green. Some sort of fake grass covered the floor and skylights above opened the room to the blue and white spread of clouds over their heads.
As they watched, a flood of children poured into the room, a dozen or more, through a door at the other end, being held open by a smiling nurse.
“Where did all those children come from?” she wondered aloud, smiling as they started to climb the jungle gym and do cartwheels in the fake grass.
“They have a special children’s ward here,” he explained. “They came from all over the country for experimental treatments.”
“They’re sick?” Of course, they were in a hospital. It only made sense. But that realization made her droop and sigh. Ever since meeting the seraphim, she’d been surrounded by the looming specter of death. It was a heavy weight.
“Yes.” He nodded slowly, that sad look back again.
“You’re not here to take one are you?” She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. The soul he’d taken yesterday was a sick man who had lived a great deal of his life, even if he’d been cheated at the last. But a child? She didn’t think she could stand watching that.
“No.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m not here to take one.”
“More than one?” She cringed at the thought.
“No, Muriel, I promise.” His wing moved around her shoulder, drawing her closer, a comfort. “In fact, the treatment they’ve been trying is working for these children. That’s why they’ve let them come play here together. They’re in remission.”
She smiled, watching them run and play, screeching and laughing, rolling around and tumbling together like puppies or kittens. Children were such a joy. Their souls weren’t darkened in the least, in spite of their afflictions. They were still golden, bright, shining lights. They would stay that way—if they lived long enough, she reminded herself with a shudder—until they were about seven or eight.
That’s when children started to really get a sense of the world, and the horrible things in it. That’s when their experience started to weigh on and cloud their souls. Until then, even the most horrible things in the world couldn’t dim their light. No horror, not even death, could conceal that brilliance.
“They’re so joyful.” She laughed, watching them swing higher and higher, peals of laughter echoing, even through the glass.
“And yet, they all know they’re dying.” Char’s voice held a sense of wonder. “Humans are so fragile, and yet they’re so resilient.”
“But the treatment is working,” Muriel reminded him, sounding hopeful, feeling that way. Perhaps most of these children would grow up to have long, full lives. Maybe someday, she would take aim and shoot an arrow of love, joining them to a soul mate.
“It won’t work forever.” Char let go of her hand, pressing his to the glass with a sigh.
“You know that?” She looked up at him, frowning.
“Yes.” That slow, sad nod again.
“How do you live with that knowledge? Knowing when everyone is going to die? It’s like knowing the ending to every story.” She nudged him playfully, smiling. “Jari would hate it. She’s a movie buff. She loves the surprise ending.”
“Death is always a surprise.”
She nodded. That was true enough.
“Yeah, but not like the Christmas morning kind.” Muriel remembered Eliza’s sadness at Norman’s passing, even though she’d known the man was deathly ill. “More like the Jack jumping out of the box.”
“No one is happy to see an angel of death,” he said, sounding morose. “And you wonder why I stay invisible most of the time.”
“I’m glad you appeared to me.” She leaned against him, feeling his arm go around her shoulder, and his wing too, enveloping her in softness.
“Even if it meant undoing the
As they watched, a flood of children poured into the room, a dozen or more, through a door at the other end, being held open by a smiling nurse.
“Where did all those children come from?” she wondered aloud, smiling as they started to climb the jungle gym and do cartwheels in the fake grass.
“They have a special children’s ward here,” he explained. “They came from all over the country for experimental treatments.”
“They’re sick?” Of course, they were in a hospital. It only made sense. But that realization made her droop and sigh. Ever since meeting the seraphim, she’d been surrounded by the looming specter of death. It was a heavy weight.
“Yes.” He nodded slowly, that sad look back again.
“You’re not here to take one are you?” She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. The soul he’d taken yesterday was a sick man who had lived a great deal of his life, even if he’d been cheated at the last. But a child? She didn’t think she could stand watching that.
“No.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m not here to take one.”
“More than one?” She cringed at the thought.
“No, Muriel, I promise.” His wing moved around her shoulder, drawing her closer, a comfort. “In fact, the treatment they’ve been trying is working for these children. That’s why they’ve let them come play here together. They’re in remission.”
She smiled, watching them run and play, screeching and laughing, rolling around and tumbling together like puppies or kittens. Children were such a joy. Their souls weren’t darkened in the least, in spite of their afflictions. They were still golden, bright, shining lights. They would stay that way—if they lived long enough, she reminded herself with a shudder—until they were about seven or eight.
That’s when children started to really get a sense of the world, and the horrible things in it. That’s when their experience started to weigh on and cloud their souls. Until then, even the most horrible things in the world couldn’t dim their light. No horror, not even death, could conceal that brilliance.
“They’re so joyful.” She laughed, watching them swing higher and higher, peals of laughter echoing, even through the glass.
“And yet, they all know they’re dying.” Char’s voice held a sense of wonder. “Humans are so fragile, and yet they’re so resilient.”
“But the treatment is working,” Muriel reminded him, sounding hopeful, feeling that way. Perhaps most of these children would grow up to have long, full lives. Maybe someday, she would take aim and shoot an arrow of love, joining them to a soul mate.
“It won’t work forever.” Char let go of her hand, pressing his to the glass with a sigh.
“You know that?” She looked up at him, frowning.
“Yes.” That slow, sad nod again.
“How do you live with that knowledge? Knowing when everyone is going to die? It’s like knowing the ending to every story.” She nudged him playfully, smiling. “Jari would hate it. She’s a movie buff. She loves the surprise ending.”
“Death is always a surprise.”
She nodded. That was true enough.
“Yeah, but not like the Christmas morning kind.” Muriel remembered Eliza’s sadness at Norman’s passing, even though she’d known the man was deathly ill. “More like the Jack jumping out of the box.”
“No one is happy to see an angel of death,” he said, sounding morose. “And you wonder why I stay invisible most of the time.”
“I’m glad you appeared to me.” She leaned against him, feeling his arm go around her shoulder, and his wing too, enveloping her in softness.
“Even if it meant undoing the
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