MY LITTLE ANGEL

     I do not know why I was so fascinated with angels. Perhaps their large wings and beautiful demeanour was what attracted me but there had always been a feeling.

     A constant feeling that I was always being watched.

     I know it may sound a little crazy but I had always known they were watching. I had always felt their calming presence just like a towering light house. I even believe I had seen some while growing up.

     I remember I had drawings of multiple wings of different sizes and colours attached to strange large men littered all over my room. I had drawn them when I was five. My mother always asked me who those men were. She said she recalled me telling her their names, as well as their favourite hobbies, songs and stories. She always laughed it off concluding that I had been watching too much television at the time and was just artistic at heart but I know better now.

     As I grew older, I realised I was strangely good at basically everything. I had straight A’s in all my subjects, thrived brilliantly in sports despite my short lanky stature and was surrounded with wonderful friends. My high school life was perfect.

     Strangely perfect.

   I was not a Christian by religion but I remember the stories from the bible my grandmother always read to me. Fantasies… my mother called it but my grandmother was persistent as she sat beside my bed reading a scripture from the book on her laps.

     “But the angel of the LORD called out to him from heaven, ‘Abraham! Abraham!” … she would exclaim dramatically squeezing her white eyebrows. Her nose wrinkling in the process causing a slant to the glasses perched on her face.

     “Here ham I, Heere ham I” … I sang in reply.

     “Who taught you that Elizabeth?” …she gasped aloud and visibly shaken. I don’t blame her though; it was sure mother never owned a bible in the house.

     “Gwilead told me the stowy” … I replied in all honesty.

     I had never been tucked in bed faster than I have that night. She kissed my forehead and switched the lights off muttering a little goodnight before rushing out of the door. I would have been scared if I were in her shoes too. Her daughter was an atheist and her granddaughter talked to spirits. I never really saw much of my grandmother since that night.

     Well until the day of her funeral.

     It was a snowy November morning. Mother had asked me to get the orchid flowers she ordered from the florist. The news of her death had been unexpected. I remember mother’s voice quake and tremble ever so slightly as she relayed the news to me on phone.

     I was enrolled into a neighbouring college few minutes from town. After the flower pickup, I hurriedly got into my grey Toyota car ready for the drive back home. It was snowing heavily but driving under such conditions was normal to me.

     The road was silent and misty but still perfect to steer my way through. The car heater was on and I remember trying to tune into my favourite radio station when I heard a sharp noise. The noise was coming from the timer in my car or so I thought.

     A large truck carrying some tree logs was driving forward with full speed towards my direction. The driver must have noticed my dazed expression as he continued to honk and throw signs of a brake failure.

     I was involved in a car accident.

    The police reported my car flipped three times but strangely and miraculously, I was brought out with no scratch on my body. All I remember from that crash was the haunting timer in my car that read 11:11am. The strange number I constantly saw on repeat from that day.

     A constant reminder of my miracle.

     Why I was chosen is beyond me but the one certain thing is… I am grateful.

      “Grace…I will name her Grace” … I whisper smiling up to my husband.

     In the white hospital room numbered 111, I had just delivered my first child. My little girl… I smile cooingly cuddling her little body in my arms unknowing to the large wings sprouting out of my back.

     “My little angel” …

 

 Biography:

Olanipekun Ifeoluwa is an expression writer from Lagos State, therapy as she calls it. She is best known for writing short fiction which includes newly rising ‘The voice’ and recently published ‘Aura”. She is also known for writing non fiction on subjects ranging from personal challenges to academic topics. She is a Nigerian Undergraduate of Bowen University that enjoys art as well as woolly blankets and believes strongly in the strength of short women as herself.