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Somebody's Angel
Sometimes I try to think about it from another perspective. I'm not me, Logan Cale, I'm John Dillard. I can look at what happened and see what Logan Cale should have done, should have changed, should have held onto that much longer.
Most times I just miss her. This dull, empty ache that is constantly there, taking up space in my heart. I never understood the phrase broken heart until she died. It felt as if my entire soul was breaking up and leaving with her.
I can only keep the tears back so many hours in the day. At night, I try to stop them from rushing forward across my cheeks, but I can't. I know in the back of my logically thinking mind that crying is the right thing to do, it'll help me deal with her death, but I have this uneasy feeling that Max wouldn't want me to cry over her. She'd want me to fix the world, take vengeance on her killed, but never cry.
Once, long before I met her, I had a dream about her eyes. They loomed in my vision, clouded my senses, and filled him with wonder. When I awoke, I was just barely able to remember the feeling of great contentment that had accompanied the dream. I was just fourteen years old.
I had the dream again last night, and that is when I realized what the dream consisted of; her eyes. Now, at night, I dream about her. Very sweet dreams they are, filled with the curves of her body and the soft wave of her hair. I wake with the sweet taste of her kiss lingering on her lips and I cannot believe it was so long ago that I held her. The reality of it all seems to much.
Eyes, forever dark.
Somebody's angel.
Never to be mine again, always to be above me, watching me from Heaven. Oh, yes, I believe she went to Heaven. She had no choice in being created, no choice in her early years, but she was a good person, a good woman, and I know that she was as cared for and loved as the rest of the flock, even those who weren't genetically enhanced.
Gone. I keep coming back to that. I feel tears dampen my cheeks as I think about her ceasing to exist on our world. The idea seems surreal, outrageous even. I have not lost her, in some sense. She is right here, with me, always. Always.
When I lay down at night, right between that sleeping and waking point, I think maybe she is alive, maybe the found her and it was a simple procedure, fixing her. That's she's there, at Manticore, living. I remember once she said she would rather die than go back to Manticore. I wonder if that is what she would want; to live and have the chance of escape or to die instead of having to endure the torturous reindoctination.
My God, I miss the way she smiled when she said something sarcastic. I can imagine the way she moved her mouth, the way she flashed her teeth in that cocky grin of hers. I can see as plain as day the way her face lit up whenever she outwitted someone.
Most clearly, though, I can see her eyes. They have always fascinated me. I have never met anyone with eyes so close to perfect. Their depth is beyond measurement in my mind's eye. I can see how they expressed emotions. I remember how they filled with tears at my cousin's wedding.
God, don't even say that word around me. I miss her so Goddamned much I want to scream, I want to break something. At the very least, I want to watch the downfall of Manticore. I want to see the director's face as she realizes her grand plan has failed, the one that she worked so hard on.
I miss her. Plain and simple.
Eyes. Forever dark.
Somebody's angel.
Somebody's angel.
SOMEBODY'S ANGEL!