Author's Note: Enjoy!

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? And even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Duino Elegies: The First Elegy

I

One major rule of self-preservation is that you should always avoid any and all alleyways.

I’m an avid disciple to this set of regulations and my mental booklet of caution is my Bible. But I couldn’t help myself as I, while walking my nightly trek home from work, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and walked backwards towards the alley I just passed to peer closely at the bright light creeping across the bricked walls. It seemed like there was a floodlight at the end of the alley, the source of the light cloaking the barricade. Curiosity is my foe and yet my most notorious characteristic. It will seriously kill me one day, not some random cat.

I walked slowly into what should be treacherous territory—I could hear my alarms flashing their lights in my head—but I stayed in my spot a little ways away from the threshold, just in case if worse comes to worse and I have to bolt away to safety.

I squinted my eyes and tried to make out any human forms. I scanned the corner fifty feet away from me, and as my eyes swept across the area, my retinas caught hold of the blinding halogen bulb and I blinked my eyelids rapidly, chiding myself silently as my vision was just a white glare. Great, now I’m temporarily blinded and completely vulnerable to the milieu of this dark and bright alley. I could see my fate already: greasy men dragging my body as I scream and scream about not seeing what’s happening around me.

It wasn’t that bad, actually. When I reopened my eyes, things were clear again except for the faint spots floating across my eyes. I looked towards the end of the alley again and after a quick and careful scrutinizing, I caught sight of the stooped silhouette standing in front of the light and I froze, panic seeping into my veins.

The light was too bright to actually make out any details except that with my terrific 20/20 vision, I could tell that the person was a male who was facing the brick wall in front of him. I noticed that his shoulders were hunched as he leaned towards the wall.

Now clearly fascinated, I somehow, without consulting my conscience and Bible, threw my guarded inhibitions out some window inside of me.

Suddenly, I found myself standing only five feet away from the person and now got a good look at him and what it was that he was doing. There were far too many warning bells inside me beckoning me to turn back around, but I was too far past the point of no return. He could have been sharpening his machetes for all I knew but my nosy self couldn’t see past that judgment.

I looked over the figure, taking in his white t-shirt and jeans to his dark hair and tall frame, deciding that he wasn’t half bad.

Wait, half bad? What am I thinking? Half bad for what?

I rolled my eyes and decided to ignore that comment I made and instead looked past him and at the wall he was facing, suddenly dry in the mouth, but not for any frightened reason. Amazement and shock were the reasons, really, until my stupid brain reacted with a defense mechanism. Smartassness.

“Vandalizing is a felony. I could have you locked up, you know. The police station is on my speed dial.”

The guy froze and whirled around. I instinctively flinched, but I soon amended that reaction to bewilderment, seeing that he was gawking at me, in the midst of shaking the can of spray paint in his hand. I should have realized that he was more than potentially dangerous and that I could easily not have the chance to run to the police station. I should have also realized that I put myself into this situation. But I really should realize that my curiosity is slowly leading me to my painful and torturous death.

My eyes were darting everywhere in that short time after I said those words, my brain trying to nudge my adrenaline to kick up so I could flee, but once I caught sight of his young face and incredibly bright eyes, I froze. It seemed that the only kick my adrenaline received was to the curb.

We were staring at each other for maybe five seconds before the boy’s widened eyes squinted narrowly and perplexedly. “You can see me?” he asked and I looked at him stupidly. Well, now he’s at most almost potentially dangerous. Why wouldn’t I be able to see him? There was a ridiculous amount of light showcasing him to anyone passing by.

He was still ogling me in the least way lustful; more in astonishment. I subsequently deemed him creepy. Here I thought I was the weird one with my adamant cautiousness and paranoia-laden mind. Where does he come about asking me about his visibility?

“Can you see me?” I retorted, cocking my head slightly.

I waited a few seconds more before getting his answer. It seemed that he took those few seconds to compose himself, because when he looked back at me, he was half smiling, half smirking in a stupid, arrogant way—which I immediately ostracized. “I can see everything.” Despite his bizarre reply, I could tell that he was still shocked.

