Being Alright

Fallen from the sky, she was more or less a liar.

“Are you an angel?” he asked, poking the fallen figure that was caked in mud and dirt. The being stirred, blinking up at the night sky and the little boy peering over her.

“No,” she responds curtly, pushing herself to her feet, brushing herself off.

“But you fell from the sky. Don't that mean you're a angel?” The little boy asked, shoving his shivering hands in his coat pocket.

“Doesn't that mean I'm an angel, you meant,” she corrected, picking strands of white blonde hair back in her loose ponytail.

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She paused. “And no, just because I fell out of the sky does not mean I'm an angel.” She began walking out of the small crater she had formed, the little boy running behind her.

“You got a name?” he asked, finally keeping in pace with her. She doesn't have a jacket on, which makes the little boy shiver just thinking about it. The woman shrugged, gazing up at the moon.

“What do you think my name should be?” she asked, stopping and turning to him.

“It should be Angel, because even if you aren't one, you look like one,” the kid insisted. The woman smiled softly.

“Okay, then my name is Angel. What's your name?”

“Timothy!” he responds enthusiastically.

“Hello, Timothy. Why are you out this late?” Angel asked. She tugs at the end of her white dress, trying to make it fall past her knees, with no such luck. “Six year olds shouldn't be alone at such an hour.”

“Hey, I'm seven and a half years old!”

“Fine, what's a seven-and a half-year old doing out?” they were making their way out of the off roads, towards the suburban area. There were very few people out, they were either getting back from graveyard shifts, or homeless.

“Well, my mum and dad were fightin' and all, and it was very loud you see, so I decided to take a walk while they yelled.” He exhaled, eyes widening at the fact that he could see his own breath. “I took my dad's hunting knife though, so there's no worry of any bad oafs gettin' me.” He pulled the wood handle containing the blade out of his pocket, then tucked it back in. “I'm smart, that's what I think. Except all of my teachers say I ain't. What rubbish.”

Angel nodded. “What were your parents fighting about?”

“I don't know. Something about a big word, called 'infidelity'. Sounds like a car thing. Like one of those engine dealings. They also said divorce. I know what that means, but I think they won't do it. They always say divorce. But then dad buy's mum some flowers, and says sorry a lot, and then it's all hunky dory.”

Angel gulped, and tousled Timothy's hair, forcing a cheery face. “You're alright, kid. But you shouldn't run away from home.”

“I wasn't! I was just takin' a walk, it's perfectly normal for an English boy to take walks!”

“Not at night.”

“Why are you nagging me now? My mum already does that!” Timothy whined. Angel smiled again.

“Because I care.”

“Mum says that too.”

“And she does care.”

“I know.” Timothy sighed.

“It's all gonna work out in the end, you know.”

“There's my flat,” he said, pointing to a crumbling white flat. “It's quiet now, so I can go back inside.”

“Timothy!” A woman called, coming out to the front door of one of the higher flat rooms. “I've been worried sick!” she began running towards Angel and Timothy.

“That's my cue,” Angel whispered, and began walking along again. Timothy could barely hear her, and embraced his mother in a hug.

FIVE YEARS LATER

“See you later,” he called, waving goodbye to his friends, tucking the soccer ball under his arm. Light rain dripped on his head, but Timothy shook it off. This town was known for it's odd weather, and it made Timothy feel slightly alive.

“Ack!” A woman mumbled, face planted in the dirt to the side of the road. She pulls her face out of the dirt, shaking off mud particles and smirking.

Timothy stood,frozen, staring at the woman. “Angel?” he asked. She had not aged a day, and was still wearing the simple white dress, and mud still splotched over her legs. Her hair was slightly damp this time, and she was holding an umbrella in her hand.

“Hello, Timothy!” She greeted. “Long time no see!”

“Yes, about five years,” he said, still mystified. He offered to help her up, but she declined. “Are you a ghost?”

“No.” She handed the umbrella to him. “Cover yourself, or you might catch a cold.”

“Why do you care?” Timothy grumbled, not wanting to be scolded anymore. He opens the umbrella.

“I always care. So am I walking home with you?” Angel asked.

“No. I'm going to just walk for a tad bit more.”

“How long is a little bit?”

“Just about 3 hours or so.”

Angel bit her lip, gently touching Timothy on the shoulder. “Something wrong at home?”

Timothy shrugged her off. “Maybe. Why are you barefoot?”

Angel carefully stepped over the sidewalk cracks, making her walk seem more like a strange dance of careful footwork. “Shoes constrict me. Is there something you'd like to talk about?”

Timothy squirmed, struggling to keep the soccer ball in place. “Not really. I just don't want to be home when dad gets back from drinking with his friends. It's Friday night, so I try to get back to the flat late.”

“What does your father do when he comes home from drinking?”

Timothy kicked at a stray pebble, watching as it tumbled down the street and into a garden. “He shouts, and throw things and stuff. Sometimes he pushes around my mum, or hits her. But then he says he's sorry, so it's no big deal.”

“It sounds pretty serious, Timothy.”

“Call me Timmy, now.”

“Okay, Timmy. Have you talked to any adults about this?”

“You're an adult.”

Angel laughed. “Not a very good one.”

“You don't call me stupid or ignore me, so in my book, you're alright.”

“So are you, Timmy. It's gonna work out.”

He blushed, kicking another loose pebble. “I better get home. Maybe I can tell Mom to go to bed early tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Angel chirped, smiling brightly. Timmy nodded, and made his way up his street. Angel waved, and made her way to the end of the block, where a payphone rested.

She shut herself inside, picking up the phone and placing in a few coins she kept in a pocket in her dress.

