Who: NPC Human Normal Person & Two angels

Where: Rosa, Mexico…..Flashback.

My name is Anna Rodriguez and I live in Rosa, Mexico. I am ninty-seven years old and if it weren't for the fact I were to die in the near future I would not be relating this momentous story.

The future and the past blur in my mind, more so as I age by the years. Faces blur together, so that my nurses are so many bothering me and yet only one, and my children are one child whining for things of no purpose. My children have forgotten in the technological world of darkness and deceit that love still exist, and faith, too.

But I know so, and this-

This is MY story.

My life hasn't always been as easy as my children think it was. There were times, they'd refer to as the Modern Dark Ages, when life was down right labor to simply struggle from one day to the next. I remember day where there was no food, and nights when a single sound would bring your full family to huddle in the corner of a closed in room, hoping you weren't the one they were searching for.

I remember the trivial joys from my childhood in romance pamphlets my father referred to as "girly comics" and dolls with figures I now know are unrealatisic, through which I could live my days in laughs and small smiles.

I remember teenage romance, with luster and excitement. I remember happiness, and faith in the common good. I remember Truth and Justice. I remember Super Heroes. When they fought for us, not when they were the ones who held us captive to our own planet. They taught the world hope.

But hope comes in many forms and fashions.

My grandmother Annetta Rodriguez, from whom I was given my name, believed most prominently in god, and his heavenly accord. She tried to instill in me a love and duty of religion from the youngest age where I could muster an understanding of her words.

Sometimes I wish I had listened closer before my incident.. I wish my son had been old enough to remember. She would have changed his life, too. Maybe then his life would be cleaner, he would have lived longer. That incident rewrote my whole life, my entire dedication to HIM

My first child as named Roberto, and he had cancer from birth till the age of three and a half. The doctors said it was only a medical phenomenon, but I know the truth whether anyone believes me or not. She was real. She was completely one hundred percent real, but I can't begin here. Can I?

In the third year of my son's life, the cancers took over him all but completely. We were what I would prefer to call penny pincher's with too much back bone, while others would call me and my family, poor, and too snobbish to except well fare. I would give up the breath in my chest before I admitted I needed pity for my family. I was a strong, willful woman.

I could not save my son though, so I went to the doctors. The doctors told me they could do little themselves. Radiation treatment, surgery, nothing changed his slim chances to survive till his fourth birthday. All I could do was wait and watch till he would pass away, cursing the doctors, and praying to god, that I would do anything should he save my baby, my child, for what had my child, my blessed little one, done to deserve this slander?

But the days pass, and the nights dragged on as I sat by his bed side listening to breaths in his chest grow shorter and shorter, my tears failing me now. What had I done to deserve this? Had I not been devote enough?

And one night, while I was holding his hand, telling him the story of the Saint Maria, he breathing stop all together. I started crying, swearing to god things I can not repeat to this day, for I will not utter such words to god ever again.

Then she appeared. I don't remember how I knew she was there. I just knew. I was bawling over my son, who's breathing had stopped seconds earlier, and then I turned to look up and there she was. Standing at the end of his bed, her eyes, full of what I thought to be tears, fixed on my child.

I flew into a rage, and lunged at her, cursing her, cursing her god, only to find myself falling through the air where she had been. I collected myself looking up to see her by the side of his bed, but this time I could not breathe to utter a word at her, something in her demeanor, something in her beauty, caught me and held me captive.

Her eyes were the deepest blue, her hair the darkest black, and her skin the palest white rose I have ever laid to me eyes and this did not begin to illuminate the woman who was bent over my sons bed. Her position crouched her so that, this board onyx black feathered wings, covered her entire clothing, leaving her face only visible.

I, like most of the rest of the world, had never seen an angel. I was brought up to know angel were of joy, and hope. How could this person, this thing, be an angel? Her eyes were filled with pain, as if her each step was on top of blades, and her expression drawn as if examining a mathematics problem and not my child.

She stood, as I stumbled towards her, and her eyes seem to trace my face in the same emotionless way. I wanted to curse her, to shout that she was from the devil and I would allow her to stay in my house no longer. I tried to say some words, but the blubbered from my lips, while the tears scorched my cheeks, as my eyes looked over her.

