The Angelic Conflict (Extended Published Version)

Untitled Part 23

THE GIRL reposes alone in her hospital room. Kuya Johnny, her assigned day-shift nurse, has just checked her dextrose and temperature and left. She lies still on the bed, watching the dancing blotches of sunlight on the ceiling. The smell of antiseptic calms her for some reason. Like chewing mint gum or something.

Her hands feel for and grip the blanket.

She cannot forget it.

The flash of light that swept over her and had seemed to deliver her from death.

The girl snatches the IV post and gradually lifts herself up to an erect position. The fresh wounds on her knees forbid her to stand up; so she remains seated as she reaches for the piece of paper on the bedside table.

The paper is half a sheet of a coupon bond, one length of a side jagged from the peeling, creased for it has been read a hundred times. The handwriting on it flowed messily— the ink of the pen even bleeding on the dots and tails of the letters— but the girl can tell that the letterer had tried to be full of care.

The girl rereads the message.

...I'm really sad that our meeting had to end so soon and in bad terms (I must've had some kind of human faith dilemma) so I left out of embarrassment. But what kind of an acquaintance would I be without leaving with proper goodbye? I went back to the café, and to my misfortune learned that you already left. I saw you ride a car, though. And sensing the guy you were with was a weirdo, I followed you on my motorcycle, hoping, too, that you wouldn't spot me...

The girl scans over the narration, skipping words she's already mastered by heart.

...the car you're riding in seems to stall, and the next thing I know, you're jumping out of it. A cargo truck is speeding down the street and going to hit you, and I swerved to the sidewalk and almost had myself killed. The battle was strong then, I could sense it. The angels around us are warring for our lives. All I could do then was to pray. For angels to be sent and save you. The cargo truck runs over you, and as I hasted to your aid, I knew my prayer for a miracle was heard and answered...

The girl looks up towards the ceiling, blinking once before looking back at the letter.

...I wanna fix things with you. If you would allow, I would like to see you again, and perhaps we can be friends...

Following the complimentary close of "Prayers" is a doodle of a smiley face and the boy's number. The last line holds his name, which she deems beautiful.

But what is she thinking?

The girl folds the piece of paper, and holds it to her chest as she lies down. She refused to speak with her father, yet she conversed with the medical staff. Kuya Johnny said she arrived at the hospital all bloody and unconscious, accompanied by a boy whom they thought was her boyfriend. When they learned he was a stranger, they did not know how she would get admitted. She did not have any identification on her. Good thing the boy found her aunt's school on the Internet and the hospital contacted her relatives. The boy was the one who called her father, though; that was why her father arrived to his homeland three days later.

P.s. I hope you don't mind that I accidentally found out your name, and maybe you'd let me not call you Random Girl anymore.

The girl watches the dancing lights. She hisses to herself, "Creep," but her grip of the letter only tightens and the smile on her lips would not steal away.