This is the story of how I lost my wings...

...when I was a real angel, or, I should say, a "working" angel, I fell in love with a little boy. I was out and about on angel business, looking in on the little sick ones when I found him.

The hospital cot made him look even more small, more frail than he already was. Little boyish curls tumbled around his flushed and fevered face. But it was something in his eyes that drew me, especially. Delicate, purple-veined, filled with patient suffering. Brimming over with a steady resolve to bear his illness. He was so strong for one so young!

I hovered about him, touched, and felt something break in my heart. My soul reached out to his and those little eyes rolled up and met mine...

He saw me.

This, perhaps, was my first mistake. Only rarely do angels allow humans to see them. But it was his own steadfastness, his own patient suffering which lifted the veil that surrounded me...

And I knew, when our eyes met that I had found a kindred soul. But even as the joy surged in my heart, I knew I couldn't save him. He would die. It was beyond me. I knew it would be wrong to use my angel breath, spit, tears to try...

But, I could ease his suffering. Just a little.

This little boy loved music. He clutched a small tin whistle in his trembling hands. Because of his illness, however, he had lost his hearing. And his lungs were too weak to allow him to play the whistle.

So, I plucked one of my feathers and gave it to him. One of the ruby feathers. This was not a ruby-colored feather, but a real feather made of ruby. I don't know quite how to explain it, but such feathers are affiliated with music...

As an angel I had many, many sets of wings and countless feathers. Some were downy soft white, some black. Some were gold, some silver. I had ruby feathers, diamond feathers, and emerald feathers. Feathers of wood, feathers of stone. Feathers of blood, feathers of bone. Some were made of mist, some of lead. Oh, I had so many wings! And all for different purposes.

And with those wings, I could fly.

So I took a ruby feather and slid it between the boy's fingers that clutched the tin whistle. We smiled at one another. And with that gift, I left him.

This was the second mistake. Angels are not allowed to leave physical evidence of their passing. And yet, with that feather, the little one could better hear the music in his head. He lay there, feather pressed to his lips, blowing. Faintly, he smiled as the tune of the tin whistle grew clearer in his mind.

That's what the feather was for. And I was glad to give it.

But that little boy died. Loving that feather. He loved it so much his soul carried it along on his journey to the Kingdom.

But a soul can't enter the Kingdom when it is weighted down. And that ruby feather was a burden.

His little soul hovered near us angels, unable to cross over. I recognized his precious soul and with growing horror realized that my gift, grasped by his spirit, prevented his ascent...

I gazed at him with fear and love and he looked back at me with trust. He rushed to me. I put my hand on the feather, his joy, his love, his solace, and...took it away...

Ah, the monumental love and betrayal!

With a sigh and a high keening sound, his spirit hands reached out for the feather...but the hand that gives also takes away. He couldn't get a grip on it. Little fingers brushing mine, wounded eyes pleading with mine, he sailed upward to the Kingdom. Whisked away...

I held the feather and with my eyes, followed his flight upward. And slowly turned to see the other angels gathered around me. The cherubim, the seraphim, the thrones, the principalities, the dominations, the archangels...all of them.

Wordlessly, they struck and ripped off my wings. Feathers surrounded me in a flurry...ah god, the white ones, the black ones, the gold, the silver...ruby and diamond and emerald swirled around me, dizzying and glinting. Wood, stone, blood, bone...whirling into the void...gone gone gone...the mist and lead melted away...

Only the invisible wings escaped their fury.

I didn't fight them. Why should I? The mistake, the betrayal, the love and the agony...all were mine. I accepted it. But as set after set of wings were torn from me, leaving great gaping holes in my soul, I pondered...

how could so much pain come from such a small act of kindness?

I howled and cried to rattle the gates of the Kingdom itself, hoping only that my mutilation would speed my precious boy's flight...

And when the last set of wings were gone, I fell

And falling, I beat my invisible wings frantically. But I can't fly with those wings, not in that way...

But through all this I had kept ahold of the ruby feather. Ah, mercy! Oh, sweet savior, it was too much to hope for...

Too much to hope for...

...because it shattered on impact as my newly-heavy body crashed to earth.

I didn't have the heart to pick up the pieces. They cut my feet as I stood and walked away.

I think back on the loss of my wings, and hope that I did the right thing. I hope my little boy finds happiness in the Kingdom. I don't know what it's like there. I've never been. Because, you see, angels are not allowed in the Kingdom.

I'll never see my precious one again.

Sometimes I hope that this has all been a test. That the angels will embrace me and accept me again, someday. But then I think, maybe I wasn't cut out to be an angel. My heart is too big, too soft. I lack a certain strength of will to follow the rules.

And I don't have my wings. I can never fly again.

So now I wander this place and live by my heart. Angel still, even though mutilated and cast out. Fallen. I embrace it all...

You can't change what you are.

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copyright 1995 by Julieann M. Brown-Micko

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