The last…

Translation — Alisa Zaitseva 
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Beautifully swirling in the light of lanterns, snow was falling and falling, covering autumn mud with a pure white blanket.

— Mom, look! It’s snowing.

A skinny little girl was pointing at the window with her thin hand. Behind her there was a hanging drip tube filled with yellowish liquid in a third.

No answer followed and the girl turned around. Her mother has fallen asleep, awkwardly leaning against a hospital chair’s backrest.

— You can’t see it… — whispered the girl sadly and turned back to the window again.

— You used to say that snowflakes are frozen tears of the angels, remember? They look at people’s misfortunes and cry. In winter they turn into snow… — she continued pensively and got into coughing fit.

Her mother jumped up immediately and, habitually grabbing an inhaler, reached for the daughter.

— Breathe in, one more time. Is it better now? — she asked, peering into child’s face anxiously.

— Yeah, fine… — came out her mouth through wheezing.

Respiratory was restored and little by little her breathing returned to normal…  until next seizure. Such seizures were occuring more and more often. The disease was growing stronger every day while its little victim was becoming weaker and weaker.

Doctors had no idea how to stop the destructive process and now were trying a new one, perhaps the last possible treatment scheme.

Mother kissed her daughter on the top of her head and secretly brushed away her own tears. They’ll get through this, for sure.

Angel indeed was crying, except no one could see his tears. Invisible, he was standing beside the bed on which the girl was lying on. He knew that he was of no help. Her life was fading, and even he cannot give her strength to fight illness. What was needed was a miracle, but… He didn’t forget what the Superior used to say.

— Always remember that you cannot help everyone. Give strength, inspire hope, imbue with positivity, grant pleasant dreams. Don’t strive to constantly work wonders. There are too few of you and many need you. You live as long as you can fly, and as long as there are still feathers remaining on your wings.

Angel shaked his wings covered in white fluff.

— As long as there are any feathers left… — he whispered.

The child got into coughing fit again, this time an even worse one, and was unable to stop for a long while. Angel was looking at how the mother was fussily running around, not really helping, but easing the girl’s condition just slightly. He wasn’t crying anymore, he knew that the miracle would help…

He lifted his wing at the end of which there was one pen-feather remaining and stroked it, smiling sadly. A sharp hand movement, and a long grayish-blue feather slowly fell onto the tiled floor.

***

— Your daughter is completely cured. It’s inexplicable, a real miracle.

An elderly doctor splayed his hands, unable to explain what had happened.

The girl’s mother burst into tears of relief.

While walking down the hall to the hospital room in which her daughter was lying, she stopped by the window. With her fingertips she touched a long rough feather lying inside her blouse’s pocket.

— I am so grateful to you! Thank you for this miracle! — she said, looking into the sky.

She didn’t know that the angel couldn’t hear her anymore.