Death in spades.

I couldn’t believe this was happening, I mused ruefully to myself as I stared up blankly at the building in front of me. A hideous shiver ran through me as a squinted in the light reflecting from the white stone, my breath billowing out as fog into the cool air, dancing in front of my vision before it faded from sight. Slowly, I turned; looking over my shoulder, looking back, and wishing I could turn back, wishing I could run back, and hide, hide away from day. I scowled to myself. Hiding never helped. No matter where I hid, he would find me, and there would be hell for me to pay, trapped within his grasp, held captive by the pain surging through me. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks. I blinked, fighting them back, steeling my resolve as I looked down at my sister, tugging on the shoulder strap of her bag as she pulled it from the car, swinging it over her shoulders in a practiced gesture like I always did. It always amazed me how fast she grew. My father was holding her hand, helping her ties up her shoes, even if the straps were Velcro. She had to look presentable, in her new, first winter’s uniform. I shuddered as a chill wind washed over me, not because of the cold piercing my skin and bone, but the dreading fear that pierced my heart. I’d missed the whole term, and now, it was time for me to rejoin my peers at school. I didn’t want to, for I knew what I would find. Words had spread through out the school, of the young man who repeatedly tried to kill himself. Narrowing my eyes, I wondered which ‘friend’ it was who had broken their little promise of secrecy. Oh the story would have changed a million times by now, like an endless game of Chinese whispers, and by the time it would come back to me, I could turn to the innocent person speaking, look them in the eyes and blatantly tell them. “No, I tried to kill myself this way…” And then watch them squirm. It was not in me to be spiteful, or angered. I was simply afraid. I scowled as I admitted it to myself, finally catching my father staring at me. He would happily take my bag from me, and usher me back into the car, speak to me in a soft gentle tone that it was ok if I waited just another day to readjust myself. After all, I had suffered. I had begged him never to bring up the fire in the hospital, and he had agreed, until it was stated on the news, that no cause had been found, sparking his memory. Shaking my head, I turned my back to my father, taking in a deep breath, though it did nothing for my confidence. Sighing I strode forward, my hands tucked warmly into my pockets, my gaze lowered to my feet as I simply wandered.

It was almost unnerving how I could navigate my way through without so much as an upward glance, how all I could see what shoes, and yet still know they were clearing a path for me, like I had some kind of infectious disease, that spread by a simple glance. I felt like a leper in the middle of clean freak city. But there was nothing for it now, there was nothing that I could do. My father, although hesitantly would have already left by now, my sister happily skipping into her class to announce loudly that her brother was still an angel, and proved it by surviving falls and fires. I was eternally grateful she could not remember nor understand the word rape. Slowly I lifted my head, letting my distant gaze run across the lockers before me, counting down the numbers till I had found mine. Had I been counting steps? For I was almost on target. Everywhere I felt the burden of a dozen glances, people I knew, who were shocked to find me back, people I didn’t know, who swiveled their gaze to try and catch a glimpse of the scars through the partially open collar of my shirt, trying to trace the lines with their eyes before losing it behind the fabric. I felt like yelling, telling them all to ‘bugger off!’ but I hadn’t the heart for it. Leaning my forehead against the cold metal of my locker door, I gazed lazily down at the lock in my hand, feeling the cool tingle through my skin, quelling the hot flush that was rising. It took me a while to realize that I had not turned the dial of the lock, just stared at it, narrowed my eyes at it. With a sharp tug I was startled to find it unlock, and hang loosely in my hand. Shaking my head, I opened my locker doors. Several folded bits of paper fluttered to the ground, and neglecting, I picked them up and placed them to the top shelf of my locker, a place my eyes never really looked towards. People slipping them into the door, asking where I was, or well-wishers perhaps? Either way I would fine out later on, when I dared myself to read them in the privacy of my own home, where no one could see me huddled in a small ball, back to the wall for safety, weeping in silence. Dumping my bag on the ground, the resounding thump seemed to echo on forever, in the silence of the once chattering hall. Oh I could hear whispers, see girls turn to one another behind cupped hands, through the corner of my eyes, other boy pointing towards me in less subtle conversation. Unpacking my bag, I gathered the books I would need for my fist classes, and shut my locker as softly as I could, snapping the lock back into place. The less attention I drew towards myself, the better. But still where ever I went, eyes followed, and I knew today I would be placed upon a shameful pedestal in everyone eyes.

