The Angel's Raven

My body lay bruised and battered on the shore. I had staggered for miles and dropped to my defeat.

I stung Anna with a stream of confessional words.

My bloody fingers managed to call her name in a choked whisper, reluctantly asking for her help. I could feel her speeding towards me and before I could even regret reaching out, there she was, knelt down by my wounded side and tears emerging at the edge of her eyes.

I wanted to cry for her, her human compassion for someone as wretched as I, but I wanted to cry for being no less than a rotting corpse before her kohl eyes. In every aspect I was exposed, raw to the bone. Head in swollen clumps, heart in bothersome knots, I was emotionally diseased from the self-loathing.

I asked that she not even think about taking me to the hospital, for it would only cause more trouble than I needed.

"Anna... he regrets me."

She pulled me in to her breast and melted into despair. Strong, guarded, stoic Anna, releasing the first ever tears I saw - and for me. Silly girl, I thought. Save them for someone who was worth it. She called out my name in a succession of gentle mumbles, promising me that one day I would soar. I clung onto every word my senses could, for my hands were limp and stained.

"Anna, let me go. I'm bleeding; you'll ruin your clothes."

A single tear slipped through, running down my cheek and then falling off the face of the earth. "Anna, I want to stay here for awhile. I want to sleep."

She responded with a solemn nod before whispering gently to me. "You sleep all you need to, my friend." And before I lost consciousness I felt her hand and her tears touch my brow. Through every tender kiss on my forehead, her breath beat my body. For now, I was safe. And just like that, I knew I was in love.

When I wake up, it's a mid sunny morning, coherent to the state I'm in, Anna's refuting the ignorant passer-bys staring at my bloodied corpse. "Excuse me, but if you want to cast disdainful stares, I suggest you do it in the mirror - candyfloss pink and bunches only tend to work on eight year-old girls!"

"Anna...?"

She flinches her attention to me, smiling slightly. "You feeling better?"

My mouth wouldn't work along with my memory, it was an amnesiac moment that had me momentarily frightened. Anna's instincts were as sharp as mine and thankfully prevailed. "Why don't we slip you into one of my Mum's more butch t-shirts and talk over some coffee?"

And just like that, I remembered the horror of last night. I knew love.