“Mother, Savannah isn’t feeling good and frankly neither am I. May we be excused?” Peter was unsure of his Mother’s response.
Mother hugged them both tightly and said, “Of course. Get some rest. I can’t promise we’ll keep it down but do your thing. Love you.”

Savannah followed Peter up the long staircase and down the hall. Peter reached up and pulled the ladder down to the attic. He let Savannah climb up first, following closely behind. He pulled the door closed and turned the lock, not wanting to be disturbed.

When Peter returned to where Savannah was standing, she was looking at a painting she had done weeks ago. A vast mural of sorts, with the defining features of an intimate look at an angel. Light resonated from his eyes. With sword drawn, his steely glowing blue muscles were tight and rippling. The terror that exuded from it gave one shivers and Peter reveled in it as he praised Savannah for creating such a piece.

She looked at Peter and said, “The visions I see… this is a portrait of a real, living angel. They are all around, Peter.”

Peter nodded as she moved the painting and moved the one behind it in front. This one depicted a massive fire on an orb in what looked like space, with many mini angels and mini monstrous demons. The two forces battled and beheaded one another, while saving souls from inside the flaming orb or planet. Its beauty was magnified only by its reality; it was a scene both had taken in or will, in the future. Such déjà vu could not be planned.

Savannah then placed a blank canvas to the side of this one. With dipped brush in hand, she began to put fierce strokes onto the canvas. Peter curled up on the worn in sofa mere feet from where she painted. His eyes became heavy and he smiled as he fell asleep, knowing that he would dream of her.

One year later, the night Savannah died…

Peter raced down the street toward the hospital, towing Savannah’s pregnant mother in the bike trailer, sweat pouring down his face. Savannah sped alongside on her own bike, not more than a meter apart.

As they rounded the corner on Maple Street, the hospital was in sight and their young legs picked up the pace. From out of nowhere, a tan Ford Mercury sideswiped Savannah, pinning her and her bike underneath the front axle.

Peter immediately stopped and watched the car continue driving at a high speed with sparks flying from under. All he could hear was the metal bike dragging and muffled screams from his most beloved friend.

The car then stopped. A man stepped out of the driver’s door. He spun around, stumbling as he walked. Peter recognized the man instantly. It was Savannah’s father.
Before anything had time to register, he made his way back into the car and sped away, leaving his daughters remains on the side of the street.

Orderlies came running from inside the hospital to restrain Savannah’s screaming mother and bring her inside to be induced. Peter ran to his dear Savannah’s aid but it was too late. He fell to his knees and wept, with the sound of sirens growing in the air.

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