Not About Angels

Cause what about, what about angels
They will come, they will go, make us special...

(Short story- maybe one to three chapters?)

Chapter 1

"Cecily?"

Twin bright blue eyes twinkle like diamonds in the dim evening light, staring at me.

"Cecily, tell me about the angels again."

I sit up wearily, running a hand through my brown hair. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"Tell me how the angels are going to bring home Daddy." Emma gazes up at me.

"All right." I pull Emma into my lap, feeling her warm breath against my shoulder as she waits.

"There are angels outside, angels all around you. There is one angel for every person in the world, and they could be your friends, your family, or even a stranger you see on the street. Everyone has an angel, protecting them, caring for them, keeping them safe and warm at night and loving them. Out there, where Daddy is, fighting for the country, an angel is with him, guiding him through the darkness. Daddy's angel will bring him home to us, and care for him till the end of his days."

Emma's eyes are gradually growing dimmer, as she blinks to stay awake. "And what if the angel doesn't bring Daddy home?"

"Angels always come through, in the end." I say softly. "They'll bring him home."

Emma yawns, her soft brown eyelashes fluttering and her eyes closing. "I'll bet you're my angel, Cecily."

I watch my little sister's breathing go deeper, and she is curled next to me on the wiry bed, all traces of worry wiped from her face. She looks younger as she sleeps, happier.

"I wish I was, Ems." I whisper, stroking her hair as I tuck her in gently. "I wish I was."

I shut the door lightly and tiptoe down the stairs, careful not to wake her up. My mother looks up as I enter the kitchen, and her sad expression crushes the kindling of hope waking in me.

"No news, then?" I ask heavily, sitting down and wiping at my eyes as if daring them to moisten.

She shakes her head. "Still missing."

I manage a smile. "He'll show up. He always does."

My mother doesn't speak.

I stand up and shove the chair back into its place, hurrying to the door and almost slamming it shut behind me, then, remembering Emma, carefully shutting it.

Then, safely outside in our isolated yard, I begin to cry.

There are no neighbours around for seven miles, and Emma sleeps like a rock, (when she does sleep, that is), and crying. I don't say anything, I just scream. I know that my mother can hear me. But I don't care, just for a moment, under the navy blue sky and the twinkling stars, I'm carefree. I'm carefree, but trapped in my own dungeon of misery and lies.

I slump down on the cold ground, the tears coming faster now. In the bitterly cold air, it feels as if the salty drops are freezing on my face, hardening into crystals as quickly as they drop.

"Please, papa." I whisper, my breath coming out in visible puffs, almost glowing against the night sky backdrop. "Please come home. If you won't do it for me, do it for Emma. Please be Emma's angel."

She needs an angel. I think sadly. And I can't be hers.

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