Beautiful Angel (Short Story) This is dedicated to all beautiful angels who have lost their lives to cancer, are currently fighting it, or have beaten and survived it.

A boy sits in the white room, his small body enveloped in the hospital bed sheets. His face is too tired for someone his age, eight years old. He has been fighting for his life for six.
He has teddy bears piled all around him, all presents from his second
grade class. Summer is just around the corner, only a few weeks away.
His family has been planning a camping trip to Yellowstone National
Park, scheduled for this first week after school lets out.

Outside, birds sing happily, oblivious to certain sadness, and the sun
shines brightly down on the world. Children’s laughter is heard faintly
from a playground a few blocks away. The sky is perfectly clear, and rays
sun shine through the open window, as requested by the boy, and expose lines
of dust particles floating in the air.

The little boy is surrounded by family members:
parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, all of
them trying to hold in the tears and keep strong for him.
His mother and father hold one of his hands tighthly, and
the fingers on each of their free hands lace gently together
in between them. His grandparents sit on the other side of
the bed, his grandmother gently stroking his small face with the
back of her hand.

With each raise of his chest, the boy’s heart rate slows,
yet he still manages to smile as brightly as always. He
knows what will happen, and he knows that he will soon
get to watch over everyone who lives him from up in heaven.

His eyes barely manage to keep themselves open.

In the corner of the froom. a girl stands. She seems
almost ageless, not you but no signs of being old. Her
hair is light gold, falling down her back in perfect ringlet
curls. Wide eyed, she watches the family from a far, but
none of them see her.

The girl wears a white dress that flows all the way to
the tiled floor. Her cheeks are rosy, as if nipped by the
cold, and her eyes shine bluer than the ocean. At the
upper part of her back, white feather from perfect
wings that extend out at her sides, framing her body.

Her eyes lock with the boys. He see’s her now, yet
nobody eles can.

Gracefully, she flows acress the room like water, her
curls bouncing slightly and her dress forming a train
behind her. Her bare feet make abosolutely no sound as
they glide across the floor.

She stand behind the boy’s parents, and smiles at
him. Her face shows no sign of age, and she has perfectly
smooth skin, the color of ivory.
His heart rate is getting impossibly slow, and tears
stream down each of his family member’s faces. They all
know that these are his last seconds, and they do their
best to say goodbye and wraup up eveything. “I love
you” ‘s fill the room.

“I love you, all of you. “The eight year old’s voice is
strong. The boy smiles once more, befure returing his
eyes to the girl in white.

The boy’s mother let’s out a sob, bringing her face to
his chest and listening to his final heart beats. His father
pats her back soothingly and the rest of the family
watches with silent tears.

“Come, my Beautiful Angel.” The girl in white says in a
soft, calming voice. It sounds distant, like when you are
about to fall asleep and you hear someone talking. “It is
time.”

She takes his hand gently from his parents; and he
feels the smoothnes of her. All in to quick of time, the
slow sound of the beeping heart rate monitor is replaced
by one steady, extending ring.

Photo : Google Image

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