My only hope is that I don’t hear that awful word.

My only wish is that they don’t take him from me, from this world.

I watch the judge looking intently at Antonio, then his lawyer.

My heart is beating so loudly, that I barley hear the judge call a recess.

I leave the courtroom and wait outside for Antonio, trying desperately to find him.

I feel his arms around me before I even realize it’s him.

He gently lets go.

“I told you not to come.″ His deep green eyes flicker away.

“Of course I was gonna come.″

″Arabella...″

His eyes rise and meet mine.

“Yes?″ I say softly.

“I don’t want you to be there when they...″

His eyes fall back down.

“They aren’t taking you away.″

“Belle, you have to be ready.″

“No, no. I won’t let that happen. I won’t let them take you away.″ I shake my head, furiously.

He takes my hand and kisses it softly.

The hard chairs in the courtroom hurt my back. And my head.

Maybe it’s not the chairs.

The trial goes on.

The prosecutor stands up and points to a picture, which is standing beside the witness stand, of a knife covered in blood.

“Antonio Vasquez killed Meredith Kleif with this weapon.″

Antonio stares blankly at the picture.

“Isn’t that right, Antonio?″ The prosecutor taunts him.

He doesn’t flinch as the prosecutor rips him apart in front of an audience.

My heartbeat is loud in my ears again, ringing is also prominent.

The trial feels agonizingly long.

Eventually, the judge calls for the jury’s verdict.

A short woman stands up and I see her hand shaking as she holds the paper in front of her chest.

My heartbeat accelerates, but I force my ears to listen, until all I hear is her shaky voice, even now, unsure of what she is saying.

“For the charge of aggravated assault, we, the jury, find the defendant, Antonio Miguel Vaquez,″ She roughly swallows. “guilty.″

My heartbeat speeds up, the ringing comes back.

I don’t hear everything she says.

The ringing subsides.

Her voice is so shaky by now, that it’s barely audible.

“For the charge of murder in the first degree, we, the jury, find the defendant, Antonio Miguel Vasquez,″ Her eyes meet mine, her eyes fill with tears. “guilty.″

The tears are hot against my face.

I drop off of my chair and I’m curled in the aisle, sobbing.

I sit up and scream. “He’s not guilty! He’s innocent! You monsters...you..you’re taking him-″

A security guard picks me up and pulls me out of the room.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t- don’t...don’t..″ My voice falls away and I fall on the floor.

I slam the floor with my fist, until I feel too weak to continue.

“It’s- it’s okay.″ The security guard says hesitantly.

“You’ll take him away.″

“He’s...″ He was about to say that awful word, guilty.

He knows better than that.

“I-I wanna hear his sentence.″

The man nods softly. “You can’t act out like that again.″

I nod, reluctantly.

We walk back into the room, quietly and catch the end of his sentence.

The judge’s voice is rough. “In the state of Arizona, the defendant must be over fourteen years of age to receive the death penalty and the defendant is seventeen years old. In the state of Arizona, the victim of the killer must have been under fifteen years of age or over seventy for the defendant to receive the death penalty. Meredith Kleif was fourteen years old. For the murder in the first degree of Meredith Kleif, Antonio Miguel Vasquez shall be put to death.″

I feet the punch as hard as anything.

I fall to the floor.

I am dimly aware of the security guard behind me.

I scream and sob.

Antonio’s black hair softly falls in front of his face as he turns to look at me.

Pain ripples through his dark green eyes.

He didn’t do this.

My tears fall silently as our eyes are locked.

A security guard pulls him out of the room and his head is ripped away from me.

I push the guard out of the way. Before I leave, I whip around and meet the judge’s eyes.

I want him to see my pain.

I want it to hit him.

I want him to feel guilt.

His eyes soften and he tears his eyes away.

I run out of the room.

I look down the long hall and see Antonio.

I push past everyone and run to him.

I wrap my arms around him and feel the soft fabric of his bulky, black sweater under my wet face as I nuzzle my head into his shoulder.

