The Aftermath

I spent one of the best nights in a very long time. The tranquil was throughout and it made me realise how big a stress Gerard's nightmares actually placed me under. Not that I blamed him in any way, for I was certain that he, too, would rather have gone without them. But still.

In return, Gerard waking up was anything but a nice experience. I was able to tell he was waking moments before he did as he began to move increasingly, and I could not help but watching his face eagerly. I was dying, pun intended, to see the look on his face as he woke up, and I could not quite suppress the glow my excitement emitted.

The second Gerard opened his eyes he literally jumped back from me. Only his back was already more or less against the backrest of the couch, preventing him from actually getting away. I watched his startled expression in horror, realising his breath had even caught in his throat.

No less upset than he seemed to be, I scrambled away quickly, colliding roughly with the floor when the couch ended.

I whimpered and stayed down.

Gerard looked at the window and I realised something. Since I was, apparently, unable to move myself at will, I would be helplessly trapped if he shut the window before I got out.

Whimpering still, though for different reasons, I got myself off of the floor and quickly made my way to the window. I climbed out, no less awkwardly than I had come in. To boot I lost my footing almost immediately after climbing out and found myself dropping towards the ground.

I caught myself and glided the last of the distance to the ground. I made it down safely, but anything but gracefully. For a moment I could not help but wonder what would actually have happened if I had not caught myself.

I did not really care.

Grumbling, any trace of good mood gone, I decided against going back up to my brother. Ducking my head against the autumn wind I headed towards the park instead, to indulge in my new favourite pass-time; searching for spirits with answers.

I kicked a rock as I walked, then another and another. I was angry, I could feel it almost as a wildfire spreading through me, burning my wings. By the time I reached the park I was glowing like a beacon, seething with rage.

It was unfair. Unfair that I was dead. Unfair that I could not move on and unfair that I, when I was stuck anyway, could not do anything to make anything better. It was unfair that Gerard had to suffer because I was gone and unfair that he had to suffer even more because I actually was not.

The fury carried me all the way to the playground. First upon seeing the children running around playing, seeing them having fun, I started to calm down. Watching the innocent children, I forcefully started to banish all the darkness I felt in me.

“Why am I an angel? I am no angel,” I told no one in particular.

“It's more that your definition of what angels actually are is off, I think,” a voice answered me.

I spun around, startled as before, only to be met with the playground's late caretaker. Despite myself I felt a grin forming on my face. I had no intentions of letting the spirit go before I was done with him this time around.

“It is not going to go down quite like that, my young friend. I am sorry, I really am.”

“You know, I hate when you do that. Read me, or whatever,” I told him, grudgingly, “Why, exactly, won't you answer my questions?”

“It is not that I do not want to. But my time, right now, is limited. I am still very weak.”

“Why? What happened?”

“But you know, young angel. I had to use my ability to give you a small, eh, push in the right direction the last time we met,” the spirit told me.

“You mean... You were actually the one who sent my flying in the first place?”

“It is only the physical world I cannot interfere with. This plane is no problem. I have been around quite long enough to have developed a bit of strength and ability.”

“About that, the ability to interfere... We agree that I'm not a spirit but an angel, right?” I started questioning, wanting to know exactly how and how much I could interfere.

“Well, I do not know if we actually agree on that. Were you not questioning yourself only a moment ago?” the spirit interrupted me.

“Well...” I hesitated.

“Do you want to know how you became an angel?”

“You can actually tell me that?” I asked, totally sidetracked now.

“I can tell you the principle. I can tell you why almost all children become angels. You will have to apply it to your own life and death, though,” the caretaker mended, gently.

“Please! Tell me!” I was suddenly eager.

“An angel is someone who inspires love in those around him or her. And not just any kind of love, but what I call a strengthening love. When a child is born they are 'good', yes, but they are also helpless. The love they inspire from their parents is such that the parents will do anything to protect them. It makes no difference what hardship they have to face, what obstacles they are met with. To protect their children, parents will overcome it all,” the spirit paused, looking at me.

“I don't... I cannot see how it applies to me. My parents... I don't believe they made me an angel. Don't get me wrong, I know they love me, or loved, rather, but... I'm not even here for them.”

“No. This is simply the reason why children most often become angels. Their parents feel this love for them. It is that particular love you inspired, the strength you brought someone, which turned you into an angel. But even if he still feels it, it alone cannot keep you here. He has some sort of unfinished business with you, as well.”

“Who has?” I challenged, on guard.

“You know who,” the spirit sighed, “I already told you, I mean your brother no harm.”

“Are you saying... Are you saying my brother turned me into an angel?”

“His way of perceiving you, yes. That is what made you become an angel.”

“But,” I struggled with the thought, “wouldn't he have had to see me as some sort of, I don't know, saint or something, for that to happen?”

“There are actually such beings as saints,” the spirit smiled wryly at me, though the look in his eyes was tired, “they are not all that different from you. Heaven-bound creatures, as well.”

“Eh, what?”

“They... But I guess we should take that discussion another day. My point was to tell you that it was your brother's way of seeing you which turned you into an angel.”

“That alone? I wasn't... I wasn't particularly 'good'. Doesn't that mean anything?”

“You were not particularly 'bad' either, I reckon. Either way, it matters, yes, but not ultimately. What happens to you after you die depends on perception. The way you perceive yourself, the way those closest to you perceive you, sometimes even how the mass as a general think of you. Sometimes one person's feelings come across stronger than others'. Sometimes your own comes across the strongest. It is subjective and it is different for everyone. I think, but this I do not know for sure, I think it also depends a great deal on whose opinion you value, yourself,” the spirit paused and smiled slightly apologetically, “Remind me to tell you of the Catholic boy and his lover. Till then,” he trailed off and faded into nothingness.

I stood staring at the thin air where the spirit had been instants before.

“But,” I addressed the blank space in a hiss, “I was talking to you!”

I growled in frustration, before returning my full attention to the playground. Somehow it did not hold the same sense of calmness for me, as it did before. As my bad mood returned, my harsh glow picking up again, I turned away and started walking, shuffling my wings uncomfortably.

As I reached my brother's apartment and made to fly back up, my wings still ached relentlessly. Sighing, shaking my head, I kicked off from the ground. I was so angry and frustrated that I did not feel the slightest bit angelic. If anything was to turn that I around, I guessed it would have to be Gerard.

Gerard, whose particular love for me apparently had made me an angel in the first place.