It was a tunic of white silk, that seemed to be the exact color of her skin, tied at the waist white a rope woven in gold, the covered her form around those larger than life wings. The tunic fell to middle of her calves, and she had no shoes at all, only bare feet, same as the rest of her body.

Her hand reached out to me and stiffened as if she might burn me with her touch. A single finger of hers touched me. Her finger traced a tear falling down my cheek, and I watched at the same moment a tear fall down hers. It was the dark red of blood, and it fell along her cheek, until it fell off and ruined the white gown, causing a drip mark.

Her eyes seemed to be confused as the tear fell from her cheek. She might have been a child in herself. But how could this grown woman, this ethereal being, be anything like a child? She was supposed to be an emissary of hope, the embodiment of love! She was supposed to stop the things like this that happened to the good people. How could she be a child???

Tears renewed coursed with fury as she turned back to my child. She leaned over his and placed a hand on his forehead. An illumination of the brightest almost sky blue came from beneath her hand and flowed the length of my child's body. A moment later he convulsed and she stepped back. I ran to my child, as he coughed, and gagged on the floor next to me.

He breathed, and looked at me dazed, with the lightest smile, a child's smiles, the one they all have when that young, and slipped back into sleep. But somehow I knew it. It was just sleep as I listened to his slow breathing.

I looked over my shoulder to her. She was holding her hand, and the inside of the hand that had been on his forehead looked burned. And her face was now covered with rivulets of blood that seemed to have flown from her eyes, to drip more on her dress. Were those her tears?

I watched as she looked off to her side. She nodded to some being I could not see or feel and moved in the direction she'd looked.

'Wait.' I cried out. 'Angel, please.'

She turned and looked at me with those child's eyes, the eyes of a woman hardened by time, a grandparent left alone for all time. I realized then she had the wait of the world on her shoulder's. She looked like a mother to me then suddenly. For all I know she could be the embodiment of all mothers.

'Leave me with something.' I pleaded. 'A name that I could pray to you by. Someone to glorify to his generosity. This is all I ask of you. Angel, please, grant me this thing.'

She looked around my house and I felt shame flood my body, at my poor attempt at a shack, until her eyes seemed to darken on me and for a moment I wondered if she even understood the words that came form my mouth. She reached out and her finger crossed the skin over my forehead gently, and I could have sworn her lips almost tried to smile, though her eyes looked even more troubled.

'Worship….' Her hand moved to over my heart and I remember thinking her voice sound like the wind during the calmest, darkest part of the night. "Mother. Where is the heart."

Her hand, her fingers, closed together over mine, pulling my hand closer to herself now. 'Not angel.'

Her hand placed mind over where her heart would be, and I could feel her heart beat. I remember thinking myself insane suddenly for thinking an angel wouldn't have a heartbeat or everything normal a person would. Why wouldn't they?


Off to her side she looked again and she let go of my hand, and her wings open wide. I was just amazed at the glory of the span when a bright light emerged from her like a beacon and suddenly she was gone, only small black feather falling through the air left in her wake. I went to catch a feather in my hand and realized something had been left in it.

An object, flimsy, wrapped in folded cloth. I sunk to my feather near the feathers opening it. My eyes widened, and silent, jubilant tears of freedom, of thanks giving, flooded my cheeks a new. In my hand, the hand she had only minutes ago left go of lay, a full stack of hundred dollar bills on blood stained white cloth.

I'll never forget her, though no one believes me. And even though my son thinks I'm insane to mummer things about a black winged angel of the lord, now that I'm so old, but I'll believe in her till the moment I die. An angel, of love and hurt, of pain and of healing. Angel Casse, my child's savior, the savior of my religious side.

Dear Lord, deliver me from my worldly sins. Then when I see the pearly gates, promise me I can place a kiss on the Angel Casse's cheek, because she renewed in me all that was good, and just, and hopeful. And let me see with joy that hope will always live in the eyes of your angels, where fears of man can not penetrate and love will always exist.


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