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Caleb's window overlooked a cemetary. Usually he wouldn't have minded such a dreary view, but he was in a hospital room now and staring day after day at the rows of graves was beginning to make him feel even more hopeless. Even more like a corpse. The boy's nose pressed against the pane for a moment before his fingers fumbled to open the window. The air howled around him, ruffling his clothes and forcing tears out of his irritated eyes, and then settled, like a cat, into silence.

"You're not going to die. Yet." The angel, bored as usual, looked up from filing his nails. "How many times do I have to reassure you?"

"You aren't very reassuring." Caleb noted, his voice flat. He pulled back slightly, leaning deeper into his stack of pillows. Out of the corner of his eyes he could still see the slabs of grey stones. "You don't understand mortality."

The angel threw his nail filer toward's the trash can. It missed and landed dully on the floor. "Fuck you. I understand everything. I'm a god, you know. Go ahead, look at those damn headstones if you think they're so fucking special. They won't tell you anything."

Caleb's dark hair moved gently in the wind, the open window let a breeze as well as the rain into the stuffy room. His long fingers brushed a strand back into place and the angel inhaled sharply. Caleb pretended not to hear the noise. "They're pretty."

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