The Lone Angel

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A very short story about innocence, loneliness, fear, and a broken heart.

Submitted: November 25, 2011

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Submitted: November 25, 2011




The wind is blowing all around her, ruffling her hair and twisting her clothes. She laughs and twirls around, arms reaching up towards the charcoal grey clouds. Her voice echoes then fades with the roar of the wind. Her hair flies all around her like a great auburn ball of fire. The red scarf she wears around her neck gets pulled off and floats away into the distance. Her gloved hands push her hair out of her eyes and she reaches up, she wants to touch the heavens. Her brown and red skirt blooms like a flower in the spring. She lets out another shout of laughter when she feels the wet kiss of the snow on her white skin. She jumps up and down, catching the snowflakes in her small, gloved hands. She leans her head back and closes her bright, hazel eyes. She opens her mouth, laughing at the silliness of it all, and tastes the cold flakes on her red rose of a tongue. When she opens her eyes again, all she sees is blurred colors: brown, grey, white. She sighs loudly, contemplating,, drinking everything in.

He sits alone, afraid, and tired. He tries to see what the fuss is all about: he pulls on his brown boots and trudges into the snow. He listens quietly to the wind rolling through the neat little houses of his town. He sees the beauty of it all, but the beauty just makes the pain seem worse. The trees are white and naked, the branches reaching out towards him. He shivers. There are a few leaves on the ground, all red and brown and orange. They spin in circles, riding the wind. The wind stings his face, like a million tiny daggers tearing his skin. He starts to cry, tears rolling down his face, leaving frozen rivers on his cheeks. He hears a strange sound: a girl crying. Or is she laughing? He can’t tell, but he follows it, trying to distinguish it from the wining of the wind. He finds the girl, playing with the snow, her garments flying all around her. She seems to be glowing like an angel. He sighs, pitying her, yet as he watches, a jealousy arises and threatens to overcome him. He turns to leave and takes one last glance at this butterfly among the dead. She is standing there, her arms by her sides, staring straight at him. He is enchanted, but the pain in his chests expands rapidly, too quickly, and he is afraid. She takes a step toward him and he turns and runs away, confused and angry.

She sees him standing there, hiding behind a broken tree. For a moment, she is afraid. Then she sees his expression, so kind, so yearning, and utterly pure. She smiles, she wants him to join her, but as she stares at him, she becomes afraid again. When he looks back at her, she takes a hesitant step toward him, to show she is brave, and to ask if he would come play. He runs away, and she is left standing there, the lone angel, afraid, hurt, and bemused. 

© Copyright 2019 Jemma Mo. All rights reserved.

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