In the upper attic of the town
house, there was a small room. It was filled with toys, flowers
in vases, an antique rocking chair and a small bed. The wooden
floor was pale with age and the room was filled with crawling
ivy. It came from the small stained-glass window in the side of
the room, which coloured the air with vibrant reds, yellows and
blues. On the bed, was a small girl.
She sat in bed with her long blonde
hair strewn around her. Her blue eyes stared at the tall boy who
stood beside her. He slowly sat down in the rocking chair that
stood beside her bed and threaded his fingers together. Looking
up at her, he smiled and started to talk.
"Holly, do you know what an angel
She giggled quietly and replied in
a soft voice:
"I may be dying, but I haven't
forgotten anything. An angel is the messenger of God, who helps
him in heaven."
The boy's vibrant green eyes glanced away from hers
for an instant. Only for an instant, then they were back, locked
on hers. Once again, he smiled, only this time it was just
"They are what you say they are,
but not just that. They are the souls of people who have been
good throughout their life, and they become angels when they go
to heaven. As long as you live a life full of goodness, you can
become an angel."
The girls eyes widened and she
tried to sit up, but to no avail. She fell down against the soft
eiderdown in a coughing fit. At that moment, an old skinny man
entered the room. He looked more like a skeleton than the girl,
who was probably nearer to death than he was. The old man looked
concernedly at Holly, whos coughing had gotten louder, then he
looked to the boy, and his face-hardened. Noting the facial
gesture, the boy stood up again, bent down to the Holly to
whisper a short goodbye, and then he quickly exited the room,
leaving the old man to help her.
The room where the girl lay was
completely silent. No birds sang outside the window, and the
chamber had taken on an air of tranquillity. On the bed lay the
child, who was now covered with ivy and holly wreaths. She had
her eyes closed and a small smile played on her lips. There was
no one else in the room, and the furniture was covered in white
cloth. The only item in the room that was left uncovered was a
small vase of lilies. It looked almost as if the girl was
sleeping, dreaming of wonderful things she had heard in
fairytales. The only thing that betrayed the image of the
sleeping child was that she did not breathe.
Holly was dead.
Two days later, she was carried to
the church and buried in the graveyard. As the mourners left, and
the vicar departed, an old, frail man was left alone, sitting
beside the newly packed earth and the fresh letters on the
gravestone. He had with him a small bag filled with food, and an
old walking stick beside it. For the rest of the day he waited by
the modest grave, until the light started to fade and the chill
winter winds began to blow. Then, he stood up slowly and said
aloud: "She'll come tomorrow." The only person to watch him leave
was a tall boy, with tearstains down his cheeks and bright green
eyes, the colour of holly.