At this point I should’ve promptly turned and ran, but this boy in front of me didn’t have that impression of being a rapist or murderer or molester or assaulter . . . plainly his vibe didn’t scream out “Warning: Stay Away From Me”. Crazy to the max, with his absurd cockiness about being omnipotent and invisible, but I was somewhat calm standing in front of him.

And besides, I wanted to know what he meant by that statement.

I opened my mouth to ask him that, but my eyes caught something else and I now remembered why I was so shocked when I first approached the wall.

I turned and stared at the brick wall, taking in the scene manifesting before my eyes. I actually had to step back to get the whole image in my view, but it certainly didn’t quell my shock. Looking back at the boy, I gestured to the light. “Can I borrow this for a moment?”

He nodded at me and I took the floodlight and stepped back until I was at least twenty feet away from the wall, all the way in the middle of the alley. I set it down next to me and then I stood there with my arms akimbo, my eyes scanning the partition.

To say I was impressed is an understatement. With the light facing the wall directly, the whole picture was vivid and dazzling, yet soft and serene. A pink and blue sky was the background and billows of cotton were scattered with two enormous cumulonimbus clouds in the middle. But it was what was on the clouds that had me astonished. Angels were perched on the clouds, one on each, and they were beautiful. The whimsical expressions on their faces seemed to say that heaven was a good place to live— I suspected that they hailed from them, because angels dangling on clouds here on earth would just be good special effects. The robes dressing them looked like peachy silk with gold tassels curling at their dangling feet. Their wings looked as soft as the clouds, their feathery texture evident. There was a gap where one of the angel’s feet should be, and I presumed that that was what he was working on when I caught him.

The whole entire picture was incredible. With the shadows, soft lines, the angels created with warm colors, this wall looked like a canvas painted by Michelangelo, not by a guy with cans of spray paint. Still, this was a masterpiece.

Speaking of masterpiece, as I swept my eyes over the artwork again, I recalled that in the past few months there have been a growing number of walls painted by the same graffiti artist, all exhibiting the same fanciful style. The artist hasn’t ever been seen, so they were all done anonymously. Well, until now.

I walked back to the guy and this time I was the one to gawk at him as I pointed to both the wall and him.

“You’re the anonymous graffitist!” I exclaimed in a hushed tone, as I was still surprised that someone this young could do something so remarkable.

He regarded me with an inquisitive look and smiled crookedly, offering me a shrug. “I guess so, yeah,” he said rather sheepishly.

I drew back—I hadn’t realized that I had begun to lean towards to him—and crossed my arms over my chest, peering at him closely. He couldn’t have been much older than my twenty-year-old self. He’s one heck of an artist, then.

“You’re good.” I then cocked up an eyebrow. “Too good. How in the world can you spray paint all that?” I gestured again to the wall.

He chuckled and the deepness of his tone was surprisingly pleasant. “It’s called talent, sweetheart.”

My nose scrunched at his apparent misuse of that term of endearment. I scowled at his grinning face. “I’m not anyone’s sweetheart, yours especially. Strangers who say those things to girls make them come off as cocky, stupid and most likely dangerous; plus,” I lightened my tone, “it’s a major turn off.”

He raised a dark brow of his own and crossed his arms. “Well, appealing to you isn’t exactly my intention. But thanks for that brief advice. I’ll make sure to keep it in mind, doll.”

I narrowed my eyes. “My name’s Cecille, not doll, nor sweetheart or baby, babycakes, honey, darling, sugar, cupcakes, whatever; It’s Cecille,” I said, not liking his haughty demeanor.

He laughed at my provocation and held out his hand. “Well, Cecille, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Graham, by the way,” he offered and I stared down at his paint blotched hand.

I sighed and placed my hand in his. I was immediately stunned at how cold his hand was, despite the firmness of its grip. It was an unnatural temperature, but I didn’t have long to marvel because Graham pulled away and stuffed his hands in his pockets. I looked at him and saw a sort of detached expression in his eyes for a quick moment before they were smiling at me again. The assertion of his strangeness came back in my mind and I remembered his surprise at the fact that I could see him.

I gave him a peculiar look. “Do mind me asking you a question?” I asked.

“You just did.”

