Angel.

Over the next few days the girl was bed-ridden as her body struggled to fight off even the smallest of infections. John O’Brian noticed that as more time passed he could notice more changes in her physical appearance. He hadn’t visited her often, for Mathew kept watch over her for hours on end, giving both his father and brother steely looks. However, when he did catch glimpses of the lifeless body, which seemed to be in a coma-like state, he noticed that her skin, although deathly pale, was no longer that glowing multitude of dazzling white. He wasn’t sure, however, whether this change was for the better or the worse and the subject of her health was always on his mind, even as he laboured over the farm.

Mathew O’Brian had spent every waking hour watching her, never before had he seen any creature so frail. He knew that if there were a farm animal this sick his father would have put it out of its misery long ago. His room was the most sterile it could be made thanks to his brother who was easily persuaded once he caught glimpse of the girl. He knew he was neglecting his chores, but after wearily rising one morning after a sleepless night of watching over his feeble guest, his father told him to instead to continue attending to her.

Unsure of how to sustain her diet they turned to milk, five times a day Mathew propped her up in his arms and slowly let milk drizzle between her velvety lips and down her throat. So desperately he clung to the hope of her survival, swearing countless oaths to the gods he would fulfil if she were to live. How could he not become so attached, for she was like his sister, his daughter, his mother and his soul mate in one? He harvested both love and admiration so deep; he would go to any length to protect her. To him, it was not this world, this life that mattered but the welfare of the being before him.

John O’Brian was plagued also, by sleepless nights; however these were due to the night terrors haunting his every sleeping moment. When he looked in at the girl, all he saw was his wife, his wife after the birth of his youngest son. White, lifeless, as a sheen of sweat coated her clammy skin, her dark hair damp with perspiration, swept back splayed around her head, like a halo. To any other person she was a pale woman on the brink of death, drained of energy, exhaustion overpowering both her mind and her body. To John O’Brian, however, she was perfect in every way, he only saw the woman he married at the tender age of nineteen. Rosy cheeks with warm, deep hazel eyes that only told of her love for him, nothing could ever replace her, yet he knew that those may have been the last of her breaths.

To John, this was like reliving the death of his wife and he could not bring himself to get closer to her for fear of losing her as he had his beloved. He attempted to distract himself with the days worth of labour on the farm, without Mathew helping, he was working hard from early morning to late at night and it left him only the late hours of the day to dwell upon the unforgettable past and the lingering threat of death.

It was on the sixth night of the Angel’s coma-like state that Mathew had decided to retire to the old weary sofa downstairs. It had long passed the days of comfort, the stiff stuffed cushions groaned in protest and the once spotless material was tainted by the dirt from the surrounding farm.

He had tended to the ivory skinned guest in his room, first by a last filling of milk and by lowering her high temperature with a cool cloth dampened with water. He knew now that his only hope was to wait, but this tedious waiting was indescribable, clawing away at his insides through every waking hour, returning to shadow him in his dreams.
He had just sank back down onto the worn settee with a steaming mug of cocoa in his hand, in his other he gripped a tattered cardboard box advertising the success of the sleeping pills within. Dust coated the top of the packaging, for they had been sat in the cupboard since before Mathew could even remember. A woolly blanket was folded neatly on the armrest; bobbly balls of cotton studded the material increasingly as the years trickled past.

The back door slammed open from the force of the gale encircling the farm as John O’Brian trudged through, shaking off his oversized boots. This caused Mathew to nearly drop his coca in shock, he had no idea his father had been working so late and a feeling of guilt washed over him as he saw the dark bags under his father’s eyes. Regaining his composure from the shock he had just received he set his mug on the hard wooden floor and helped his father shrug out of his waterproof coat.

‘You shouldn’t be working this late’ he told his father in a disapproving tone ‘I will help you tomorrow, I’m sorry for burdening you’

‘No, no’ John O’Brian protested ‘You stay with the girl, I can handle the farm on my own’

‘It’s not good for your health’ Mathew indicated to his father’s eyes ‘Do you think I cannot see the shadows of an overworked man forming beneath your eyes?’

‘I have done it before and I shall do it again, how do you think I ran the farm before you arrived?’ he smiled wearily, his eyes glazed over slightly as he thought had to the days of his youth ‘Besides, it is not the work, it’s the ill rest causing me to tire’

‘Surely’ Mathew pointed out ‘you must realise you are not what you once were, you are older now father, such a workload is too strenuous for you to handle, most men of your age have their feet well rested and their sons handling the business’

‘And surely you must realise I am not most men. I can handle the work and you must ensure our guest fares well’ he argued

‘And what do you think I see as a priority, the well being of my father or that of a stranger?’

