Confessions of an Angel

My hands felt heavy, like I never really had hands in the first place. They felt awkward, not right. My unusually blank mind bursted back into its usual flurry. Something's wrong. I know it. What did I do now? What-what-

I looked over to my angel, and I smiled. It didn't matter, he would fix it, he would make it all better. Angels could do that. Now that I had my angel everything would only go up. I tucked my hands under my thighs because they started shaking.

The smile on my face slowly faded away when I look back at him. My teeth dug into my bottom lip, he wasn't moving, why wasn't he moving? Maybe he was sleeping? I wanted to reach out and shake him, but my dirty, dirty fingers weren't fit to touch an angel.

No, no he wasn't sleeping, his chest would be moving. I took a quick breath in, and looked up. Of course he wasn't dead, angels can't die. He was an angel. Angels can't die.

Angels can't sin either. You made him confess it all. Confess all his sins until you made sure he had nothing left. What did you do, Pete? What did you do?

Everything sped up and slowed down at the same time. Angels can't sin, angels can't sin. Little breathy noises and strangled high-pitched sounds struggled their way out of my mouth as I tried to keep it all together.

Angels can't sin or die, and he's not an angel. I looked over at him again, trying to convince my eyes that what they were showing me was just a trick.

Oh my god. What did I do? What did I do?

I think I murdered an angel.