Wandering through the door to my first few classes, I found myself shifting the furthermost back corner of the room, hiding in the darkness of shadow, where the sunlight streaming through the windows had not reached. The teacher made a loud notice that she was glad I was back, curiosity of the other students turning their head for them. She asked how I was feeling, if I had recovered. Recovered? I stared at her for a moment, my face blank. I tried hard not to narrow my eyes, to let this strange sense of anger wash from me, threatening to create a loss of my senses, as I shed my shirt to bare scars to all, cuts, bruises, burns. I blinked, bringing myself out of my stupor, touching my sleeves at my wrists to make sure I had not done anything rash. “I’m well,” I murmured brightly, forcing a smile. Those who sat close to me shivered; suddenly catching on to the thick falsity dripping from my words, they knew I was downright lying. I didn’t care, I just wanted them to turn around and leave me alone. Like in a sleep, I worked wearily, absently through class, finding that my notes didn’t make sense, as I looked down at the page in front of me, startled to find death, in his black robe, holding his scythe, drawn in the center of my page, notes in a code dotted around. The teacher looked over my shoulder, before kneeling beside me. “Mitchel,” She addressed my softly, as slowly, almost mechanically I turned my head to look at her, eye level with me. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Ah she had heard the rumors to. Had she been asked about my lack of presence before, by other students? Teachers? I sighed, and nodded my head, not caring to voice an answer, fearful of a crack of emotion, a stutter, anything that would show my fear. Glancing at my pencil case, I fixed my gaze upon it, as if I could see what lay within. She wouldn’t know what I was keeping from her. Gently she put her hand on my arm, knowing immediately it was wrong as I pulled far out of her grip. “I think you should speak to the councilors, if something’s wrong, your friends,” She paused, seeing the bruises on the back of my neck, the scars starting just beneath it, raised calloused flesh, white against my skin. “If your parents are hitting you,” She started, her voice a whisper only for my ears. I turned towards her, glaring at her in a fashion that made her retreat. “My parents,” I hissed between my teeth, “Have done nothing to me. How dare you say that.” I put a hand to my face, covering my mouth. I had no clue I could act so vicious, even in my times of deepest hate. I just could not stand; to know she thought that the loving caring family I had, could even dare to strike at me. She looked shocked, but saddened, pitying me as I buried my face against my arm. “It’s ok Mitchel,” She whispered, her hand lingering inches from my back, before she decided it was best not to touch me. She would have to warn the other teachers, lest I accidentally strike back at them. As I heard her footsteps move away, I lifted my head, only to see the wetness of tears upon my arm, although my eyes had dried now. Others were watching me; I could feel the weight of their eyes, the discomfort of being watched.

From that class I moved to my next, watching the clock tick away with a longing gaze, as I barely comprehended the words pouring from my teacher’s mouth in a boring monotone. There was no point in listening, I had already concluded since the first five minutes, pretending to write, scribbling random words on my page. Death, darkness, alone, occurred often, and I couldn’t stop it, I wasn’t even watching what I was writing anymore, just letting my hand move. A girl was sitting next to me, she had just started. She didn’t know about my history, or the rumors surrounding me. For that I was thankful. She allowed me to smile, to chat to her in hushed voices, as we shared small details about ourselves. She was English, her name was Harriet. She had a thing for rock music, vampires, and Sid Vicious. You would never have picked it looking at her in school uniform, but she assured me she was quite different. Daring to scare me, she drew up her jumper sleeve, baring a small scar across the flesh of her wrist. I simply smiled, turning towards her, and undoing the top button of my shirt, showing her the fingernail scars that started at my collarbone, and continued down. She actually let out a soft gasp as I hurriedly did the button back up. “Who are you?” She asked softly, her voice low but precise. Ah, so she may have heard something. Taking her sheet of paper, I scribbled words in my strange hand writing, giving it back to her. “Mitchel Fenn, loved and lost. Remember a life stolen unjust.” She read softly, turning back to me curiously. But the bell went, and I gathered my books and exited the room. I knew in the back of my mind, I would never see her again.

