“Everyone has an Angel.

 A Guardian who watches over us.

 We can’t know what form they’ll take.

 One day, old man,

 next day, little girl.

 But don’t let appearances fool you,

they can be as fierce as any dragon.

Yet they’re not here to fight our battles.

But to whisper from our hearts.

 Reminding that it’s us.

Its everyone of us who holds power over the world we create.

You can deny angels exist,

convince ourselves they can’t be real.

 But they show up anyway, at strange places and at strange times.

They can speak through any character we can imagine.

They’ll shout through demons if they have to.

Daring us, challenging us to fight.”

-er Punch (movie)

I sat there in the silence, breathing in the cool night air. The air was unusually sickly sweet tonight, hinted with the unmistakable scent of…

blood.

I stood up, alarmed, and picked up the scent.

Something’s wrong.

I reached a horrible scene that I felt utterly imbecilic for not preventing.

A small-framed, fair skinned boy lay on the cold, hard concrete in the nondescript alley, surrounded by a pool of blood, hanging on the very edge of his life.

I dropped down height by height before finally reaching him. His entire body was a wreck—knife wounds, bruises, and losing a whole lot of blood. I

would’ve taken him to the hospital, but he has no personal identification on him. Ever so carefully, I lifted him up off the ground and transported him

to the headquarters. My team’s headquarters, that is.

“Axelle? What did you—oh my” the head of first aid said, already preparing his gear.

“No. No questions, Lawrence. Just do your job.” I walked out of the infirmary to wash off his blood from my clothes.

An hour and a half later, Lawrence walked out of the infirmary to talk to me.

            “He should be fine. He’s all cleaned up. Looks like either a street fight or a hit and run. No broken bones, slight head trauma, some stitches

on his lower back. He’s sleeping right now.” My brother rambled on before I pushed him aside, walking into the room.

I observed the boy—fair skin, light brownish hair, around my age, 19. The muscles on his face bunched up, signaling stress and anger. Stepping

over the IV drip tube, I sat down on the chair next to the bed.

            The boy shifted, heart rate on the monitor increasing speed, facial expression becoming more intense.

            If it goes here and he strains himself, he’ll die surely.

I slipped a reassuring hand over his, and almost instantly, he relaxed entirely.

            You know, he’s pretty decent. Maybe…

            No. Bad Axelle. No.

With my free hand, I smoothed his hair from his face.

            He looks…innocent. Who are you, anyways? You’ve got to have a reason for being in that alley, boy.

He stirred slightly, tightening his grip.

            “Shh…Shh…” I whispered soothingly.

            You’re a complete stranger, but I’ll protect you anyways. I mean, It’s my job, but…

The boy blinked slowly and opened up his eyes, which I noticed were a deep shade of chocolate. I smiled at him. He yawned and spoke the single

word that starts everything—

“Hello.”

Holas! So... how was it? Comment pleases? And if you notice, I always use that same quote from er Punch. It's a good quote that fits what I usually write about, so... yeah.

-Grizzly (DSCZImInsane)