The Only Angel

I could hear whispers in my head as I looked into the blackness of my closed eyes.  My mind struggled to make sense of the words, only vaguely recognizing the sounds.  I tried to open my eyes but they seemed to be too heavy to move, that was somewhat troubling but my brain was still stuck on the whispers and I was unable to gather enough mental capacity to be concerned.

The whispers, or maybe not whispers, they did not seem to be striving for quiet as  I focused on them, they lead through my mind trying to unscramble into coherent sentences.  There is one male voice: it sounds old and tired.  The other is lovely and soft; a woman’s voice.

“. . . he’s been unconscious since he came in,” she said, I wondered briefly if she was talking about me.  The man said something in response that was hard to make out in his ancient voice, though I thought it had something to do with beds.  A cold hand touched my face and I found the strength to open my eyes.  It was the woman.  She withdrew her hand and smiled at me, and expression which seemed sad rather than gleeful.  I stared up at her face.  She was not pretty or even very comely, but her features are symmetrical and definitively feminine.  Her hair was thick and dark, tied back in a ponytail that wispy strands broke free from to frame her face, contrasting determined green eyes that shimmered as they looked upon me.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice really was lovely, it was soothing even though I could by then understand what was going on.  I was in a room painted pale green, a color that I once found soothing, but was now only the color of death.  To either side of me were rows of beds similar to my own, and probably against the opposite wall, though I did not check.  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember what happened before I woke up in the hospital.

“Just nod or shake your head if you can’t speak,” she instructed and I realized I had not yet answered her question.  My voice seemed thick on my tongue and I coughed to clear my throat.

“Fine,” I managed, because nothing else came to mind to say.  My mind and body were not on speaking terms right then.  I could not even tell if I was feeling pain or not.  She smiled at me again and nodded.

“I’m Sylvie Garter, I’m a nurse here.  You’re Robert, right?” she asked.  I nodded in response, “Do you know why you are here?”  I inhaled deeply before answering though it felt as if someone else was speaking in my place.

“The epidemic,” I said because nothing else made sense.  She nodded.

“Yes, you are in the terminally ill ward at St. Snow’s Hospital.”  I said nothing further, just staring at her and trying to process this information.  It was not so hard to accept you were dying when you had been anticipating it for the past three years.  It really came more as a relief than anything.  She gave me a consoling squeeze on the shoulder then pointed to a button near my left hand.

“Press that if you need anything.”  At that she turned and left the room, stopping briefly at a bed to my left.  The old man, who must have been the doctor, gave me a grim nod and followed her out.  I closed my eyes and let sleep have me once more.



Life in the terminally ill ward at St. Snow’s Hospital was rather dull.  I spent my time watching Sylvie bustle around caring for her many patients.  I wished I could find something else to do, especially while my sole entertainment was not in the room, but I could not even lift my arms anymore.  I felt like a deflated balloon that just sitting there with the memory of flying above the clouds.  I know that Sylvie would love to keep us all occupied and happy, but there are too many patients and not enough time.  More come into the ward every day, filling up beds just as soon as they empty.

Sometimes while she is taking care of those too far gone to care, she will sing, whether to herself or her patients, I have never asked.  That was what I loved best about her; the beauty that surpassed what was on the surface.  Though she could not be more than thirty, her face showed signs of age and she was rather stocky besides, but even so, she was probably the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.  Her voice was that of an angel.  My only angel, with a heart that graced the departing souls to which she gave herself.

Sylvie was singing and I closed my eyes to listen.  The melodies she sang were sad and soft, whispered in a language that I was not familiar with.  Words that were harsh and beautiful, like the woman who spoke them.  She walked solemnly over to the man next to me as she sang her song softly to the abyss.  I glanced over at the next bed.  He was a big man when he first came in, broad shouldered and thick with muscle, showing barely a sign of illness.  But as the months passed, he withered, leaving nothing of his earthbound form but a frail husk of what he once was.  Sylvie told me once, long ago, that the virus consumed some more quickly than others.  Those others, cursed to watch as their world crumbled around them.  Those like me.

Though I tried not to make friends with my roommates, sometimes it happened regardless of better judgment.  This man was my friend.  His name was Forest.  When he first came, he was the life of the ward.  His outgoing personality ensured that he became fast friends with everyone.  Optimistic, even when facing his death.  He had a strength I feared I would never possess.  The youthful smile never leaving his face he withered away until even that was too hard.  If you saw him in the bed that night, you would not even recognize him as the man that was brought in here not six months ago.

I stared at him for the longest time, wondering how much longer it would be until I was in his place.  He opened his eyes, their deep blue worn with age that was not his own; his dark hair never having had the chance to grey.  His gaze found mine and he gave me a weak smile.

When woke the next morning, Forest’s bed was empty.

It is hard to watch death, possibly more so than dying yourself.  You feel helpless and alone.  I often wondered how Sylvie did it; where she found the strength to carry on after giving herself to everyone in the ward just to watch as they faded from life.  Even the elderly doctor not far from death himself keeps his distance from us.



It was cold that night.  The rain and wind made the glass in the window shake and I wished it would be quiet.  I didn’t want to be awake so I kept my eyes closed, but the thunder wouldn’t cease.  Over the thunder I heard a whisper that sent shivers down my spine, reminding me too much of my first day here.  When I listened more closely, I realized that it was Sylvie.  I opened my eyes a crack.

“Hush,” she said gently, stroking the long blonde hair of a little girl no more than five.  The girl whimpered softly.

“I’m scared,” she said weakly, in a voice so soft I almost couldn’t hear it.  Sylvie leaned in and kissed her forehead.

“It will be all right.  I promise you.  There’s nothing to be afraid of.”  My heart thumped uncomfortably in my chest as I saw the tears running down the little girl’s paled cheeks.

“Will Mommy be there?  And . . . and Daddy?” she whispered, I felt hot tears in my eyes.  Sylvie took the girls hand and rubbed it softly, her expression and voice nothing but soothing.

“Yes,” she said, somehow managing to give the little girl a smile, “Your Mommy and Daddy will be there.  They will keep you safe, don’t you worry.”  The little girl opened wide blue eyes, visible even in the dark and searched Sylvie’s face for a moment before giving her a smile that tore at my heart.  The little girl stroked a strand of Sylvie’s hair and inhaled shakily.

“Thank you,” she mouthed to the woman as her fragile hand fell back down to rest beside her little body.  A horrid silence filled the air, seeming to choke the breath right out of the very world.  Sylvie stood up and stated in a clear voice the time of death.  She gently pulled the cover up as if to tuck the child in, giving her one last kiss on the forehead before gently resting the sheet over the forever sleeping face.

Tears ran down both our faces as she turned to see me watching.  We looked at one another for a long moment’ eyes conveying more emotion than words ever could.  With a strength silhouetted by the darkness, the woman walked away, her shoulders resolutely carrying whatever life placed upon them.