A Toy With Wings

Sixteen

Angus,

I'm sorry that I hated you, and I'm sorry for stealing your precious precious fish tank, and flushing the fish down the toilet. And now, faced with the possibility of dying, I have to tie up a few loose ends. I don't want to leave just like that.

I'm sorry. I'll forgive you if you'll forgive me. Will you forgive me?

Orson "Cold"bloom

I sigh and grit my teeth. Another one I'd rather not write down, about twenty more to go.

I write to Gabby, telling him that we can be forever friends. I even write to his girl Angela, because we haven't had any wars in centuries, and who knows if I'll survive?

Then, I write a letter to the All-Father.

Dear All-Father,

May I ask two questions?

One, we're angels. We're supposed to be immortal. How can we even fall in battle?!

Two, for example, if I write a letter to Evangeline, and we're both alive after the war, does she still read the letter or do I just throw it away?

From a very confused,
Orson Goldbloom

I write a really short letter to Jezebel:

Jez,

Amber's alive.

Orson

And now for Kev.

Hey man,

I don't know you really well, but I must say, good luck in the war. I really hope we all make it through.

Orson

I lose track of time as I write and write and write, endlessly on. I don't want to die, but I must be prepared. The words I have scribbled, and the pot of ink I have used up, are the only things in my mind. Time itself is meaningless.

Dear Evangeline,

I'm supposed to write you some parting words, just in case one or both of us dies? Oh well, then.

Bitch. Fucker. Jerk-ass. Slut. Smug little shit. Daughter of a bitch. Cunt. Minger. Chav.

Damn, I've ran out of swearwords to describe you!!!

I was never happy to be your mentor, Evan, because damn, you were a motherfucker!

But I still have to write this fucking letter anyway so let's be straight about it.

You're super annoying, and I think you know that. But

I sigh in exasperation. What can I put down in black and white, and is something that Evangeline doesn't know?

I brush my hair off my face and write on:

...But Evangeline, as much as I hate to admit it, you had a heart of gold. You were a huge jerk (God, who feeds their mentor with shampoo?), but you, perhaps in your own way you are, the most creative angel, or being, to ever walk the land. I hate to say it, but you're so intelligent- unpredictably intelligent. Nobody stops you. Nobody touches you. And nobody knows what you'll do next.

I don't have any advice for you in particular, but stay alive I guess.

P.S.: if you die, which I hope you will, I'll tell Kev that you love him.

Fuck you,
Your mentor,
Orson Goldbloom

I read what I've written. No, no, no and damnit! What I've written sounds nothing like me at all. The Orson I know would probably add some deadpan snarker comment, and lots and lots of mockery. This Orson pours out his useless heart in the most unimaginative way possible.

I'm told I cuss a lot, but for the first time, fuck me. I'm a fricking...

As much as I've mastered my supreme art of swearing, I can't find the write word to describe how I feel right now. This world is just so fucked up... no, that's an understatement.

No, this shitty world is completely fucked up.

Still no.

This fucking, shitty world is completely fuckingly fucked up.

No-no-no-no-no!

Goddamnit, I've seen the pain I've inflicted by swearing at others, but this little power does nothing against describing my feelings.

Had I known our quest would start a war, and I may or may not survive, I would have treated Evangeline better. We could even have been friends.

Oh, how many times have I seen old humans on the streets, and called them fatties, yet I should have been envying their age.

Fuck, I can't even think straight!

I stand up and decide to get a cup of tea when the darkness hits me.

Darkness pours through the windows of the library. The only source of light is my lantern. It's just like my own situation: when darkness falls, when evil conquers all, I won't, yes, I will not, let go of the light.

My watch tells me that it's already midnight. Have I seriously been up all night, writing my useless heart out?

I find my way to the headquarters pantry, and make myself a cup of red tea. Strangely, though, it's not red. I wonder how many more wonders I will be able to experience.

I head back to the library, and sink into an armchair. But this time, I'm not alone. I see Jezebel in the library as well, holding a lamp, and sitting idly in a chair.

"Jez?" I call out.

"Oh, Orson," she replies gloomily.

"Guess what," I try to sound encouraging. "We found Amber."

Jezebel rolled her eyes. "She's back at headquarters. She wanted to give the All-Father some actual, useful information. Tell me something I don't know."

"Oh," I say.

An awkward silence fills the air.

"Orson?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you...help me with something?"

"Got you hooked, girl."

Jezebel flushes red, and now, I notice how weary she is. Her red hair has lost their ferociousness, and her dark eyes were listless and glassy. She reaches into the pocket of her black punk jacket and pulls out a swatch of cloth. I lean in, curious, and watch her pale hands unwrap the cloth.

"We angels have never fought a battle without heavy decimation. We're most likely doomed," Jezebel says sadly. "But I need some advice."

My jaw is on the floor when I see what Jezebel is cupping in her hands. Oh God, she can't be serious...

"How do I propose to Amber?"