“Hi, police station? I'd like to report a domestic violence incident...”

TWO YEARS LATER

Timothy rubbed his face, trying to erase the sleep from his eyes. The chill danced on his goosebumps, making him shiver like crazy.

Then Angel appears in the distance, muddy and tangled, then sitting next to him on the bus stop.

“Hey there, Timmy.” Her hair was glowing, even on the cloudy day.

“It's just Tim, now.” he sighed. “Are you a fairy?”

“No,” Angel said somberly. “Are you okay?”

“A lot has happened since your last visit, Angel,” Tim said, resting his head in his hands. “Cops came and put my dad in jail. He'll be out in six months or so.”

“Is that a good thing?” Angel ventured, tucking a loose hair behind her ear. Timmy stared up at the sky, the clouds meshed together like cotton candy, with it getting darker and darker the farther he looks out.

“Not really.” he stared back down at his lap. “He was my dad, y'know? Sure, he was drunk and said a bunch of bullshit to us, but on his sober days he would take me to the theatre and we'd see action films.”

“Why don't you ask your mom to do that stuff?”

Tim gazed off in the distance. “Mum's busy. With three mouths to feed, with my new sister and all, it's a lot of work for a mum.”

Angel hummed in agreement. “You know what?”

“What?”

“It all works out.”

“When?” Tim picked a pebble from the sidewalk, and chucked it to the other side of the road. “You come at random times, and don't give me any good advice. You only listen. You're a pretty lousy therapist.”

Angel stood back up, brushing herself off, and began to walk away. “Perhaps.” Under her breath, she whispered, “It all works out in the end, it all works out in the end, it all works in the end...”

SIX MONTHS LATER

The flames climbed higher and higher in her vision, leaping and twirling. She could taste the ash on her tongue, the whiff of smoke swirling in her nostrils.

Fire.

She was across the street, hands in her dress pockets, leaning against the brick building behind her.

“Help! Help!” Tim yelled, crashing through the door, sprinting out.

Angel pushed herself off the wall, slowly approaching the panting young man. “With what?” she asked, with a tilt of her head.

Tim ignored her, eyes sweeping over the wave of tenants, swarming out of the flaming building.

“Where is she? Where's mum?” he asked frantically. He was holding his sister, who was bawling her eyes out.

“Do you want her alive?” Angel asked steadily.

“Of course I do! She's my mum! Oh, s**t. It was my dad. He must've done this. He was so angry at us. So angry.”

Angel nodded, and calmly approached the burning building, climbing in one of the smashed windows on the bottom floor. Tim watched in horror as she disappeared for several minutes, while he did nothing.

His little sister cried even harder. Tim shushed her, bouncing her up and down, whispering, “It'll be alright. It'll be fine.”

Angel carried her mother out of the fire, quietly setting her down on one of the stretchers that the ambulance had brought. Tim rushed towards his mother, gaping at the almost still body.

“I should have been the one to save her,” he whispered.

Angel placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did.”

Then she walked off into the distance, disappearing.

THREE HOURS LATER

“Skin grafts...”

“Surgery...”

“Several burns...”

Tim shut his eyes to the conversing doctors, focusing on his mother's sleeping body. She hadn't woken up yet, but the doctors said that was normal on her medicine. His aunt had taken his sister, so he was left alone in the hospital.

“I'm a close friend,” a voice said outside of the doorway. Some murmurs, and then the doorknob turned.

Angel waltzed in, once again covered in dirt and grime, which the nurse gave her a washcloth to wipe herself off with. She waited until the nurse left, then tossed the washcloth in the sink.

“This place and cleanliness.” she shook her head. “Ridiculous.”

“You're a knight in shining armor,” Tim stated, mouth dry.

Angel shrugged. “No.”

“A superhero?”

“No.”

“Demon?”

Angel giggled, propping her head on her elbows, watching his mother. “No, Tim.”

“Call me Timothy.”

“Gladly.” She paused. “Are you worried?”

“Worried?” Timothy echoed. “I don't know. I just want her to be okay.”

Angel inhaled, squeezing her eyes shut. “Timothy, take my hand.”

“Why?”

“Do it.”

Timothy hesitantly grasped the woman's hand, feeling smooth fingers lace around his. Her eyes open, blue orbs reflecting years of knowledge.

“Everything will be okay,” she chanted. “Say it.”

“Everything will be okay,” Timothy repeated, dubious.

“You believe it?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Lies.” She turned her body towards him, so their eyes were meeting. “Your mother will wake up. She will be happy, because she is with you. You mom, and your sister, and you, will all be alright. Because everything is okay in the end. If it isn't okay, then it isn't the end, and I failed.”

Timothy blinked. “Everything will be okay.”

Angel squeezed his hand.

Something stirred from the bed.

The monitors leaped to life, beeping faster.

“Mum!” Timothy shouted, rushing to her bedside. His mother turned to him, moving weakly, but brightly.

Angel smiled, and quietly snuck out of the room. She made her way out of the hospital, out of the sliding doors, and to the outside.

She breathed in the air.

It was nice day to fall.

“Angel! ANGEL!” A voice yelled behind her. She turned, hair blowing in the light breeze. Timothy was running after her, breathing heavily.

When he made it to her, he put his hand on his knees for a moment, panting. Then he straightened himself, looking her straight in the air.

“Are you an angel?” he asked.

She winked.

“Yours, maybe.”

Author's Note

Yes, a very confusing yet somehow sweet story.

Reviews

[roarke]

very sweet. very well told. Creative format, fresh approach. Not confusing at all. You didn't tell anything that wasn't necessary and that made the piece sing like an angels chorus. I believe it happens a lot like that. ... and I"ve seen an angel.