His hands ruffle through my hair.

The security guard isn’t a good one and only notices me now.

“Hey!!″ He pulls me off.

I bang on the guard’s chest and sob.

“Don’t take him! Don’t! No..no...no″

The guard pushes me away.

“He’s guilty.″ The guard scowls and takes him away.

Antonio’s eyes flicker back to me and I see the torment in his eyes and I know he sees it in mine too.

Seven months later

Antonio received one of the shortest periods of time on the death row in history.

A mere seven months later, it is now that day. That torturous, agonizing, horrible day that no one should ever have to experience.

I walk into the room, dressed in black.

Antonio is already sitting in the other room, across the glass.

He lost all of his family the year before and had been living alone ever since.

Prison is a different type of alone. It’s the alone that means no one wants to go near you, because they fear you. They see you as a monster, which he isn’t.

He looks up gently when he sees me enter.

His eyes are tormented with pain when we lock eyes.

Tears flow steadily from me.

He watches me and tears form in his eyes.

His face is already red, he must have been crying steadily for days and who wouldn’t be?

He was falsely accused and now he is dying for it.

He would never do that. He would never kill.

The tears fall and I watch as a tear hits his hand.

His hand crumples under the pressure of the wet drop, the visible sign of hurt.

His lips twitch. He tries to contain his tears, but his head falls into his hands and he weeps.

We weep together. Separated, but together.

I gaze in horror as they strap him to the bed. Those horrible monsters.

A woman dressed like a surgeon reaches for a large needle.

She injects him with morphine and a sedative.

She reaches for a smaller needle, but with a sharper point.

My body shakes.

The pain is uncontrollable, much too hard to explain, to put into words.

She pushes it into his skin roughly, with no empathy for a fellow human, for a child.

My heart beats heavily.

My throat burns.

My stomach turns.

I feel sick.

Antonio’s body starts to shake.

He starts to fight against the buckles holding him down.

Five minutes and thirty nine seconds.

That’s how long I had to watch that.

Antonio’s dark, deep set, green eyes struggle to reach me.

He tries to mouth something but his lips are twitching crazily and he’s almost gone.

His eyes carry love, pain, tears, but no hatred. No hatred for the people who plunged needles into his skin.

My head hurts, it’s a pounding pain.

My hand reaches to the glass and rests softly.

His eyelids start to close and he tries to lift his hand to mine.

His efforts cease and his hand falls, along with his eyelids.

His lungs give way.

His brain goes numb.

I weep.

I bang on the glass.

“Antonio!! No! No!!” My screams echo through the room. “Come back! Don’t leave me!″

My hand slids down the glass as I fall softly to the hard, cold floor.

The prosecutor is in there with me.

His eyes are stained with a guilt that I know will never leave him.

My body shakes and my breathing is rugged.

I struggle to find breath at all.

Hours later, they wheel his coffin out of the building and I run to it.

I place my hands on the coffin and they shake steadily.

“Arabella means ‘yielding to prayer’. I ask God that you may rest now. You’ll be happier in Heaven, with the rest of your family. I’ll see you there one day, my love.″ My voice cracks and falls away.

The coffin carriers look at me with deep sympathy.

The only thing I feel when I hear his name, Antonio, is pain.

And years later, when they convict someone else for the murder of Meredith Kleif, it hurts all the same.

Soft trickle.

Wine down his soft beard.

Wine bottle sitting atop the table.

Empty. With four others.

The soft drink which people use to forget their troubles.

Only used to the drinker's advantage or not.

But truly, never wanted.

The soft drink strikes similarity to my soft words.

Only used when there is no one else to turn to.

Or not.

But truly, never wanted.

Wine fills his mouth, until he's gulping.

Gulping for the wine, gulping for my words.

My voice cuts out, the wine ends.

The bottle and I are left unwanted,

he is gone.

Alec walked swiftly down the street, dodging the people around him.

He carried a paper bag filled with a loaf of bread and a glass container of milk.

