The Angel Will Die.

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He saw her lying there on the ground. By looking at the thin layer of snow that covered her, she seemed to have been lying there for maybe a night.
He stepped closer and checked for a pulse. There was nothing. He sighed. She had been lying out here in the cold for an entire night and not one person had cared enough to inform the hospital.

He sat down beside her and saw a box of pills. Sleeping pills. He knew it, this wasn’t accidental. He sighed again and hung his head. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected

He knew her for a long time. Her parents died when she was 16, and she was left on the streets with no other family. To prevent dying of starvation, she became something she simply despised. It was a nasty job, a job that made her sick to her stomach. But it paid fairly well.
She had a pretty face, like one of an angel. Her features were sharp and striking. She thought to use this to her advantage.

She became a prostitute.

She was poor and lived in a shabby old apartment whose rent she could barely afford. At night, she dressed in the least of clothes and stood in the way of lonely men driving home in the dark nights. She would lean into their door, offer them something they so desperately desired, and get into their car. She would reach a hotel, start taking of his clothes and sell her love to strangers every night. They paid her well. But with every stranger that saw her, she lost a piece of herself.
If you saw her in the day on the streets, you would never guess she was a hooker. She would dress in simple clothes, and she would look sad, disappointed. That’s when he met her. He looked at her eyes and instantly found something missing.
He talked to her, he became close to her, he became her first friend who wasn’t looking for sex in exchange for money.

She was grateful to have him.

She told him who she was, and how badly she didn’t want to be that person. She told him how she had no choice but to do what she did. She was so poor that she couldn’t even afford a phone. At 22 with no work experience, no one would employ her. And as if that wasn’t enough more and more people started identifying her as a prostitute, which made life harder than it already was.

He listened gravely, and told her he would protect her from everything he could.
He would follow the cars of the strange men she engaged. He would wait for a few hours until she came out, usually with a handful of money and tears streaming down her face. He would hug her and tell her it’s okay. That one day, she will be free from this.

Now she was, he thought.

But after a few months, he started noticing a few changes in her. Her face seemed to be crumbling, and her body language less appealing to those who bought her. She started going out lesser and lesser, until one day in winter, she stopped.
She stopped talking to him, and he started suspecting what she was thinking about. But he never thought she’d do it.

People asked him why his ‘hooker’ friend wasn’t available anymore, and he would simply shrug and say “because its too cold for angels like her to fly”.

But now, the angel with the pretty face was lying in front of him, dead and covered in snow. He knew her. He knew she died hoping for a better life. He wanted her to have a better life. She didn’t deserve to be forced to do what she did. She didn’t deserve to cry every time she got money. She didn’t deserve to see herself as shallow. And because of this, he let himself believe that maybe now, she has another chance. Maybe death has opened new doors for her.

He sat next to her lifeless body as a single tear fell down his face. He bent over and planted a kiss on her forehead.
“Hope you have a better life” he whispered, before scooping her cold body up and taking her to the morgue.

 

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