Saint of Despair

I was pulled up from my ocean of solitude. No longer was I able to swim alone in my center of the world because of the calling given. He beckoned me to come forth, yet I sensed his insecure motion. He didn't want to know what I truly looked like, not before I readied myself to appear before the masses of crowds considered humanity. How wonderful it is to have the ability to emulate emotions. As I came closer and responded sheepishly, I noticed my voice sounded broken, as though a grater was rubbing itself against my vocal chords. Laid down amongst the stones, I tried to move closer but he insisted on sitting at least three feet across from me. He began with simple questions, ignoring the fact that at one point in time he had researched my background and simple daily routines as easily as reading a complicated textbook. I played with the pool of water slowly forming by the droplets in my hair. I was beginning to get nervous, and didn't want to look him straight in the eye. My shoulders gave in, my head fell forward, and my only support was the skin and muscle holding my shoulder blades to my spine. A hand held me by my chin, and he moved my face up parallel to his. He finally decided to stop torturing me with the question both of us didn't know whether we wanted questions or answered for the fear of the results. I needed to answer bluntly. "No." It fell like silence before the storm. There was a moment of sheer and utter uncomfort. I stifled in my area of the stone, and he stared for a bit more. Then he began the hymn of his words. The storm had started, but silently. As rain lulling you on a cold autumn night, his words hit hard and cold as hail. They stung, but I couldn't sit there and cry. It was my own fault. I was losing the man-child I called an angel, but I could do nothing so as to change the irrevocable. I laid there quiet, motionless, knowing he wanted a reaction. I wouldn't give it. I let the cool ice grow in me, reaching up to my throat like cold medicine. Coursing through my capillaries, down my arms and down my legs, all throughout my little toes. I felt the wave of disappointment passing over him. Words rushed through my head, but nothing came to mind that would fix anything. I laid there. I looked up. His face was clean, and blank. No words could explain our interaction efficiently. "Fine." He said, and kissed my forehead. He left me a note. Standing up tall, he stretched. First his legs, then his torso- twisting side to side, then raising his hands to stretch his arms. Finally he rolled his shoulders backwards and forwards, and set off on his own two wings leaving me as the sea creature to figure for myself what to do and what choices to make. One day I'll make a good choice for myself. I took the note and sank myself back into the bed of water and opened the note. Written in scratched ink and on burnt barkwood paper, was the words "I'll fly with you." I smiled and sank back into the deep abyss.