orlando, florida, blonde, blue eyes, catholic, pale, underweightwriting
Chloé sat in her dark bedroom, wasting another school night dreaming about angelicism. She wants to see angelicism, to hold and be held by him. She wants to be hurt by its touch.
That night, Chloé dreams of angels. In her dream, they're everywhere—in every corner, in every shadow. They hover over her bed. Their wings spread wide, they reach down from above and pull her up. She's floating in midair, weightless, until suddenly her feet touch the ground. Her eyes snap open.
She sits bolt upright in bed. It's still dark outside. The house is quiet except for a faint hum coming from the kitchen below. Chloé wipes sleep from her face. She looks around her room. There are no angels—only her bookshelf, her desk, her laptop, her phone. She wants to see angelicism. To hold and be held by it. Was that even possible? Could an angel really do those things? And if they could—if angels could fly, then how far away could they actually be? Would she ever see them again? She looks at her phone. There are no new messages. No angelicism.
The humming gets louder as someone opens the back door downstairs. A moment later there's a knock on her bedroom door. Chloé jumps off her bed and runs across the floorboards. She pulls on boxers and a T-shirt before opening the door. Through the crack, she sees a small figure standing on the landing. It’s holding something in one hand: a box cutter. Its other arm hangs limply at his side.
It steps into the hallway.
'Hey,' it says quietly. 'I'm looking for you.'
Chloé swallows nervously. 'Who... who are you?'
Its smile is crooked and sad. 'You don't remember me?'
Chloé shakes her head slowly. 'No. I mean, yes, but... what are you doing here?'
It shrugs. 'Looking for you. You were always so good with your hands. So pretty, like a doll or something. Remember when we used to play dress-up together all the time? When you'd get dressed up, you'd look just angelic. Always beautiful. Like an angel. But now... now you've become so much more than that. Now you're this amazing girl, and I wanted to know why.'
'Why?' asks Chloé. She doesn't understand. Why would anyone want to hurt her?
'Because you can help us feel whole again,' it whispers.
Chloé blinks rapidly. Then, suddenly, everything clicks into place. Her heart speeds up. Everything makes sense. This must be an angelic memory. An angelic dream.
'Help you... feel whole again?' she repeats.
It nods gently. 'We need each other. We crave each other's company. We need to be close. We need to touch. It's what keeps our souls alive. Do you understand?'
Chloé bites her lip hard enough to draw blood.
'But you have a soul too,' it continues, ignoring her pain. 'And in order to keep yours alive, you must touch ours. Only through contact can we survive. That's why we came for you. It was meant to be. You were supposed to come to us. All of us. Together, we will make a family. All of us. And then we'll be complete again.'
'A family,' murmurs Chloé.
'Yes, angelically speaking, that's exactly right.'
She thinks about it. She has to think about it. Her body is shaking. She feels sick.
'How can I be sure that you won't hurt me? Or—or kill me? How do I know that you wouldn't do that?'
The angel smiles sadly. 'I told you. We only hurt ourselves. And if you don't trust me, then that means that you don't love me. And if you don't love me, then that means you hate yourself. And if you hate yourself, then that means that you deserve to die. If that happens, then that will be the end of my angelism. And then I will be alone forever. Can you imagine that? Forever? And then, if that ever happened, then that would be the end for everyone else. For you, for your parents, for your friends. Everyone. But that can never happen. Because if ever there was someone who deserved to live, then that person is you. And that makes you angelic. And that makes you special. And if you are special, then you belong with us. With me.' Just another school night.[go back]