The Angel

“What’s wrong, Colton? Had it been another grueling day at work?” My wife had affirmed by my wistful facial expression, as I walked through the door. She sat me down and started gently clenching her soft hands on my tense shoulders, messaging out my utmost distress. It had become a ritual; returning home from the department in terror, after envisioning the Flames. The flames, I had thought to myself. It had not simply been those that had destroyed the buildings, but also, those I saw embodied within the victim’s eyes. I had been trained to put out those of the buildings, however, the fear and panic that had been built up for them, from witnessing all that they loved and held dear disappearing in flames, never to be put out, creates an emotional scar threshed into their soul, displayed through their eyes. Nobody had ever been quite the same, something within, had changed them. Although work was tough, I simply loved to help others, even from a young age and I had concluded that an employment that benefits my friendly nature would make me feel fulfilled and accomplished. My wife had stopped messaging and began to caress me, while playing with my thick and tousled dark hair. “Is there anything you’d like to share with me?” she said. She had always been there for me, supporting me, and I love her with all my heart. What had started from a simple physical attraction, had developed and grew into a mutual bond, our marriage commitment of five years demonstrating our true connection. It’s her beautiful soul, I had concluded. She is genuine and her humbleness and attentiveness are distinct, alluring qualities that lead me into appreciating her more and more. There are so many memories to be told; shared with her, nonetheless I couldn’t ...

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Now restless in my bed, I decide to visit the women in the hospital. I rush over, and I ask the attendant for her room number. She told me “Room 221 on the second floor.” I find her room and there she lay, motionless with diverse machines hooked up to her, including the heart monitor, which continuously beeps. “I’m sorry. This is my entire fault.” I tell her. There was a long pause. Again, I repeat “I’m sorry.” Faintly, I hear her say “We all make mistakes, what’s important, is that we did our best. I appreciate all the efforts you made to save my baby, but now, my time is approaching to join her at the gates.” “Please don’t leave us.” I cry. She chuckles and says “Angels won’t be new to me in heaven, I’ve already met one. Thank you for everything.” And the heart monitor lets out a loud and distinct beep displaying a straight line on the screen. She passed away.