The Angel Boy

A boy was standing in the middle of the street. No one noticed him. No one ever did. He was like a snowflake landing to add itself to a never-ending pile. A pile that was large enough for no one to even wonder what the names of the snowflakes were. 

But the boy was so much more than just a snowflake. He had a thousand dreams, many desires, and a pair of wings. They spread around him, their white feathers almost glowing in the dark. He looked like an angel and still no one saw him. No one noticed how the tears streaking his cheeks were a bloody color and how his eyes were too blue to be human. He was so much more and still it wasn’t enough. 

Snowflakes were gently piling up in his dark hair. They fell from the night sky like he once did. Or once didn’t. He couldn’t even remember how he arrived in this world. His dreams were always filled with golden palaces and people too beautiful to even be looked at. But they were just dreams. Flying thoughts. Desires burning so brightly that they almost became real. He always woke up feeling like something was amiss and never knowing exactly what. 

Somewhere down the street, an old man began to play the piano. It was a piano that had always been there, in front of an abandoned building as if it waited for someone to bring it back to life. People often sat to play a few notes but the piano never let them make a sound. It wanted the right person, a person you waited for forever. A person who you thought would never come. A person that always did because that was where they belonged.

The boy could see people smiling when they heard the music. But none of them looked to see who was playing. It was the music that mattered. The results always came after so much work but no one wanted to see how hard it had been. It was so easy just to listen, dream for a few seconds, and then go back to the real world. The world where dreams were just dreams. Flying thoughts. Desires burning so brightly that they almost became real.

A shiver passed through the boy’s frozen body. He didn’t wear anything more than an old gray t-shirt, one that had been his for as long as he could remember. The cold couldn’t usually bite him or even touch him. The heat neither. He wasn’t used to feeling anything at all. 

“What’s your dream, boy?”

The boy looked at the old man at the piano for a long minute before he realized that the man was talking to him. For the first time in what felt like forever, someone was doing something more than passing by. 

“I have so many,” the boy answered. “It would take days for me to share them all.”

The old man patted the seat next to him and smiled. It was the kind of smile that could melt even the toughest heart. A smile that could change the world if people were to see it. 

“I have all the time in the world,” the old man said. “I will play for each dream you tell me. I will play until you can’t dream anymore.”

The boy sat next to the old man and noticed how expensive his suit was. His shirt itself must have costed a fortune, enough to feed a family for a few days. So many dreams were hiding in this suit. Gray pants with a matching jacket and a white shirt, all glowing with wealth.

“I can tell you one dream if you’re ready to listen,” the boy added. 

“I’m ready.”

And it was all it took: just someone to listen for the boy to realize that he wasn’t alone anymore. He had felt loneliness his entire life, not the loneliness of having no one to turn to. But the loneliness of feeling as if the world was hanging above your head and all you had to do was reach out to take it. But you never did because no one ever believed you could. 

“I once dreamed of finding love,” the boy said. “I saw her. I see her still in many of my dreams. She’s there, smiling and laughing and looking at me as if I’m the only person in the world. The only one that matters to her. Her eyes are full of stars and when I listen carefully, I can sometimes hear her sing. Her voice is so beautiful it makes me cry sometimes.”

Another bloody tear had fallen down the boy’s face. 

“How old are you?” the old man asked. 

“I don’t know. Old enough to feel the weight of the world on my shoulders but young enough to not be able to do anything about it,” the boy answered. 

The old man’s long fingers touched the piano’s keys and he started to play. The music was the girl’s laugh and yet the boy could hear her cry between the notes. It was a thousand dreams crushed by one reality. It was the sun setting on an endless sea. A wind blowing between high trees. It was freedom and love. 

It stopped too soon. 

The old man smiled. “What is your second dream?”

“Why do you care so much?” the boy replied. “I don’t even know who you are.”

The old man’s hair was as white as the snow and yet the boy could see every snowflake resting on his head. He wondered what their names were. 

“All you have to know is that my life is ruined. I don’t have anything left to live for. I threw it all away and now no one even looks at me now. To the eyes of the world, I’m rich and happy and successful. But the world doesn’t know that I lack so many things.”

The boy frowned. “Why don’t you try to change that?”

“Because it’s too late for me. But I can change that for you. Open your eyes, boy. Don’t try to take over the world. Try to take over your life first.”

The boys bit back a laugh. The old man was so dead on the inside and so alive on the outside. Even the boy couldn’t decide if he was real or if it was yet another dream. 

“I don’t have a life to take over.” the boy replied. 

“Why not? You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I am. I’m here to take you with me.”

The old man looked once again at the boy and something inside him broke. Maybe he saw the wings for the first time or he just finally understood who that strange boy was.

It was the same boy that had visited his dreams a few years before. The boy who always asked him the same question: what is your dream? The old man had always answered that he wanted to be happy. He never got there. 

“You’re him.” the old man said. “You’re the boy I could have had.”

“Maybe. Or it might all be just a tragically beautiful dream. A flying thought. A desire burning so brightly that it almost became real.”