Moving to my locker, I sighed softly as I began to pile all of my books into my bags, all of them, cleaning out my locker. Placing my heavy bag back inside, I slung my lock through its hole to keep the door shut, but I left the lock open. I had nothing of value in there. Keeping my pencil case in my hand, I moved towards the table I knew my friends would be seated at, in the secluded space under the stairs. Smiling sadly, I spotted them, and waved. None saw me, until I was practically standing behind them, that a friend called to me, announcing my presence loudly as she jumped up to embrace me, hugging me tightly, until a wince broke our contact, my hand flying to my chest, trying my best to hide the pain expression on my face. “You ok?” She asked and I nodded, pretending I’d pulled a muscle. They knew it was true. A soft voice called my name, and I turned to face Rachel, looking at her as if I knew her, but not where from. She gave me a helpless smile, and I gave her one back. “We weren’t thinking you’d come back.” I turned to face my mate, shrugging my shoulders. “We thought, well, you know, we thought you’d died…” “Killed myself.” I finished for him, and he nodded sheepishly, taking a seat. Gently I set down my pencil case. I couldn’t kill myself, for then I would go to hell. An angel didn’t belong in hell. I looked up, startled when I realized I had spoke it aloud, but there was no embarrassment, for it was truth. I could hear Rachel shifting angrily beside me, and several other friends look annoyed also. Cj, Em, Soph. I looked over towards Matt and Scott, they look unimpressed. Their faces filled my vision, some looking saddened, others agitated. The silence was broken as Soph snapped at me. “You’re not an angel! Just because I called you Gabriel once!” She growled in my ear. They thought it was all lies, they couldn’t see what I saw, they could hear it. I turned, glancing at Em. She couldn’t see Leolse, that damned spirit, sitting right next to her. I lowered my head, fixing my gaze upon the case in front of me. People were fidgeting, unnerved that I was still here, still speaking to them. “Don’t spread such lies.” Someone else spoke, but I barely heard. “We’re sick of them Mitchel, sick of them do you hear! We can’t trust you anymore!” I felt my heart shatter, but kept my face blank. Reaching in to my pencil case, I drew out the birthday present of my fifteenth, a dagger. I had sharpened it the night before. I set it down in front of Rachel. “Here, I want you to have it.” She didn’t understand my working behind it. “What are you doing?” She didn’t sound happy, standing slowly as he chair grated against the pavement. I could see Ez looking at me, saddened, but curious. Rachel took the dagger in her hand, trying to give it back to me, I refused, stepping away from her at her every advance. She ended up jabbing it at me, unaware of the danger in her desperation. She wanted me to take it away from her. “Take it!” She commanded over and over again. “I’m sorry Rachel. I should have told you. I love you, I loved you. I should have told you then. But I cannot love anymore, I cannot. I am hollow, I am empty, I am dead!” I called to her, stepping back. Slowly, I lifted my hands, undoing the buttons of my shirt, letting it slip from my shoulders, baring my pain, my scars to all my friends, as they stood, moving to restrain Rach, make her aware of the danger, but each too unsure, confused to move. “Stop it!” She hissed and I felt my heart drop again. “Stop it. I could never love you. With this you do to yourself. Stop it, don’t talk to me. Take this thing, take it!” She practically screamed, thrusting it forwards towards me. She could not judge the distance with those tears in her eyes. She had not noticed that I had not drawn back from her this time. I looked towards my friends at the last moment, who suddenly surged forward, but were still, powerless to stop it. Thoughts ran rampant, as time seemed to slow. First my body, Leolse had stolen that from me so many times. My body was dead. Then my mind. My mind had gone, in this crazed state I lived in. Then my spirit, my very will to live. That was gone. And now my life. Hopeless romantic, love was my life. And love was killing me now, I mused sadly as I felt the blade pierce my flesh, my heart, moving up to the hilt against my ribs, and Rachel’s saddened wailing in my ears.