The only thought that kept him going was the thought of his little sister. Merely six years old and fourteen years younger than him, it was his duty to protect her.

He thought of her laying in bed, coughing, infused with sickness. Every time he saw her eyelids start to close, he prayed that it wouldn't be the last time she would take a breath.

He was now standing in front of a small apartment building. He rushed inside and ran up the stairs to the third floor. He unlocked the apartment door and ran in.

"Ellie! I'm back.'' Alec said.

He didn't hear a response.

"Ellie! Ellie!'' He ran into his sister's room.

Ellie's big, round eyes looked up at him, wearily. "Yes, Al?''

Alec's heart beat fast but with relief.

"Oh, nothing. I'll get you food right away.''

"I don't feel so well.'' Ellie coughed.

"You probably just need food.''

Ellie tilted her head in doubt, but nodded slowly.

He rushed out of the room and cut her a piece of bread and poured her a glass of milk.

"Alright, maybe we should go to the movies, eh?'' Alec's British accent rang through the apartment as he walked into Ellie's room.

He looked down at Ellie. Her eyes were closed now. He set down the plate and glass and listened for her breathing.

The world was quiet. Too quiet.

His heart filled with lead and he watched his sister. She wasn't breathing.

He fell to the floor and sobbed.

This was the moment he feared.

Now the only thing he heard was the taunting screams of loneliness piercing his heart.

His eyes flickered with deep hatred and each word he spoke hit me like a stone.

I prayed that God would help this man, but alas, the man’s free will was being used for the wrong thing.

Michael stomped into his room and slammed the door.

I followed, as that was my job as his Guardian Angel.

Michael sat on his bed and held his head in his hands and cried softly.

I felt utter pity for this man. He had nothing to follow, nothing to believe in and he felt a lack of purpose. He turned to anger often and he complained about every little thing, but he was hurt on the inside.

I needed to help him, it was my job to protect him.

He was eighteen years old and yet his life had fallen apart.

He had grown up Catholic, but had drifted after his father died.

Everyday, he ignored God and that’s what stung the most, him pretending that God didn’t exist.

As angels, all we want is for people to turn to God. When God’s wishes are fulfilled, we are all happy. This man was not fulfilling God’s wishes, so we were weeping for this young man.

I knew that he had a prayer card to Saint Thomas Aquinas in his closet and I wanted him to pray to the great saint.

I prayed to the Holy Spirit and guided the boy to the closet. He couldn’t see me, but God works in marvellous ways and I do have the ability to inspire people to do certain things.

Michael got off of his bed and walked into his closet. His hand brushed over the books which rested in his bookshelf. He reached behind a book and pulled out a prayer card to Saint Thomas Aquinas.

I thanked God.

He read the prayer out loud and I watched as the tears continued to stream, heavier now.

Something had hit him.

He wiped his tears and sat down at his desk. He opened his laptop and looked up Saint Thomas Aquinas.

He carefully read the biography of the saint.

He clicked on an article that read “5 ways of Saint Thomas Aquinas- Proving that God Must Exist″.

He read the first paragraph out loud.

His voice rough, still shaky from the crying. “The first way of Saint Thomas Aquinas is the argument of motion. The argument states that anything in motion must have been put in motion. To elaborate, when things move, they move from potential motion to actual motion, but only something in actual motion can move something in potential motion to actual motion. If this is confusing, let’s use an analogy. If Bob is holding a ball above the floor, the ball is in potential motion, because it has the potential to be thrown and be set in motion. As soon as Bob throws that ball, it is in actual motion. Bob could only throw the ball because he is in actual motion. The ball could not have been in potential motion and actual motion, in other words, it could not have set itself in motion. Meaning that everything needs something that moved it, but we cannot go on for infinity this way. There must have been a First Mover, Someone who did not need to be set in motion, this Being must be greater and must be God.″

Michael leaned back in his chair and exhaled softly.

He abruptly shot up and continued reading.

