• Some people believe in a higher power, a God who can make it all better. It seems like from birth you have to know what you believe in and know all of your views on everything. I don’t. When I say that everybody glares, accusing me of hating God, they call me a Satan Worshipper, I can’t understand. I don’t even know if he exists how can I hate him? Those people make me hurt. I can’t understand. I can’t even look at them, I can’t be near them, and I can’t stand them they make me feel empty inside. They know what they want and believe in and I don’t. But there’s someone who makes the emptiness go away while they are there. A person I named Angel. You may be thinking of God’s children with white wings but I don’t think Angel is that kind of angel. Angel is special, not those monsters with wings.
    I have never seen Angel.

    Angel visits every full moon. I make sure to go to bed very early facing away towards my wall. I have to for Angel to come. When Angel does I know since Angel says “Be Still My Child.” In a voice that’s special, it’s not girly or boyish. I can’t tell what Angel is. Angel walks, floats, skips maybe, to my desk of wood opening the reliant, squeaky drawer dropping in a single envelope. Angel walks to me, I watch Angel’s shadow dance across the wall, Angel’s bulky clothes keeping Angel’s figure a secret. Angel leans down and brushed a soft, yet strong hand across my cheek murmuring in that awkward voice. “Now Sleep. ” From those words I can’t help but instantly close my eyes, my lullaby being the odd chime from however Angel leaves me.


    Whenever I awake I rush to the drawer and take out the letter, Angel’s neat script on aged yellowing paper.
    Rea-Rea,
    Hello Darling. Has The Boys From Math Been Degrading You Again? You Were Cooped Up In Your Room For So Long I Was Getting Worried. In Response To Your Previous Letter I Am No Angel, But Something Much Different.—

    All of Angel’s letters were like that. Reinforcing my thought on not having to know yet, everything that Angel said made sense. I felt closer to Angel every time we wrote. Cherishing the times when Angel would deliver the letters. Eventually I wanted to know Angel’s appearance, know everything about Angel. That brings me to know. Angel doesn’t even check anymore if I’m facing away, so now I am going to poke my head out of the sheets when Angel comes.

    Right now on my floor reaching up to my ceiling appears a door, I can see through it and it blurs the dresser behind it. It flies open and out steps a large, maybe 5 foot, leg. The whole figure following behind. When it was completely in it stood about seven feet tall. It’s face changes appearance every couple of seconds and it was staring straight at me, I think. It’s eyes were changing so fast I couldn’t tell. It stood froze towering over me before it supposed aloud, “I wonder…will you dream? ” I don’t quite understand why but then Angel leaned down and kissed me sweetly. But it turned sour a sort of freezing happened in my throat preventing me from breathing. Angel hugged me stopping my struggling.

    But I still love Angel. Angel who kept me going those many years. My Angel who was not only my best friend but a parent who I could look up to.

    My Wingless Angel.