Dec. 5th, 2005 The Ash Angel

The Ash Angel

His finger traced over the portrait, her smile was warm even from the framed photo, her face behind a piece of glass. Staring back at him with her eternal smile, Evan placed the portrait on his desk, those piercing eyes away from him. Her gaze and that soft red color of her lips. Those warm lips he missed to touch, though in the end she was at a better place now. One year ago today they had gotten in the car. A long weekend to a hotel up in the country was the plan. They had never arrived there: she was driving and had never seen the truck that slipped on the other side of the road. Her hands on the wheel, her eyes on the road, he screamed and threw the door open only to feel the hard ground hit his shoulders and his head. Had it been delirium, had it been a dream? Or just the fear of losing her that had induced this lucid memory. Evan was unsure of the truth of what had happened, all he knew for a fact was that he missed her. The picture was all that was left for the car had burned up in flames.

He rose from the chair and made himself another strong cup of coffee, his dark curls danced before his eyes as his eyelids wanted to slid down. He needed sleep, but was afraid to give in to that basic need, for he would see her once again. He would meet her ice blue gaze and see how she burned. It was a lucid dream, created from the feeling of loss and his anger over having lost the woman of his dreams. So young she had been, only twenty years of age and so beautiful that day, he could remember so well her deep red lips had parted in a smile when she saw him. He had kissed her, she had gotten behind the wheel and they had never really parted ways. After the accident, he had woken up in a hospital bed, a nurse dressed in white hovering over him, taking notes of his vitals. “Where is she? Where is Angelina?” he had asked, his pale face reflecting the shock of knowing that the answer would be simple, cold and final.

Yes, she had died, she had not suffered the doctor said. The car had crashed into a tree and exploded, he had somehow managed to open the door and roll out, the ambulance had found him bleeding and in a coma just a few feet away from the crash site. They had not expected him to make it, he had merely been shocked, the pain from his injuries nothing compared to the pain of his loss. And the dreams, they had started the moment he closed his eyes to sleep again. Angelina burning in flames, her body engulfed by them, eaten away while blood streamed from her eyes in silent trickles, like tears. “Angelina, my angel,” he always used to call her. Now he called her his sin, for he had not died with her and she would never make him forget that. Every night she haunted his dreams and showed him her pain.

“Evan, I want to be with you,” she would say, her hands turning black from the flames that burned on her skin, preyed on her light gray dress and made the hairs on her head rise in a circle that made her almost ethereal. The bloody tears had not remained, after three nights she had stopped her crying and instead had merely stared at him. He woke up sweating every morning, until he finally decided to stay awake. No bed could tempt him to fall asleep, he used coffee and energy drinks. The dreams caused him to lose sight of his life, his sister came to stay with him, to take care of him, worry filling her face as she gave him a bowl of soup and told him to rest, if only for an hour. “An hour is all she needs,” he would say and he could read the misunderstanding on her face. Having never told her about the nightmares of his burning lover, punishing him for surviving their accident, how could he? Everyone missed Angelina, as much as he did, maybe some did more for he had grown to hate her. Hate her and despise what she had become, no longer the angelic memory of love, but an angel of death who sought punishment and pain.

His hand trembled, the picture lay on the desk, his eyes were locked on it. He could not help but turn the picture around and press it against his chest. Evan cried, hot tears that burned his tired eyes, he laid down on the bed and pressed the frame against his chest. He closed his eyes and felt himself drift off to sleep, fighting it was no use he had to sleep. His body would break down if he kept himself up longer and he gave in.

“Evan, I miss you,” her voice sounded soft, like tiny bells in his ear. He opened his eyes and saw her. She looked beautiful, her dark blonde hair hung loosely in a wave over her favorite light blue dress. Her blue eyes looking at him, warm and loving, she missed him. Evan smiled and reached out his hands to feel hers in his own. Her hands were cold and as he brushed her soft skin they warmed up. He smiled and held on to her, her grip getting firmer on his fingers. Evan smiled, he could not stop smiling, not even when her face turned red and the flames erupted all around her, for they erupted all around him too. They were burning together. It no longer mattered to him, he did not feel any pain. He was together with his angel, his angel of death. She had never wanted to leave him alone, she had waited for him to join her. And here he was, until she was no more. Until she was only ashes, he never did open his eyes again. He was gone, but no longer alone.