by J A Campbell
"How is he?"
Dad shook his head.
Mom came over and hugged me tighter than she had in weeks. Even when I started to squirm, she wouldn't let go. I wouldn't have squirmed as much if I had known. I swear I wouldn't have.
My dad called the University of California San Francisco Helen Diller Family Comprehensive Cancer Center. It sounded hopeful and peaceful. They offered to see me in the morning.
Mom and Dad both tucked me in. I fell into sleep immediately after I told them I loved them.
* * *
It was dark in the room, but light came from the corner. I sat straight up, not remembering a night light there before. There wasn't. An angel stood quietly looking at me. He blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek.
"Time?"
He did not answer. He simply crossed the room and kissed my cheek. Suddenly I was standing and felt better than I had in weeks. I felt something rising from my shoulders, adding new weight there. I looked right and left. Beautiful white wings that resembled those of the apparition before me appeared. A feather from one fell out and onto the floor.
"Come with me."
"What will we do?"
"Gather flowers from earth for the gardens of heaven. Then you can help me tend them if you wish."
"Is it spring there?"
"It's always spring there. Always winter, always fall, always summer. There is no time, no seasons."
I smiled and took his hand. "Can we do one thing first?"
"Certainly." It was as if he already knew.
* * *
The scream woke Zach's father. He bolted up right and ran to Zach's room in the suite. His mother completely covered the boy's small body. She was kissing his face over and over.
She sat up and pulled the lifeless head into her lap.
"No, no, no." She rocked back and forth. "My boy, my boy."
Zach's father dialed 9 and then 1 on his phone. Realizing the futility of the action, he hung up. Zach was gone.
"Promise me." His son's voice reminded him.
He went to her, and put his arms around her. He held her for what seemed like a long time. She laid the body gently back on the bed.
"Who should we call?"
He shrugged, not knowing the answer. He offered her his hand, and they closed the door quietly as if fearing their boy might wake. They stepped into the central room and both gasped at the same time.
The coffee table was filled with flowers. Flowers in the most beautiful crystal vases they had ever seen.
Zach's father dialed the operator with one hand, and held his wife with the other. From far away Zach watched, a tear rolling down his cheek.
"Will they be okay?"
"I don't know."
"I thought there was no crying in heaven."
"We aren't there yet."
"When will we get there?"
"Soon. We have work first." In his hands he held two empty baskets. He handed one to Zach.
Zach looked at it and smiled. "For flowers?"
The angel nodded.
"Where will we start?"
A hand clapped him on the back. "Close by, my friend."
Part the Second:
Mother, look, the Angel's here beside me! Listen, too, how sweet the music grows. See, his wings are both so white and lovely; Surely it was God who gave him those. Green and red and yellow floating round me, They are flowers the Angel came and spread. Shall I, too, have wings while I'm alive, or–Mother, is it only when I'm dead?
~Hans Christian Anderson, The Dying Child
Abel and Zach
High over the world they flew. They traveled at speeds Zach would have thought impossible. Places they visited were those he once only dreamed of. The greatest gardens of the world were his for the choosing. From roses and tulips to the most exotic of flowers and blooms he touched and plucked them all.
In Portland, Oregon, they stopped at the Test Gardens and gathered roses of every shape and color. Red, pink, yellow, white, and even a rare purple. They flew through the Sculpture Gardens of Minnesota. Spring shouldn't have arrived, but it had, and they plucked the best of the cherry blossoms there.
At Butchart Gardens in British Columbia, daffodils of every color fell into their baskets and should have filled them, but the baskets seemed bottomless. The fragrance that rose from the fallen flowers filled their senses with a blend of perfumes never envisioned by man.
Sunset blended into sunrise. Oranges, reds, pinks decorated first the East and then the West. Day fled into day, night into night. Around the world they spun, seeking the best the earth had to offer. They gathered creations for the creator.
In Japan, they skimmed over the peaceful ponds in Rikugien Garden. From the Himeji Castle Garden, they plucked daises and sunflowers by the dozens. They gathered orchids from Singapore, tulips form the Netherlands, and poppies from Flanders Fields in Belgium. When it seemed the basket and his eyes could hold no more, Abel beckoned to him.
"It is time for you to see the greatest garden."
"Truly? There are gardens greater than what we have seen?"
"Only one."
* * *
They hovered over the central part of Europe. Time seemed to slide backward under their feet, a thing Zach once thought impossible.
The streets below them ran dirty with sewage. Horses and buggies hurried to and fro. In the midst sat a small group of beggar boys. The largest of them moved to club the smallest on the ear, but his hand stopped in mid swing as though he sensed their presence.
"Where are we?"
Abel only smiled and pointed down the street. Zach's feet touched the dirty cobbles and he began to walk. No beauty grew here, only pain and sadness. He looked back at Abel, who only gestured for him to go on.
He rounded a corner and if he'd not been an angel, a carriage would have run him down. Zach still found it odd to be somewhere and yet not be there. As he paused and looked at the driver, the carriage slowed. The noble in the back tossed a shilling from his pocket at the foot of a beggar boy who stood at the corner, leaning on a crutch. Zach recognized Abel.
