literature

Ghostly

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                  Ghostly
     Everything felt still, still enough that any movement seemed unnatural. However, if one were to look past that feeling of stillness, they would see just how much movement was within the graveyard. An owl silently launched itself from the branch of a tree and thin wisps of fog curled around the tombstones and mausoleums like ghostly fingers in the darkness.
     The fog wasn't the only ghostly thing in the cemetery this night. A pale figure dressed in all white glided gracefully between the graves, swirling the fog around the slim body. This young boy could not feel the cold, white fingers brushing his clothing and exposed arms; he had only come to the graveyard because he had been given a job.
A young girl had been in an accident, killed along with her mother. An angel had arrived moments after the crash, but had been unable to reach the girl. Her mother's spirit had been taken on and the girl had been left behind. It was this angel's job to help the girl move on and find her mother.
     "Momma!" a voice rang out, a voice which the angel recognized immediately. He started in the direction from which the voice had originated.
     "Momma!" the voice called again, nearer now, higher and more desperate. The angel began to run. He could hear sobbing.
     The small ghost child turned her face towards the angel as he approached. He slowed, breathing heavily from the run. He gripped his chest, pained, and rested himself for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He heard the girl's sobs quiet just the slightest bit.
     Straightening, he asked the ghost gently, "Are you looking for your mother, little one?"
She withdrew from him, tears silently trailing down her face. Her back touched her own tombstone and she gave way to sobbing once again. The angel was used to seeing ghosts, even young ghosts, but still it made his heart break each time. He would later weep for the loss of her life. Now, though, he had to calm her and convince her to join her mother in his master's realm.
     "I know where your mother is," he said to her, his voice still gentle.
     "Momma?" she asked, wrapping her tiny arms and hands around herself. To the angel, this little ghost wasn't translucent as they are to humans; instead she seemed solid and the shine of tears on her face was clear, even on this moonless night.
     "I can help you to her," he said, extending a hand and kneeling. Tears of his own threatened to overflow. He knew his eyes had gone black with depression.
     "I wanna go home!" she cried at him. He felt crushed. They always want to go home. Why do I still cry? I always know it's coming, he thought, feeling the tell-tale feel of tears down his face.
     "I'm so sorry, but you cannot. I can take you to your mother, though. I know where she is. Do you want me to take you to her?"
     "Why can't I go home?" she whimpered in a small voice.
     "Don't you understand, yet?" the angel asked her, "Don't you see that you're dead?"
     She stared at him, blankly. Please, no more tears, he pleaded, Oh, Death, please, no more tears.
     "I wanna see my momma," she said quietly, moving towards the angel. He opened his arms to her and embraced her. Moments later she began to fade, first becoming dimmer, then she became as white as the fog. Then she simply floated away in the wind, no longer there. The angel stood, wiping away tears, and spread his darkly colored wings. He wanted to go home. These trips were always taxing on his mind, especially when he was dealing with dead children.
Another little short story about my angels. :)
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