My legs buckled, and I collapsed onto my knees, struggling to draw in my last breath. Slowly, I let the shirt slip totally from my lithe frame, crying out, as once more, in searing pain my wings emerged bloodied, painfully from opening wounds on my shoulder blades. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I didn’t care for the murmurs of ‘oh my god!’ In my ears, as many more people came to look, came to see what was going on. More screams. Some couldn’t see what was wrong, apart from a boy of his knees with white angelic wings stained with blood. No one seemed to notice the blade in my chest, until my wings folded back as I reached out, pulling the blade from my chest. I didn’t want the pain, but the serrated edge made a greater wound, and as the obstacle was removed, the blood poured. All around me people stepped back as a pool of liquid crimson encircled me, as I collapsed onto my back, ignoring my wings crushed beneath me. Each breath gurgled with blood, spraying from my mouth as I coughed. Teachers ran down stairs, some moving to find a phone. “Ambulance!” Children were screaming, running around like headless chooks. My friends dropped beside me, hoping to comfort me, some forced back by a wave of nausea. “I told you!” I croaked, coughing as I wasted the last breaths of air I had left. I could hear my friends weeping, for me, for themselves. The area was thick with guilt. So many people thinking, ‘I could have done something,’ or ‘if I only knew.’ I turned to fix each of my friends in a strong gaze. “Do not pity me, it is done. I go home.” I murmured, the blood now pouring from my chest, running with silver streaks. More screams as people moved back, and in the corner of my eye, I swear I saw Harriet, looking at me with some bravado of awe.

I could feel odd warmth in me, even as my skin was cooling, as the life was draining from me, rolling across the stones beneath me. The ambulance would not arrive in time. There was nothing that could stop my inevitable death. Leolse lay next to me, looking at me with a slight admiration in his gaze. Even though I loathed his presence beside me, I found I could not hate him. He had only being performing a task our god had set for him. “You are brave sweet Mitchel.” I heard him whisper in my ear, as he turned to kiss me in the first tender contact I felt from him. “It is over. I shall miss you.” He laughed his harsh laugh and then was gone, leaving me alone to look up as my vision faded, seeing the last thing I ever wanted to. My friends, weeping, but I pictured them smiling. “Don’t cry for me.” I admonished with my final breath, slipping into blackness, just as the medical team arrived.

Talk had run made about the city, on the news, on a boy stabbed to death in his school. Details were not disclosed, ‘no one’ knew who had stabbed him, ‘no one’ knew how it happened or when. Mitchel’s friends moved on with their lives, forced to as the shock began to ware off. The angel, their friend. How they wished they had believed him, but he knew, they were sure he knew, they had said so in his last dying moments. He was their guardian now, his name engraved in memory upon the table on which they sat every day. A halo circling it. Every time it seemed something would go wrong, but was suddenly resolved, people began to say it was the work of Mitchel. It became the school tradition, the school superstition. But none were more so grateful, than the angel watching above. His friends had cared for him, in life, and now in death.

“Gabriel?” The young man turned, looking over his shoulder, away from the shimmering water he used to gaze down onto the mortal land. “It is so good to have you back my son.” The bright face of Mitchel smiled back through the angel’s eyes, as the archangel Gabriel bowed to his father, his lord, his golden tipped wings flaring out elegantly. “Did you learn your lesson?” Gabriel smiled as he thought back upon his experience as the mortal child Mitchel, the pains and triumphs he suffered and gained. The angel lifted his hand, running his fingertips across the flesh of his collarbone, where the scars no longer resided. “Yes my lord.” He smiled and nodded, “I will never go to the mortal land unless you so wish it.” He answered, his voice cheery, a song. Even if in mortal life he forgot who he was, an angel had the knowledge of the ages. Never would he forget those who loved him.

Turning back to the shimmer liquid, he let a crystalline tear run off his cheek, falling into the liquid. On the mortal plain, in that school, all took a moment to gaze upon the rainbow that was forming without rain.

Part four.

End.