Young Writers Society

*This story is underneath my folder titled “Clowns, magic, murder, and lies”. Gacha Club character designs are under my forum titled “My character designs <33”. Enjoy!*

John lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The hospital was quiet and dark, like a dream.

In his haziness, he heard Penelope tell the nurses that the vase slipped and fell on him. She moved his body right next to the table, so that the nurses from the ambulance wouldn’t be suspicious of anything.

Could she not heal him because of an inner fear? Was she afraid of herself?

John thought so.

Penelope was a strong, good woman, but she didn’t have a fierce belief in herself. If she did, then she would be able to heal. Scratch that, she would do so much more.

She would save the whole world. John was certain of it.

He was a mere mortal man, but she? Penelope was a witch, a being of immense power.

The whole universe lay at her command. If only she believed in herself, she could have everything.

Nova was just like her. She had Penelope’s spark in her eyes, the kind that said she was more. They were both more.

All John wanted was for them to realize their potential, to come out in full bloom.

It was what they deserved.

In the corner of his eyes, John saw a lavender light. The lavender light grew and grew, until he could see clearly.

The light was his older sister, Bellona. Bellona’s long black hair flowed in cornrows. Her eyes shone an intense dark brown, filled with so much life, it surprised John a little. Only a little, though. Bellona was the type of person to always be alive. It made sense that her energy would carry on into the afterlife.

Her umber skin seemed to glow a little, as if small sprinkles of silver light had seeped into them. Her lavender dress flowed, just like a ballgown.

She was so young when she died, only twenty-three. John had been twenty-two then, Penelope had been twenty. They were still dating, Nova had not yet been born. It was at an Easter get-together. Bellona was driving over when a truck had crashed into the car, killing her and injuring her boyfriend, Lucien.

Lucien had been so deeply scarred, he swore to never fall in love with another woman again. A few days after the funeral, he was found dead on his bed. The front door was open, so it was believed that he was murdered.

But no one knew who did it, how they did it, or why.

It hurt that no one knew, that there could be no right answer.

Bellona smiled at John, soft and sweet. Her feathery white angel wings had a faerie aura to them, as did her whole appearance.

She walked up to his bed and held his limp, bandaged hand when she was close.

John could feel life coursing through his veins, blood coming together, sliding back into consciousness.

The glass vase would have killed him. No doctor could save him, for the shards had seeped into his skin. John wouldn’t have minded dying. He would be able to see Bellona again.

But he didn’t want Penelope to feel like a monster, a demon responsible for death and destruction. If he died, Penelope would have felt everlasting, destroying guilt.

“Angels can heal.” Bellona said, voice magical and otherworldly.

Before John could ask anything of her, say a word to her, Bellona faded into the lavender light, and then, into nothingness.

She was gone before he could talk to her. Properly talk to her.

John’s eyes brimmed with tears. Why, why, why did the women he loved leave him?