Stars are not angels.
Stars are large, fixed luminous points in the night sky. They are remote, incandescent bodies like the sun.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy. This little boy lived with his mother and father in a little house in the sleepy town of Lawrence, Kansas.
One night, the little boy's mother took her son outside to see the stars. The little boy had never actually seen the stars before, having never had the chance.
The little boy's mother took the little boy outside on the porch that night. The little boy sat on his mother's lap and gazed up at the sky.
"What are those, mommy?" the little boy asked, pointing at the stars.
The little boy's mother looked at where her son was pointing. "Those are stars, sweetie." She kissed the top of his head.
"But what are stars?"
The little boy's mother thought for a moment. She remembered what her mother had told her when she'd asked. "Well, they're angels. They're watching over you."
The little boy looked at his mother, then to the sky and back again. "Hello, angels!" he shouted, waving at the stars.
The little boy's mother chuckled. "Not so loud, love. The neighbors are sleeping."
The little boy looked at his mother, shocked. "But they'll miss the angels, mommy!"
"No, they won't. The angels will come out tomorrow."
"Why?"
"The angels go to sleep in the sky. They'll be here tomorrow, don't worry."
The little boy was satisfied with this answer, and sat down on his mother's lap again. Soon, however, he jumped up again, pointing a little finger at the blanket of lights above. "Mommy, look! That angel's falling!"
The little boy's mother looked up. Sure enough, there above the little boy's head was a shooting star. "Oh, sweetie. Look! It's a shooting star!" she exclaimed, pointing at the streak of light.
"A what?"
"A shooting star. You know, some people say that if you see one and you make a wish, that wish will come true."
The little boy looked up at the sky. "Oh," he said sadly. "It's gone now." He was silent for a minute. "Can I still make a wish?" he asked his mother.
The little boy's mother laughed, squeezing her baby tightly. "Of course," she replied. "What do you want most in the entire world?" she asked.
The little boy didn't know. He though, and he thought, and finally he said, "A baby brother."
The little boy's mother was surprised. "A baby brother?" she repeated.
"Yes," the little boy decided. "Falling angel, I wish for a baby brother." He looked up at the shooting star, no longer visible. He was quiet.
"Why do you want a baby brother?"
"Well…" the little boy thought. "I want someone I can play with. We'll be best friends, and I'll teach him all sorts of cool stuff! I'll teach him how to swim, and play, and talk and walk and ride a bike and—and—I'd die for him."
The little boy's mother looked at her son, surprised. "Where did you get that idea, darling? You would never have to die for him." She stroked his hair lovingly.
The little boy shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought—"
"You will never have to worry about that, baby. As long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you."
The little boy nodded, taking his mother's hand and holding it tightly. He looked up at the sky again. "Goodnight, angels," he whispered.
The little boy's mother scooped up her son in her arms and began to carry him inside.
"Goodbye, angels!" the little boy shouted over his mother's shoulder, waving.
The little boy's mother turned around and looked up at the sky. "Goodnight, angels!" she repeated loudly, waving also.
She turned back towards the house and brought the little boy inside. She carried him upstairs to his room and tucked him in and kissed him goodnight. "Goodnight, sweetie. Angels are watching over you."
Shooting stars are not falling angels.
Shooting stars are really small pieces of rock or dust that hit Earth's atmosphere from space. Shooting stars are meteors.
Oh, but it wasn't a meteor. Not at all.
The little boy's mother was right. It was an angel.
His brother, Samuel.
Five months later, the little boys was playing with his stuffed animals on the living room floor. The little boy's mother had gone to the doctor that day, so he was waiting for her to come home.
The little boy's mother came home and gave the little boy some pictures. "What is that?" he asked, pointing at the pictures.
"It's a miracle," she told him. "Say 'hello'." She put a hand on her belly and rubbed light circles.
"Is it a baby brother?" he asked, standing on his tippy-toes and touching her belly.
"Mh-hm."
The little boy gasped. "Oh, hi!" he said to his mother's stomach. "I love you."
The little boy's mother laughed and said, "His name is Samuel."
"Oh." The little boy's face fell. "I can't say that."
"You can call him Sammy."
At this, the little boy was happy again. "Okay!" he said. "Hi, Sammy." He patted his mother's stomach. "I'll watch over you. I promise."
But that wasn't the little boy's job. That job was for the little angel inside her stomach.
Years passed, and the little boy and his brother grew up into fine young men, broken and bruised, but still fighting.
The little boy was no longer little. He was a man now.
The man's brother looked out for him, and the man did the same for him. They loved each other unconditionally, and they would die for each other.
The man no longer believed in angels.
This story is not about the little boy. He plays a major role in it, but it is not solely about him.
It is about his brother, the angel who destroyed his own grace and fell from above. His brother, who fell to watch over the Righteous Man. His brother, who fell to escape the pain of his past. Who fell to save the man who was supposed to die alone. To save him, because he reminded him of someone. Someone he used to love. Someone he lost.
This is a story, dear reader. A story, set in the very beginning, long before the creation of the world. This is the story of two careless lovers; one, not only a soldier, but also an "abomination" by the end of it. The other, a little brother, who was not supposed to be so, and how he came to fall.
This is the story about how an angel fell from grace for a dead man and the devil.