I.
I walked outside in the cool, damp morning. On the deck, I stretched, trying to ease the pain in my 
back from an old injury. I sipped my coffee as my old dog Ralphy wandered into the yard. He did his 
business and harassed the chickens. My house sat on an acre of land. I kept a small garden, though 
my wife had kept it better. The chickens roamed in the fenced yard. It was against city rules, but my 
wife had wanted them.
I had eight hens, all about a year old, except for Mabel. She was at the end of her egg-laying years. 
Mabel got on my nerves, but I couldn’t harm her. When she looked at me with that disdainful 
expression, it felt like I’d be sending a beloved aunt to the chopping block.
This year, Mabel sneaked away and built a nest in the blackberry thicket in the corner of the yard. I 
watched her from the window because she was too clever to be followed. When I made my way 
through the brambles, she was sitting on nine eggs. I figured I was two weeks late. I was ready to 
take the eggs, knowing they couldn’t be fertile, but one was different.
It was deep blue, almost transparent, with tiny flecks of light inside, like the first stars in the evening 
sky. It was the same size as Mabel’s other eggs, but what was inside was like nothing I’d ever seen.
I put the egg back under Mabel and took away the others. She was only mildly annoyed. I cracked 
them open to be sure—they were rotten. I took them with me back to the deck and finished my 
coffee.
For ten days, I watched the blue egg. Something mysterious grew inside. Then the angel broke the 
shell clean in two. I wished I’d seen her break out, but when I checked, she was already out. She 
poked her head through Mabel’s feathers, smiled sleepily, and snuggled back into the warmth. I 
collected the broken shell and left the nest.
The evening she broke out, I started worrying about rats and predators—something I should have 
thought of sooner. I set up a box in the kitchen and brought Mabel and the angel inside.
Three days after hatching, the angel was three inches tall. She was covered in ivory-colored down, 
except for her head, hands, and maybe the soles of her feet. The down on her head was different, 
like human hair. Her skin glowed softly, pink like the inside of seashells. Above her lower back were 
two small stubs, covered with dull tissue, and between them, a faint ridge. Her eyes were jade 
green.
My old dog Ralphy lay calmly in front of the box. The angel poked her head out from under Mabel’s 
feathers and giggled. I smiled and thought, ‘I’m no longer lonely.’ As if she heard me, her expression 
shifted from laughter to a thoughtful, friendly one.
Ralphy and Mabel always got along. Ralphy wasn’t bothered by the angel, so I had no worries 
leaving them together.

II.
I brought a cot into the kitchen to be near them. I made a simple supper, bratwurst and mac and 
cheese. When I finished, I saw the angel on the edge of the box, waving at me. She pointed at 
herself and then at the table. I didn’t want to grab her, so I held out my hand flat, and she climbed 
onto my palm. Mabel looked ready to fuss, but the angel glanced at her, and she settled down. 
Mabel stayed watchful but wasn’t alarmed.
The tabletop was cold, and she shivered when I set her down. I folded a towel, and she sat on it.
She communicated through images. I became a moving vision, without eyes or body. While my 
mind sacamillaw the images, I knew my body was still at the kitchen table. If someone had walked 
in or there’d been a noise outside, I would have known.
I saw a valley unlike anything on Earth. The grass was green, and the river below was a blue and 
silver thread glistening in the sunlight. Some trees looked like pines and maples. The mountains on 
either side rose to incredible heights. Their colors—snowy white, rose, amber, gold—were unlike 
any I’d seen. The amber tint was something I’d never noticed on mountains at midday. The scene 
filled me with awe, a sense of being in a familiar place, but it wasn’t on Earth.
I watched two beings from that world fly into a sunlit field where my vision had taken me. They were 
adult versions of my angel. Both were male, and one had dark skin. The dark-skinned one was old. 
His face was deeply wrinkled, yet calm and wise. His down was reddish-tawny. The other was young 
and energetic, with ivory down and hints of orange. Their wings were like membranes, more 
iridescent than dragonfly wings, rippling with changing colors as they moved.
The two angels sat on the grass, communicating. Their lips barely moved. They nodded and smiled, 
sometimes using their hands to illustrate.
A rabbit hopped past them. It was the size of a common wild rabbit, but next to the angels, it 
seemed giant. Later, a blue-green snake, three times their size, slithered through the grass. The 
older angel stroked its head without interrupting the conversation.
