Two Steps Behind by Helen

The girl wandered down the dark street, apparently oblivious to the widely held idea that teenage girls should not wander down back alleys in the middle of the night. With a sigh, I moved towards her, in silence. In general I move in silence. To those who are particularly sensitive to me and my kind, I am often glimpsed. I am often heard, in a soft flutter. But nobody ever thinks anything of me. I am a sound, a glimpse, which could be anything. I could be the flutter of a bird’s feather, a trick of the light. I could really be anything, anything at all.
But I am not. I am an angel. Well, in all fairness I am using the term “angel” rather loosely.  In fact I have many names. I can be known as a spirit guide, a ghost, a familiar. However, I am all of those and none at all. I simply keep a watchful eye over all of you pesky humans. It is a very diverting job, seeing the trouble you get yourselves into over trivial details. I have loved and I have hated my job, seen things nobody should see, and things that if everyone saw, would make the world a better place.
But that’s enough of my life story. Back to the girl. As I moved closer to her I began to hear her thoughts. The girl was shutting out the world, hiding behind the buzz of her earphones and a solemn face.  She was not oblivious to the dangers she was facing in her night time wanderings, she simply didn’t care. Because it had been such a long time since anyone had cared. But I am an angel. It is my job – no, deeper than that. It is my reason for existing to care. This girl, in particular I felt a strong connection to. With her pale skin and her eyes – which held a deep expression – she reminded me of another teenage girl I helped many years ago. Or perhaps it was more recently than that … time means little to my kind. Again I moved alongside her, two steps behind, and matching her pace exactly. At this distance, I could accurately read the tone of her mind. She was 15 years old and feeling supremely lonely. As I slowly started to tune out the musical buzz, I was reading her thoughts as clear as a bell.
“Why do I bother?” However hard I try, I’m still winding up all on my own again. I’m not pretty enough, I can never quite achieve what I want… maybe I should just give up.”
The tone of the girl’s mind was getting steadily darker as she moved along the dark street. I was picking up on deeper secrets, now and I could tell she was responding to my presence. This girl was one of the sensitive ones, deep inside. Had her talents been nurtured she would have heard me, maybe even seen me. Even as she was, she was responding to my presence, dredging up memories she would have never thought of under other circumstances. After around a minute – though I find human time keeping difficult to compare to the ethereal scale – I knew pretty much everything to know about the girl. I understood her anorexic tendencies, not fully-fledged, but ready to become out of control, her longing for a boy who (she believed) did not love her back – though my understanding of the situation told me differently. And I knew how worryingly close she was to doing something fairly drastic.
As I was deliberating over what advice to give this troubled young woman, I became aware of a more pressing issue. You see, it’s not just my kind who observes humans; there are many other beings, some good, some bad who wander the world. Beings in the mythology and day-to-day language of people, yet people would be downright shocked to discover these beings are never far away. I have met with death and found him not as unreasonable as people say. I have heard the whispers in the cemeteries and I have seen what is at the end of that clichéd tunnel of light – though it is not my job to tell. My point is, not all spirits are benign. And these types are skilled in the art of disguise.
That night, it was dark, the streets were badly lit, and it would be difficult to make out anyone’s face. But to an eye weathered by centuries of experience, it is not difficult to recognise the difference between ordinary shadows – the shadows of mere mortals – and the deep pools of darkness that reside behind the eyes of other beings. At the sight of three men, with hoods up, anyone’s danger radar would be alerted. But to one such as me, the sight was merely a distraction from the true form. I could hear the beings before I saw them. They utter dark murmurs, toxic to angels and humans alike – however angels have ways to guard against them.
I never fail to be amused by you humans, with your endearingly clueless natures. You wander about, literally believing that your race is the most important on Earth, senses dulled to the friends that walk beside you, the wonders that occur around you. You all warn and protect yourselves against each and every physical danger while dangers of a different nature go unheeded. And why? Because you fear that people will call you mad, or depressed, or some other neat little label. The human race is aware of my kind – of angels and demons and ghosts. Yet you rationalise us, and try to make us into figments of the imagination; symptoms on a prescription or the stuff of children’s stories.
The girl was in that fragile human state, picking up on the foul vibes emanating from the three “men”, but attributing it to her own mood, rather than recognising they were the cause of it. From walking two steps behind her, I deftly moved two steps in front. Shielding her with my body, and with my wings – I do indeed have wings. My kind have vibes of our own – we are, in essence, a consciousness so strong that our presence can be felt. At that moment, my presence was being felt by the beings at the end of the alley. A presence which was highly resented. Their toxic murmurs became more pronounced, as I braced myself against the waves of negativity that washed over me like nausea. My prime objective was to protect the girl. When I knew she was safe I could wander on, my wounds healing as I went.
The vibes intensified again and I trembled from the force, still holding my ground. Then, with blessed relief, the sick feeling ceased. For a moment I stood, observing the beings and being observed. Then, with one last short murmur, the shadowy figures turned and skulked away. The girl shared my relief as they left, though – human to the last – she had no idea why so many of her bad feelings had left with the distant beings.
In one sharp movement, I spun around, facing her now. I focused on making myself as visible to her as I could – as I have already mentioned, she was sensitive to my kind. She gave a little gasp. I had no way of knowing just how well she could see me, but it was obvious she knew I was there. Leaning forward, with a smile I whispered in her ear, “Go home. Run home, as quick as you can. A beautiful young girl like you shouldn’t be out on the streets at night.” She was responding, I felt a light warm wind as her mood brightened just a fraction, so I continued, “You are beautiful, my girl. Your parents love you. Your friends love you. Even people you’d never expect love you, in secret. And you know who else loves you? I do. My kind is always there, in the corners of your life, watching, helping and advising – though you may not always notice us.” 
I already knew this girl had a certain dormant talent. But what she did next was exceptional. She talked back. Since almost the dawn of humanity, I have wandered the world doing my job. To be spoken to by a human is a pleasure rare to me – the times it has actually happened could be counted on the fingers of one hand. But that was what the girl did.
“But who are you?” the thought was so strong it became the spoken word. For a split second I could see myself through the girl’s eyes. Dressed in black, pale feet bare and hardened from wandering the world so very long. I had wings, thick red feathers sprouting from my shoulders like stained glass in a church window.
“Angel?” the word in her head resounded with emotion, amazement, disbelief and something else… hope?
“You could call me that. But it’s better that you just think of me as a friend,” I whispered, wrapping arms and wings around her in an embrace only she could feel. I was warming her soul. In general I have found that when a soul is warmed, the body soon follows. Then I pulled away from her, turning to move to my next case, whoever they were. As I left, I could not help but turn and watch my young friend, running home, a smile on her face and in her heart, and laugh a little to myself.
But who am I? Doubtless you are still wondering. Alas, it’s in my job description to be enigmatic. If I were to tell you the infinite wisdom and oddity of the universe, you would not understand. Humans never cease to amaze me, always seeking answers, always rationalising. It is both a blessing – and a curse.
So I will say this. Though you will not know me, I will be there. Next time a random happy thought comes into your head. When immersed in a private grief you feel a comforting touch or hear a sweet lullaby while the room is empty. When a strange shiver runs up your spine, or you know a secret you could never have known…well, maybe it’s me.
Walking two steps behind.