A moment later the boy vanished and the angel stood in his place. "Abel?"
"Sometimes we can be what we once were, for a time."
"I don't understand."
"You have much to learn. Halfway down the block you will find what you are looking for."
Zach walked on. An old building was nearly falling into the street. He rounded the corner and saw before him an empty lot. In the center a thin row of flowers grew. They were of no species he knew from their travels. Speechless he crossed the lot and kneeled in the dirt beside them.
"Go ahead pick a few, but only a few." Abel stood at his shoulder, his voice choked with tears.
"What is this place?"
"It was once my garden, my hope."
Zach looked up and saw before him once again the crippled beggar boy with the crutch. Tears stood in his eyes.
"This is where the angel, my angel took me from."
"You died here?"
"Not far away. I plucked my last flowers from this place. I still come to tend it when I can."
"What do you mean 'your angel?'"
"One came to me, as I came to you."
"What did you do then?"
"I gathered flowers from earth for the gardens of heaven."
"But then?"
"I tend those gardens still."
"Yet you came for me."
"From time to time, I must be someone's angel, as my angel came for me."
"What now?"
Abel smiled. They rose through the clouds and suddenly the earth was far below. They whizzed past the red ball of Mars, the rings of Saturn, and the icy ball known as Pluto so recently demoted to non-planetary status. They left the solar system and flew from the Galaxy, through the Milky Way, and past no longer recognizable constellations. The journey took less time than he would've imagined.
They approached a planet that, from above, looked muc
h like Earth. A castle appeared in the distance, the sky above it impossibly blue. Its walls glistened like gold, and the colors of the rainbow shown from gems set on the parapets. This, surely this must be heaven.
Abel let go of his hand, and slowly he settled to the ground. He was on a narrow pathway paved in pale metal that he assumed was gold. On both sides, vast fields of the greatest flowers he had ever seen stretched to the horizon. Many he did not recognize. Bees buzzed from one to the other and somehow he sensed they would never sting him. A large tree stretched for the sky not far away, and under it a lion lay next to a lamb, licking its wool clean with its rough tongue.
Zach moved off the path. "Plant what you have gathered," Abel said, walking away.
Zach surveyed what surrounded him. He saw no weeds. He knelt and ran the soil between his fingers.
Miracle Grow, he thought. He giggled.
He glanced back, intending to ask Abel one last question. The angel was gone. In the distance he saw a small boy with a crooked crutch walking toward the golden walls that housed the castle of heaven.
I must go there soon, he thought. But first these flowers must be planted.
He got to work, finding open places where the flowers in his basket seemed to fit, to belong, to blend with what already grew there. He smiled as he worked, unaware of any passage of time.
Zach
Angels don't need sleep, but sometimes we sleep anyway, at least those of us who were once children. I rarely indulge as there's so much to do, so much to see. I'll never finish it all or even see it all.
"That's what eternity is about," Abel told me last time we crossed paths. "Never bored. Never tiring of things you should never tire of in the first place."
There's no calendar. No need to eat. No bathroom breaks. A perfect place: a perfect world. No crying. No sorrow. I think of my parents from time to time. It doesn't make me sad.
I tend the roses, roses which bare no thorns, only the sweetest smelling blossoms. I feel more than see a presence at my elbow.
"Hello, Abel."
"Hello, Zach. It's time."
"Time for what?"
"Time for you to be someone's angel."
"Return to earth?"
"You must show another what I showed you."
For the first time since entering heaven's gardens, I'm nervous.
* * *
I wonder if I looked that tiny?
I look at the boy in the bed below me. His parents flit back and forth. I'm sure mine did, too. The boy smiles and reassures them, but I see how his soul clings so feebly to his body. It won't be long.
Flowers decorate the room. They sit on every flat space, in every corner. Vases of rhododendrons, fuchsias, magnolias, azaleas, camellias, and ordinary roses filled the air with fragrance. He stares at me as if he sees me, and I shake my head.
Not time yet. I sense that the time is close.
The door opens and a cart comes in, covered with more flowers. I have no idea where he will put them all, but I smile. On earth, a tear runs down my cheek. I haven't cried since I left, and the tears are of joy this time. Then I see the man pushing the cart as he comes around to shake the hands of the boy's parents.
It's my father. He's older, certainly; but I recognize the slope of his shoulders, the set of his eyes. He's smiling. A woman enters the room carrying a pitcher of ice water. It's my mother.
I move closer and see on their nametags the words "Children's Hospice." They stayed together. They're helping other parents. I weep for a few moments, and watch as they and the boy's parents embrace and shake hands. The boy simply grins, and my father rubs his rough hand over the boy's bald head just the way he used to do to me.
"You see why you had to come?" Abel asks.
"I see."
"The boy's name is Jack. His dad calls him ‘J-man.'"
"When?"
"Tomorrow morning. Tell him tonight."
