight hug. He still smelt of his stupid blanket, even though stronger, more masculine scents have taken over. I inhaled deeply, my tears darkening the blue sweater he had on, bruising it. It spread like blood. Internal bleeding, I thought involuntarily.

 

His head rested on mine and I felt his hands stroking my hair, gently as I always knew it.

 

“I never meant for it to end this way, Evie,” he said. It was his way of apologising. But apologies were, more often than not, hollow. What was the point of apologising when you were going to do it anyway? That was not apologising; that was lying. Just like how a mirage lied.

 

“Then don’t make it end like this!” I screamed, pounding his shoulder with my fist.

 

He rubbed my back with languid strokes, shushing me.

 

“This hell was made heaven by you,” he said. “You know that.”

 

A statement. I did not know that.

 

I fingered his bruised jaw, a hidden discolouring at the back of his face – then the scars on his arms that never healed, leaving welts behind – and finally his forehead, a new addition to the damages, where a hairline crack ripped through and disappeared into the mess of soft dark brown hair.

 

“I hate him,” I said, my voice torn apart by an animal-like brutality, raspy and low.

 

“But I love him,” he said. “He’s my dad, Evie.”

 

“He’s no longer your dad, Benji. He left you ever since your mom died.” My voice was loud and reverberated throughout his cavernous room. “What he’s left in his place is someone – something – you and I don’t know.”

 

“Don’t,” he said, his face carved of stone. His jaw was tight and his face rigid.

 

I heard the front door open and slam shut. He winced. It was a sound that jolted him everytime. He used to have a laughter that bubbled up from his stomach. I always thought it was his baby fats that gave him such infectious laughter, then I realised that he was the only one who could make me laugh just when he did. Could laughter be killed; can they die? I know his did.

 

He stood up and gripping my arms tightly, he said lowly with much exigency, “You’ve got to leave. Now. Before he finds you here. You’ll get hurt.”

 

“But you will,” I insisted, resisting as he pushed me to the window that I had always climbed out of. “I’m not letting that happen anymore.”

 

“I don’t want you to see it. If you really want to make things better, leave – now. Go!” I felt a shove on my back.

 

I did not know if I felt relief that he crashed into the room before I could make my reluctant escape. In a way, I was glad I was did not make it in time. But the sight of his dad seized me with sadness and horror – both due to what he had turned into. He was a man who loved his wife, his son, whose life revolved solely around his family, no discounts. Does the death of a loved one kill the soul of the one who loves? Their family had been whole; Benji’s laughter embodied the nature of his family. Yet now, it was as battered as Benji’s body was.

 

Benji shielded me from view. Before he could say a word, his dad had towed him by his blue sweater and swung his fist, crashing it into his face. I screamed. Blood was starting to trickle out of Ben’s mouth.

 

“You’re the reason for this, son! It’s no-one’s fault but yours!” his dad bellowed.

 

The thing is, I think Ben believed that. He believed he had caused his mom’s death. ‘If I hadn’t been in such a foul mood that day, I wouldn’t have made her go down to the store; I would’ve bought the stupid milk for her and she wouldn’t have …’ was what he had said to me once.

 

“Stop it!” I screamed, as blows continued raining down on him. Ben’s dad was shouting, always the same phrase: “It’s your fault!” And his movements, though as slurred as his voice was, were forceful, for he was burly.

 

“Evie, shut up!” Ben croaked and I stared as more blood flowed out of his mouth as he said that. His teeth were stained scarlet.

 

I made my way towards him, but felt my legs buckle as an omnipotent force crushed me in its dark palm. A jarring pain slammed into the side of my head. Blackness swallowed me whole. I only saw Ben’s face, his brown hair, before I melted into oblivion, with Ben’s laughter ringing in my ears.

 

 

*

 

I knew nothing was fine when I woke up, even though everyone around me kept blanketing me with assurances.

 

“Where’s Ben?” I kept asking. “Where is he?”

 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re ok. You’re ok.”

Tears blinded me. I flailed and tore out of my bed, only to be sedated and be strapped to it for my efforts.

 

“Here,” my dad said, handing me an envelope. “It was addressed to you.”

 

I wrenched it and tore it open with alarming viciousness, not even bothering to wipe away the tears anymore. It fell upon the envelope and letter inside as large dewdrops, opalescent pearls that caught the light. They smudged the ink. It spread like blood. Blood. It had flowed from his mouth, and the hairline crack on his forehead. He still smelled like his blanket. His hair was brown. His laughter had been a gurgle, rising from his stomach. If you really want to make things better, leave. How could I? Ben. How could you? I hate him. Where are you?

 

‘Angels Calling’ by Rooster, his handwriting read.

 

You and I, we were one,

And I swore I’d stay forever,

But they say all good things come to an end,

My friend.

Now it’s time to move on,

But don’t think that this is easy,

‘Cos it’s hard to be leaving you behind.

But you’ll be fine.

 

“He suffered major injuries to his head,” my mom whispered, tears flowing down her porcelain cheeks. “His father was taken away.”

 

Oh, so if you believe,

Say a prayer for me.

I won’t be here tomorrow,

Somewhere I gotta be.

Things you want to say,

Save them for another day.

‘Cos I can hear the angels calling,

Angels calling for me.

 

Did all that matter now? Ben had left; I knew that deep down. He said he was sorry. I hate that word, but it’s the best I’ve got.

 

Does it help if I say

That I’m really truly sorry

And that I never meant for it to end

This way.

There’s a place in your heart

Where you know you’ll always find me,

And I’ll be with you wherever you are,

Near or far.

 

“S**t, Benji,” I said to the letter. “You’re a damn liar.” Another tearfall, another smudge.

 

Oh, so if you believe,

Say a prayer for me.

I won’t be here tomorrow,

Somewhere I gotta be.

Things you want to say,

Save them for another day.

‘Cos I can hear the angels calling,

Angels calling for me.

The spot that the stone left behind was a dent – only to be replaced by newer soil and fragments of new rocks. Constants never stayed so, but nature always made sure there was a replacement, something else to fill up that hole again, to knock back that dent. He had always been Benji to me, and will always remain so. He was the only constant I knew, and then not quite.

 

You and I, we were one,

And I swore I’d stay forever,

But they say all good things come to an end,

My friend.

 

 

Reviews

[Sammy]

You might want another proofread to iron out the mistakes. Your language is top-heavy at times:

The tears fell anyway, off the edge of my eyes, like loose stones shaken from their own places carved in the ground, leaving a dent in the spot.

Cliches:

This hell was made heaven by you
his face carved of stone.
Could laughter be killed; can they die? I know his did.

I really liked the bit about the mirages. And you've got a good vocabulary. Still this felt a little too hysterical for me to enter into. I also wasn't sure about the use of rock lyrics at the end.

[Dave "Doc" Rogers]

Nicely done, Raven!

Cheers!
Doc.