Date: Wed, 18 Apr 2012 12:25:26 -0600 From: Michael king Subject: Bed Ridden Angel Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. If you should not be here please vacate as I don't wish you to have problems. The character and events do not exist. If you are looking for story full of sex this is not it. This work is copy written and solely owned by me BED RIDDEN ANGEL I never wanted to be sick, or to be stuck in a bed with people sticking needles in me all the time, but here I was in a room with three others, all of us wishing we could be outside. The room I was in had a warm feel to it, the walls painted in friendly colors. The large window looked out over the backyard, we could see the swings, the slides and even the large tree that we could climb on, but I was too sick to be out there. There was a time when I was happy, when I went swimming or played with my friends. By early spring I started getting tired. I was always out of breath, now I know why. I was sick. I had gone through tests the doctors gave, with needles and other things and now here I am stuck in bed and I was not happy about it. The four of us that shared the room, had been in the hospital for about three weeks when the old story teller came shuffling in. His long grey hair hung over his shoulders and his eyes they seemed to sparkle with amusement. His long fingers seemed to caress the book that he was holding as he moved to a comfortable chair. His voice when he spoke had a joy to it, and had a way of holding your attention. His words were kind and gentle. He told us all who he was and why he was there, which made us all smile. That first day, he read us a few short stories that all had happy endings. The stories also gave us a sense of hope, a sense that things would get better. The four of us enjoyed the few hours he spent with us and just before he left I had asked if he was going to come back. When he said he would be back the next day with new stories made us all smile. That night I dreamed of dragons and sail boats, angels with magic, but I also dreamed that I was happy and once more running through fields of clover. A better sleep I haven't had since I first found out I was sick, it was like his stories were filled with magic, with something that made me feel good. I wanted to be the person, guiding the boat across the oceans, or laying back as my dragon flew through the clouds and over the mountains, but I knew that was just my dreams. I also knew that the nurses would be back with the needles, or the meals that left you hungry. Over the next two weeks the old story teller came by every day, sharing his time and stories, and every time he left we always felt better, and my dreams always left me smiling when I woke the next morning. Now it is the start of the sixth week and almost time for me to go home. The doctors had done all they could and now it was up to me. The day before I was to go home, the story teller read us all a new story he had written called to touch heaven. I cried, I laughed, and in a way I felt that the story was about me, about my dreams and wishes. When he described the tree and the house, it was like he knew all about the farm I lived on. That night I dreamed of the tree and climbing to the top, of reaching up and touching the clouds and flying on wings of angels. I woke the next morning, happy to be going home, but sad I would be leaving the friends I had made, but mostly I would be missing the old story teller and his stories. The first few days I was home I stayed close to the house, afraid that I would tire out and not be able to rest. I also spent time staring at the tree, wondering if it would lead me to my dreams. If I climbed through those branches and up to the top would I be able to touch the clouds. To Touch Heaven: Sunlight filtered through the branches of the old gnarled fir tree That stood in the far corner of our back yard. The branches were thick and twisted, and reached far into the sky. The tree had stood in the corner for so long that to see the top one almost had to lay flat on the ground. Not far from this tree stood our house, the white paint was cracked with age, but it was warm. The roof had been replaced during the spring and was still a bright red, a typical farm house. Today when I woke I knew that I was going to climb that tree, I was going to touch the heavens. I had never climbed the tree because I was scared, but what was I scared of, was it the tree, the birds or squirrels or was I just scared I was going to fall, to me it didn't matter for I had to face this, I had to go out and touch the heavens, but why, what was it that made me want to do this? I wasn't overly tall, in fact I only stood four and a half feet, I was skinny, pale and sickly, but that never stopped me from helping around the yard. My mom and dad always said I was good, but today I was going too disappoint them. I had just eaten lunch and now I was standing as the base of the tree, the rough bark showed cracks and crags, some deep enough that my fingers could barely reach the bottom, but That wasn't was I was there, I was there to climb this tree, be able to touch the heavens. Jumping I grabbed the first branch and started to pull myself up, my little muscles aching and burning with the effort of pulling my legs up and wrapping then around the limb. Finally I was sitting on the branch, looking up I couldn't see the sky, but I knew it was there. I could feel my body trembling with fear as I slowly stood, balancing and reaching towards the next branch. I didn't look down; for I knew if I did I would stop and leave the tree. Branch by branch I climbed the rough bark rubbing against my jeans and shirt. The higher I went the smaller the branches got and the smaller the trunk became. Holding on to a branch I lifted my head, my eyes searching for the heavens that I knew were waiting for me. I could see patches of blue. Again I started climbing and still the branches got smaller some looking like a toothpick, but I didn't stop, so far I had beaten my fears I had learned to not be scared. There I could see the heavens; the branches no longer hid that which I was looking for. Turning my head I could see our house, it looked like a small toy and my mom who was out hanging the laundry looked like an ant scurrying around. Oh I know she would have a fit if she saw me up here, so I didn't yell or anything I just kept climbing. I had reached the top; I had made it, now I could just reach up. I was smiling and my little heart was racing For a long time I stood there my little arms holding onto the old tree as I looked all around. I could see for miles, the lake shimmered in the distances and the mountains looked like I could touch their peaks. Birds and planes flew over my head and puffy white clouds danced on the wind. Now the time had come, reaching up I touched the heavens, I was floating with the clouds. Comments welcome. Flames ignored. Contact me at thewriter1@live.ca. Also watch for a new story coming soon.