What Makes an Angel?

The First Sign of Insanity

The first sign of insanity is talking to yourself.





         “Is there a point to life?”  Damien’s ice blue eyes were glazed as he stared at his bedroom ceiling, his body tense.  He didn’t realize that he had spoken aloud.  He was too lost within his own mind to notice his surroundings. 


         “Murder.”


         Damien bolted up, snapping out of his trance.  His eyes swept swiftly across the room, his muscles tight.  Satisfied that he was alone, Damien closed his eyes, sighed, and let his body relax slightly. He rested his chin and hand on his knee and mulled over his new theory.


         “This world is full of pain,” he whispered, “and nothing we do will ever change that.” Damien cracked his eyes open and glanced at his clock. Three a.m. blinked back at him. His eyes narrowed to slits.  “I’ve been lying here for six hours,” he hissed. As quickly as Damien’s irritation hit, it vanished, leaving him blank.


         “At least I almost have everything figured out,” he muttered, lying back down and closing his eyes.


         “Do you now?” A voice giggled next to his ear.


         Damien blinked his eyes and slowly turned his head to the child before him. “I’m not in the mood to argue with you, Fatanah,” he sighed, sliding his arm across his eyes. Fatanah giggled again and sat near his feet.


         “Who says I’m here to argue with you?” She cocked her head and smiled brightly at him.


         “You always come to argue,” Damien responded.


         “True,” she giggled “but it’s so much fun to argue with you. You wear your emotions for everyone to see.” Damien lifted his arm enough to glare at Fatanah, but she just stared right back.  Damien broke first. He never could stand her eerie silver eyes for very long.


         “Silly, Damien,” she cooed. “You know I’ll always win.” Damien sighed again and slipped off his bed, his bare feet barley making a sound as he made his way out the door.


         “By the way, Damien, what have you figured out?” Fatanah asked trailing behind him. Damien ignored her, which made her giggle at him. “Why won’t you answer such a simple question?”


        “The question might be simple, but the answer is not,” Damien replied evenly.


        “I’m sure I can manage,” Fatanah smiled up at him. She pouted when he ignored her again. “Damien, you’re not being very nice,” she whined.


        Damien sighed, “Whoever told you I was nice lied, and stop acting like a child.” 


        “But, Dami, I am a child.” She cocked her head to the side and smiled cutely up at him. Damien sighed but didn’t argue. He paused next to his mother’s door, his hand resting above the handle. “Her sleep will not be broken,” she said halting beside him. “Or,” her smile was too pleasant, “are you checking that she’s still there?”


      “Stop reading me,” Damien calmly said, as he brushed past her. “Are you coming?” He asked when he didn’t hear her following.


      “Of course I am,” she said tripping to his side. “I love hearing you play, even though it is all so depressing.”


      “Give me a reason to play something cheerful.”


      Fatanah laughed at him, and he suppressed a twitch. “I don’t want you to play anything cheery. Darkness suits you more.” Damien stilled and watched her dance ahead of him. “Coming Damien?” She sang all smiles again. Damien nodded and quietly followed her out the back door.


He moved swiftly and silently across the grass and into the trees.  He paused when he came to a small clearing; Fatanah was already waiting by the door of the old cabin. “You look like a ghost, Damien,” she giggled.


    “I’m not a ghost,” Damien sighed, taking the chain from around his neck.


    “You’re paler than the moon, and you don’t make any noise when you move,” Fatanah said.


    “I’m alive,” Damien responded patiently, while he fiddled with the lock.


    “Are you, Damien?” she asked sweetly. Damien’s hand paused on the handle of the door.


    “I am breathing; therefore, I’m alive.” Damien’s eyes narrowed at her, before he pushed the door open and stepped inside.       


    Damien swiftly surveyed the room; it was exactly as he’d left it. His desk piled with music stood against the back wall, black file cabinets, containing even more music, flanked either side of it. In the back corner, a pile of blankets hid the bottom of the ladder that led to the loft. On either side of the door, bookshelves housed subjects ranging from music to philosophy. Damien slid his fingers across the spines, making sure that they were all in their proper order. He then turned to his piano, which filled the left front corner.


    Damien ran his fingers along the polished ebony maple wood before he sat down. He rested his hands on the keys and breathed in deeply. “What are you going to play?” Fatanah breathed in his ear.


    “Whatever my hands feel like,” Damien whispered, closing his eyes.


    “As long as it’s sad,” she whispered into his neck. He didn’t answer aloud; instead, he let his fingers talk for him.


    Damien felt his muscles slightly relax as the first note sounded, and as his fingers gracefully flowed over the keys, his entire body fell into the rhythm. He lost himself in the deep voices of the bottom keys. His right hand strayed up, accenting the depressing song with rich sighs. No longer was there pain or complications, no thoughts, no questions, just music.


    “You haven’t played like this in awhile.”


    Damien’s hands froze above the keys, and his eyes flew open. He stared at his hands, until slowly they started moving again. Both back at the bottom keys, once more.


    “I’m not playing any differently,” Damien whispered, keeping his eyes on the keys.


    “Hmm. Maybe I’m hearing things then,” Fatanah giggled, hugging his neck. “I just thought,” her voice softened, as she brought her mouth next to his ear “you sounded so happy.”


    Damien chuckled and extracted himself from her. He stood and walking to the door said, “Happiness is nothing but a human made emotion. It, like every other emotion, is an illusion. Humans created this illusion to have a purpose, to fill a void, which can never be filled.”


    Damien stared blankly at her as she let out a light laugh. “Do you truly believe that, Damien?”


    “Yes,” he spoke simply, eyeing her suspiciously, as she danced over to him.


    “You say you believe that emotions and ultimately life are an illusion, but you don’t really, not yet.” She cocked her head up at him, silver eyes seeming to glow as she grinned up at him. “Your music holds too much hope, Damien. You want someone to come and show you that life has a purpose; you want someone to prove you wrong.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                 


         “No one can prove me wrong, Fatanah,” he sighed “and you know it.” He turned his back to her. “The only two who could change my mind are dead.”


         “Your mother isn’t dead, Damien.” Damien froze as her cold arms pressed around his waist.


         “No…” His voiced slightly trembled, “but she might as well be.” He stepped away from her.


         “Is that what you want, Damien?” Her soft voice turned into a menacing hiss. Damien whirled around, his eyes cold. He froze and fought to control his anger.


         “My mother,” he hissed “stays out of this.” Damien spun back around and stepped out, closing and locking the door as he headed back for his room. His hiss left resonating in the empty room.