“The second way of Saint Thomas Aquinas is the Argument of Efficent Causes. This argument states that everything has a cause and an effect. For example, you being born is the effect of your parents conceiving a child, which is the cause and them being born is the effect of other people conceiving a child and we can trace back to the very first set of parents this way, but when thinking of those first set of parents, we must recognize that they could not have been their own cause and effect, because, everything needs a cause and effect. Humans’ existence, cows’ existence, even the sound of music needs a cause, which is someone playing an instrument or singing, but if we take away that cause, there is no effect. The first set of parents could not have been their own cause, meaning something else must have been their cause. Something that did not need to be the effect of something else, cause It’s a Greater Being, that Being is God.″

Michael’s eyes scanned the screen furiously.

“The third way is the Argument of Possibilty and Necessity. To understand this argument, we should look at an analogy. Let’s say that Sandy wants to make a cake, it is possible for her to make a cake, but to make a cake, butter, milk, flour, etc. are all necessary. Looking at milk for an example; it is possible for milk to exist, but it necessary to have a cow. That cow is possible, but it is necessary to have another cow, so that cow can exist and all the way back to the very first cow. Each cow was possible and yet necessary for another cow’s existence. But about about the very first cow? It was possible and yet it has nothing before it. That means that there must have been a Something that was possible and necessary, did not rely on another’s existence for their own existence. We know that that Something is not the cow! That Something is a Greater Being, God.″

Michael breathed heavily.

“The fourth way of Saint Thomas Aquinas is the Argument of Degrees of Perfection. We all know that there is good, better and best, but how do we even have those? We would need Something to compare our goodness off of and Something that gave us our goodness. For where does goodness come from? And how do we know if we are truly good? There must be a perfect Being, one which naturally gives us goodness when He creates us, this Being is, of course, God.″

Michael’s eyes were filled with tears now, either from the bright light of the screen or cause he was starting to realize.

“The fifth way is the Argument of Design. Let’s jump right into an analogy. Let’s say that Gillian is shooting an arrow. The arrow’s target is a board fifty feet away. Gillian shoots the arrow and it perfectly hits the board. How did the arrow reach its target? Well, of course we know that the arrow does not have intelligence, so could not have reached the target by itself. No, it was because Gillian shot the arrow, cause Gillian has intelligence. So now we know that nothing with intelligence can reach a target and therefore, be intelligent. It’s quite impossible. But what about something like the planets? How do they orbit perfectly and so intelligently if they have absolutely no intelligence? There must be Something which directs those planets to their targets, this Being must be the most Intelligent. This Being must be God.″

Michael closed his laptop and laid in his bed. He cried softly.

He got up and prayed the Saint Thomas Aquinas prayer.

He left the room and walked out of the door and down the street.

He look a right. He was running now.

A few minutes later, he stopped in front of a beautiful building, with a cross sitting on top, a Church.

I immediately felt the presence of Christ from the Eucharist sitting in the tabernacle on the altar.

We went inside and I went straight to the altar to greet and praise the Lord.

I rejoiced.

I thanked Him for helping Michael.

I knew that there was something else to be done.

I left the altar and went to the back of the Church.

Michael, sitting in a pew near the front, saw a man standing in front of him, a priest.

“Michael..″ The man softly looked into Michael’s eys and smiled kindly.

“Father, hello.″ Michael’s voice still shook.

“As Catholics, it is our duty to repent when we sin, when we turn away from God. It’s not too late, Michael. Repent and go to the Eucharist. You’ve received First Communion, Confirmation, Baptism; fulfill those promises you made.″

The priest leaned in close to Michael and said. “He still loves you, He never stopped.″

The priest turned and left and I returned to the altar, for I was the priest. Angels could appear as someone else, for times like this.

Michael held his head in his hands and sobbed. He knew that God still loved Him, but it felt genuine to hear it from someone else.

Four years later, we all welcomed Michael into Heaven. He died a martyr and we all rejoiced for His choice of God over evil. He died young, but it was an utterly happy death.