"Will you stay with me?"
"No. This you must do alone."
"Thanks, Abel."
He smiles and fades away.
I look down at Jack and he smiles up at me. I simply nod and smile. It's not yet time.
Jack
I love the flowers and the people who bring them. I've seen the angel. They say I have a chance, but I know better. I'm dying, and soon. The angels don't come until you are close.
I'm not afraid. It's what the angels tell everyone whenever they show up in the Bible. I can't wait to see heaven. I'm not sure my parents believe, but I hope someday they will.
I smile at the angel and he smiles back. A while ago, I saw him crying. Soon I will ask him why.
When? I ask in my mind, hoping he will hear.
Tomorrow morning. He tells me. Say your goodbyes tonight.
I cry a little. Not for me. For Mom and Dad, and those who won't see me anymore.
"J-man."
"Dad."
"Why are you crying? You can still beat this thing."
I know he doesn't believe it. This is hardest on my mother. I shake my head.
"Son, please."
"Dad, I'm dying. It's okay."
He puts his head in his hands.
"Hang in there, Dad." I'm afraid, but I have hope. "I'll be with the angels soon."
"Sure. Stay with us while you can, okay?"
"I love you, Dad. Send Mom in okay? Before you guys leave?"
My mom comes over and I just hug her as tight as I can. She cries, and so do I. I don't want to let her go, but I know I have to. I wave as she leaves, and I wonder if she knows.
I want to think that I will live and I will see them again. But I've seen the angel, and I believe him. I close my eyes, and drift into sleep.
Zach
"Dad?"
He can't hear me, but seems to sense I'm here. He and my mother hold hands in the waiting room.
"Do you ever feel it," she asks.
"Feel what?"
"Feel like Zach is...here?"
"Like now?"
"Like now."
He pulls him to her. "I do. I really do."
They kiss, and I steal away.
Jack sleeps and I watch from above. It's time. I'm not sure how I know, but I do.
I glide down on my wings, and gently kiss his cheek. He wakes, and his soul leaves his body behind.
I hand him a basket. He takes it from me, and smiles.
"What's your name?"
"I'm Zach."
"Funny, the flower people had a son named Zach who died."
"I know. They're my parents."
"Wow. Does that mean I..."
"We'll see. For now, we have work to do."
"What will we do?"
"First, we'll gather flowers for the garden of heaven."
"Can we do one thing first?"
"Sure," I tell him. "Anything at all."
The next morning his mother will wake to find a vase of the most fragrant flowers she has ever smelled, the most beautiful she has ever seen, on the coffee table in their hotel suite.
But we have to hurry if I'm going to get him to the empty lot in time.
Mother, I shall always be with you...
Yes, but then you mustn't go on sighing;
When you cry I cry as well, you see.
I'm so tired--my eyes they won't stay open–
Mother–look–the Angel's kissing me
~Hans Christian Anderson, The Dying Child
* * *
This story was inspired by a friend who lost her son at the tender age of 9 to cancer. Shortly thereafter, a friend that I graduated high school with also died of cancer at age 39. Another friend passed away shortly thereafter: cancer again. All around we see children who are victims of this terrible disease.
When I heard of this anthology, I wanted to do something different. So I selected Hans Christian Anderson's lesser known fairy tale, "The Angel." It's the story of a young boy, who upon his passing, gathers flowers from the earth to plant in the gardens of heaven. He based this fai
ry tale on his poem, "The Dying Child" and his belief that upon death, children became angels.
I'm not sure if I believe that, but I want to. So when I wrote the story I decided that half of my royalties from this anthology will go to a children's charity of my fan's choice. It won't be much money, but perhaps it will raise awareness also. Visit www.troylambertwrites.com for more details.
~Troy Lambert
J.A. Campbell
Julie has been many things over the last few years, from college student, to bookstore clerk and an over the road trucker. She’s worked as a 911 dispatcher and in computer tech support, but through it all she’s been a writer and when she’s not out riding horses, she can usually be found sitting in front of her computer. She lives in Colorado with her three cats, her vampire-hunting dog Kira, her new horse and Traveler-in training, Triska, and her Irish Sailor. She is the author of many Vampire and Ghost-Hunting Dog stories and the young adult urban fantasy series The Clanless.
Find out more about Julie at www.writerjacampbell.com and follow her on twitter @Pfirewolf
Amanda Carman
Amanda Carman is a 24 year old aspiring author and illustrator currently residing in Atlanta, Georgia. She graduated from Berry College in 2011 with a B.A. in Studio Art and an English minor, but it was an introduction to the writings of Joseph Campbell in a World Religions course that had the most profound influence on both her writing and art. She believes strongly in the power of story in all of its forms, from the monomyth to the abstract stories told in music, dance, and paint. While she takes her work seriously, and much of it has a dark bent to it, she considers herself something of a goof. When she’s not working, she can be found performing improv, flailing like a Muppet, or playing a game of hide-and-seek with her kitten, Cricket.
Find out more about Amanda at http://carmandaartsthings.com