Rolling my eyes, I pursed my lips and thought for a moment, but soon realized that I didn’t care about him to care about his reaction. Well, I kind of did, just in case he was provoked and lunged at me.

But I asked anyway. “Why exactly were you so bewildered at the fact that I could see you? As if I’m the only one who could.” I gave him a pointed look.

Graham smiled and his straight teeth glimmered in the light. “Because you are the only one who can see me.”

I scoffed. “Really now.” Maybe he’s escaped a mental institute and there’s a warrant out for him. I could use the money.

His smile was unfaltering. “Aren’t you wondering why no one else is attracted to the light as well? I mean, it is very distracting; that’s what brought you here was it not? If everyone else could see it, then surely this alley would turn into a block party.”

I sighed dramatically. “Great, I’m hallucinating.”

“No, you’re not. You’re real, Cecille. I’m not quite sure if I am,” he muttered and I stared at him disbelievingly.

“But we shook hands!” I asserted but he smiled softly and brought his hand out of his pocket and lightly touched my cheek. I shivered at the iciness, but I was sure that I was also shivering because of the contact he made.

Graham noticed and shrugged apologetically. “I have no body warmth.”

I wasn’t completely jumping into this sea of unnaturalness, but the seriousness of his tone and the look in his eyes made me somewhat wary of the truth.

“So what, are you a ghost? Who’s not so elusive and can touch the only person who can see you?”

He laughed at my accusation. “No, not a ghost.” I noticed that he did not deny the second question.

“I’m not going to play twenty-one questions until you tell me what you are, Graham,” I said, not wanting to draw this out longer than necessary. I was too preoccupied to even check the time, though I knew it was way late. I still had a couple more blocks to walk.

“Well, to help you, I kind of fell out of the sky.”

I raised an eyebrow and threw him a dubious look. “You’re obviously not a bird. What, are you some fallen angel? Did you get kicked out of Heaven?”

He shook his head. “Not Heaven, Purgatory.”

“So.” I had no idea why I was playing along with his twisted game, but I didn’t feel like leaving without setting this straight. “You died and were on your way up to heaven, but got stuck in limbo land and somehow overstayed your welcome and was sent back down here on earth, right?”

Graham shrugged. “Not exactly.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well? Then what exactly is the truth?” I vainly searched his eyes for any sign of amusement, but all I saw was the same cool and dark expression as earlier. Which made me believe that Graham was very possibly not kidding. Which would be completely outlandish.

He smiled grimly. “It’s far too complicated to explain. You probably don’t believe a word I’m saying, anyway. You think I’m some lunatic who’s escaped from a mental institute,” he said and then raised a brow at me, “and if so, you would be glad to turn me in with your wonderful use of the money. Your college tuition would be paid then, right? Then you wouldn’t have to work three jobs.”

All I could do was gape at him, and he was clearly delighted at my bewilderment because he continued with his now clairvoyant character.

“But God forbid—though I might add that he actually does—this would all be true if only I were a fugitive from a mental institute. So Cecille, what do you think now?”

Pursing my lips, I tried to think of a way to claim him as a stalker, though it wouldn’t work because I would have already known if someone was watching me. Being paranoid does enable me to have eyes on the backs of my heads, FYI. So, that allegation was out of the question. I had no choice but to believe this preposterous explanation of his identity.

But that didn’t, in any way whatsoever, stop me from being overly cautious and weirded out.

After about two minutes, I tapped my temple thoughtfully and cagily regarded his collected self. “Okay then. So let’s hypothetically say that I believe you, which I don’t because it would be silly and brash and stupid to immediately believe that you really are from Heaven, or Purgatory. But hypothetically, I do. Why do you know so much about me? What, are you my guardian angel? Because God knows—and I’m hoping he really does—that I’ve needed one for the past oh, twenty years of my life!”

Graham laughed gently. “I’m not your guardian angel.” He then smirked down at me. “I wouldn’t really want to be. I don’t even think I’m an angel anymore, to be honest.”

I looked at him. “Then how come you’re back here on Earth and not in human form, as you so claim to not be?”

“Unfinished business,” he vaguely answered.

I gave Graham a crazy look and threw my arms out exasperatedly.

“What the hell does that have to do with me?!”