Marbel

Marbel Angel

Beneath the well-worn Earth lies Lily White,

28 March 1901-30 May 1906,

Take to the skies, dear angel, and don't look back.

She had stood in the scruffy park for at least half a century. She had witnessed the snows which blanketed the ground, and made her brilliant white grey by comparison. She had watched flowers battling against frost to poke their newborn faces to the sun. And then came the blazing heat, the little birds learning to fly, and the water gushed once more from the stream. Then came the leaves, which fluttered on to her wings, from the overhanging branches above her head. She had been built with her arms open, as if she was embracing the world. Her eyes looked down to the gap in her arms, with such peace and gentleness, that any passerby who stopped long enough, would have been sorry her arms were not filled.

Lily White's father had been very rich, and had built the marble angel after his daughter's death. He had been fond of Lily; she was his only daughter, and she had loved God and, most of all, angels. However once the angel had been built, Samuel White had stood back to admire his handiwork, shrugged his satisfaction, turned on his heel and left, never to return. So, for longer than most could remember, she had stood all alone, with noone to touch her stone hart. Sometimes, someone would pass close enough to read the writing across her chest, and comment on the misspelling of marble. And then, Marbel would watch them walk away, never glancing back at the love in her eyes.

Anna ran, heart pounding against her ribs, bidding, like the rest of her, for freedom. She saw his face, distorted with rage, in her mind's eye. She leapt over a low fence, and ran.

She was standing in a small park, a neglected park by the look of it. Tall weeds choked the pretty flowers, and prickly thistles lurked in the long grass. This, Anna decided, was a safe place to hide. She stepped, cautiously, through the grass, prickling her bare ankles. Then she saw it, under the oak, white, unblemished and beautiful.

It was an angel. Anna approached it, and read the writing across it's chest.

"Marbel?" she whispered, "Is that your name?"

Marbel stood with her arms wide to the world, looking kindly down at the the child. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she hugged the angel, resting her burning, bruised face against her cool shoulder. As Anna's arms encircled her, Marbel felt warmth spread through her, and she knew her hart had been touched.

Marbel held her while she wept. She had not seen a child for such a long time, and she was sorry to see this one weep.

"What have I done?" she sobbed, "What is it I do wrong?"

When her eyes cleared of tears, Anna looked in to Marbel's face again.

"You've been here ages," she said, "You must be lonely."

Anna came every day after that. Sometimes, she was angry, and she would kick at the long grasses, cursing as thistles snapped at her. Often, she was upset, and poured her hart out to the angel. Marbel felt warmed by the girl's presence, but a coldness stirred in her, when she thought how much she suffered.

"He's horrible," Anna whispered to the angel, "He has a scary face, and huge rough hands. He hates me, he wants me dead."

As she spoke, she heard the rickety gate creak open. Anna spun round. The horrible face stood in the gateway, searching... searching for her.

Without a second thought, Anna leapt in to the branches of the overhanging tree, and Marbel was left on the ground, to watch the man drawing closer and closer...

He trampled the grass, teeth bared like a lion.

"Annabelle!" he roared, "Where the hell are you?"

Marbel felt the tree shudder with Anna's fear.

"Annabelle! You come here or I'll kill you! I mean it girl, I will!"

and Marbel was forced to look on with love in her eyes, her arms held out to him. Yet all she felt was despair.

Meanwhile, the man searched everywhere for Anna, everywhere but up in the tree, that is. He swore, snarled, and spat in to the air and with a burst of rage, he turned on Marbel and kicked her.

"Tell me where she is," he growled.

He kicked her again, and Anna let out a sob. At once, the man leapt at the tree, holding his daughter by the hair. Anna lay limp in his hands, too afraid to say anything. And marbel could not speak either.

"Your mother would be ashamed of you," he whispered, "But she's dead, isn't she Annabelle? Because of you! You! You KILLED HER!"

He span on his heel and stamped out of the park, Anna dragging along the ground.

Marbel sobbed inwardly, her tears trickling in to her hart. What could she do? And then she heard Anna's voice.

"I love you, Marbel. If I never see you again, remember I love you. You are my best friend."

It was a Summer's evening, Marbel could smell the blossoms and the honeysuckle. A full moon hung in the cloudless sky, suspended in the black robe of night. Marbel stretched her wings and stood up straight. She heard Anna call her.

"I'm coming," Marbel called.

She felt her snowy robe around her, threw back her silvery hair, and stretched her powerful wings. Marbel took to the skies and soon, she was above the houses...

Far away, a small child was crying, scared and helpless. Marbel landed and soared in through the open window.

Marbel scooped the little girl in to her arms. She did not respond. Marbel saw Anna's face. Even by the moonlight, she could tell it was pale, almost devoid of colour. Blood covered the sheets, and oozed on to Marbel's robe. Anna was dead.

Marbel's hart broke. Angels cannot cry, they can only smile. Angels cannot reject, they can only embrace. Angels cannot hate, they can only love. But they can still hurt. Deeply.

Marbel knew Earth wasn't the place for her. It was time to join the beloved children, to rest in the place where she belonged. She spread her wings for the last time and flew alongside the silvery moon.

Take to the skies, dear angel, and don't look back.