‘Son’ John O’Brian replied, his eyes shut as he shook his head ‘We both know how much you value the well being of the girl, more so than I? I believe so, but do not think I resent it, for she brings forth strange unworldly emotions in us all.’ He opened up his eyes to consider Mathew ‘However I will rethink my workload and will ask your brother for him to assist me tomorrow, if it eases your worry’ he assured

As his father dragged himself up the narrow wooden staircase, Mathew felt his forehead crumple. In truth he had never really compared his worry between his father and the girl. But now as he thought about it, he saw his father was correct and Mathew felt terrible for it.
What sort of son was he to care more for the wellbeing of a stranger than for his own family?He felt disgusted with himself for his lost loyalties, and a strong feeling of self hatred bubbled up inside of him for a short while. A sudden thought occurred, however, which comforted him, and he decided to ask his father about it the next morning.

Gingerly supping on his cocoa and taking some sleeping pills, Mathew relaxed more, and setting the empty mug upon the ground beside him, he lay upon the sofa with the blanket draped over him, as the pills started to take effect, his eyes closed and eventually he started to dream.

The angel’s eyes fluttered open to the surrounding darkness, pressing in upon her, suffocating her senses. As hard as she tried, she could see nothing; however she could feel the soft material encasing her, warming her skin and the air around it. Another, unfamiliar, urgency overwhelmed her as she felt an unknown heaviness upon her lower torso, a panic washed over her, she felt that moving would make it worse, but if she were to stay where she was, the feeling could not be stopped. Slowly she tried to move...

It was a loud thump that woke Mathew, it seemed to reverberate through the entire structure of the house, yet he knew both his father and sibling would remain un-woken, for their days work had left them both physically and mentally weary. Although he soon felt his eyelids tugging him down back into his deep sleep, he knew he should check on the celestial visitor.

The hard wooden floor was rough and uncomfortable against her skin, she could feel every flaw and grain running through what used to be a plant in the ground. She knew that this plant was dead, however, because although she could smell the nature running through it, she could no longer sense its energy, the energy that buzzed and flowed undetected through all living things.

Mathew’s blood was pounding in his ears as he neared his bedroom door; his mind was racing, predicting every possible scenario that could have caused the loud thump. When he pushed the door open and saw the white flesh f the girl on the floor, it seemed his heart stopped beating in his chest, and instead dropped to his stomach.

When he saw her milky white eyes staring up at him, a feeling of relief swept over him, then concern, bending over her, he scooped her up into his arms, his muscles rippling under the skin, carefully and lay her down to rest upon the somewhat worn mattress. As he attempted to envelop her in thick blankets and duvets she protested faintly, her pale branch like arms flailing out in front of her, as if swaying uncontrollably in the wind.

He observed in silence as she managed to drag her weak body to the edge of mattress and started to ease herself off slowly to the rough wooden floor. Perplexed by her actions, he reached over before her body was flung to the hard wood and caught her beneath her armpits and supported her; she was like a puppet as her toes skimmed the floor. Mathew, uncertain whether she could walk, or even stand, lowered her until she was sat on the edge of his ruffled bed, the mattress sinking as he sat down beside her.

He murmured to her softly, asking of her what was wrong, knowing too well that she couldn’t reply, but hoping she could give him some indication. Her small, ghostly white, childlike hands wrapped gently around his thick wrists and after what Mathew assumed was her applying pressure and coming to realise was her gently guiding his hand over to rest upon her stomach, covered by his late mother’s nightgown.

‘You’re Hungry?’ he asked, mainly to himself, in confusion, he had fed her not two hours ago, but nevertheless he rose from the soft sinking material to fetch the girl something to fill her, but her hands did not let go, like tendrils of vine wrapped around his arm. He looked back at her to find himself gazing into her colourless white eyes, her head shaking softly, tugging back his hand gently. Mathew, confused, sat back down, the motion tilting her slightly as she sat on the bed. He let her guide his hand back to her stomach.

‘Do you feel unwell?’ he asked, quietly, still aware that his brother and father were resting from their tiresome days. Looking back at her face he was, again, stuck by her beauty, however, her features gave no acknowledgement of hearing him and Mathew, again, felt the material under his fingers moving as she guided his hand. Mathew felt his face warm as he saw his fingers were resting upon her crotch and understanding flickered behind his eyes.

‘You need to relieve yourself’ It was more of a statement than a question, he felt silly as he realised that this creature was no more human than his dog, that it was unlikely she would hold the knowledge of such human intricacies.

She was human enough for him, he thought, as he helped her to her feet.