Another creature, more monstrous, approached with slow, deliberate steps. Despite its size, the 
angels felt no fear. It stood eight feet tall and was green. It had a thick tail for balance and enormous 
legs. The upper body was thick and square. The arms and hands were humanoid. The head was 
round and human-like. It had a single nostril and a mouth stretched in a smile. The giant’s single eye 
was large and gentle.
He carried two tools, a rake and a garden spade. The angels stopped the creature, and they had a 
conversation. The giant nodded in agreement. The young angel must have made a joke because a 
deep rumble, like laughter, came from the giant’s chest. The giant moved into the field, used the 
spade to turn up the grass, and then smoothed the surface with the rake. It moved with the ease of 
someone whose strength far exceeded the task.
I found myself back in my kitchen, seeing with my regular eyes. My angel was exploring the table. 
She picked up a breadcrumb and nibbled on it. It was foolish of me not to realize she’d be hungry. I 
offered her a strawberry from my garden, and she seemed to enjoy it. She finished the crumbs from 
the cake I had for dessert. She watched curiously as I drank my wine, so I put a couple of drops on a 
spoon and handed it to her. She tasted it, enjoyed it, and even patted her tiny stomach with a 
chuckle.
She stepped closer and motioned for me to lower my head. She reached up and pressed both 
hands against my forehead. I barely felt her touch. Pictures came to my mind, though it was 
difficult. She was trying to convey something complex. I only understood three words: recruiting, 
collecting, and saving. The meaning of her message lay somewhere in the center of those words.
I sensed that she was trying to explain her mission to my world. She looked tired when she stepped 
away. I held out my hand, and she climbed into it so I could carry her back to the nest. Later, she 
emerged from Mabel’s feathers to show me her wing stubs. The protective sheaths had fallen off, 
and the wings were developing quickly. Then she returned to the warmth of the nest. Mabel must 
have been exhausted too. She hadn’t left the nest more than twice since I brought them inside.

III.
I worked in the garden while Ralphy lounged in the sun. Something pulled me back into the house. 
Before I opened the door, I saw her through the screen. One of her tiny feet was caught in a loop of 
loose wire where the mesh had broken. Her first panicked tug had tightened it, trapping her.
I rushed in, heart pounding, and cut the wire with shears. The angel freed her foot without injury. 
Mabel had been in a frenzy, her feathers puffed up. The angel flew down to reassure her, placing a 
hand on either side of Mabel’s scraggy comb. Mabel immediately relaxed.
Then the angel flew up and hovered before my face, pressing her tiny hands on my forehead. ‘No 
harm done,’ she said. She touched my cheek, looked at her finger, saw it was wet, and put it in her 
mouth. She made a face and laughed.
The three of us went back outside where Ralphy still lounged in the sun. Then the angel showed me 
how she could really fly. One moment, she was in front of my eyes, radiant and full of delight. Then 
she was a tiny dot against a cloud. She made a hummingbird seem slow and clumsy. At one point, 
she looked amused and communicated that the hawk circling above was a ‘lazy character.’ That’s 
not how I’d describe it, but it’s all about perspective.
I worried she might not want to return. How could I compete with sunlight and the open sky? The 
fear washed over me, but she returned in a flash. She communicated that I never had to be afraid of 
anything.
A pang of sadness hit me, realizing old Ralphy couldn’t join the fun anymore. I remembered when 
he’d run ahead of my wife and me on our evening walks. The angel must have sensed it because she 
stood beside Ralphy’s sleepy head for a long time. His tail thumped happily on the warm grass.
In the evening, the angel had another big meal with a couple more drops of wine.  
‘How far away is your home?’ I asked. 
‘My home is here,’ she said. 
‘I meant, where did your people come from?’ 
She paused, looking up as if calculating something. 
‘Lightyears away,’ she said.
‘That valley you showed me—is that where you’re from?’ I asked. 
‘Yes. But that was my elder talking through me. He was grown when the journey began. He’s 240 
years old in your years.’ 
‘Is your elder here on this planet? Will I meet him?’ 
‘No,’ she said, pausing as if listening to something. ‘He’s sorry, but he’s ill and doesn’t have much 
time left. I’ll see him when I fly better in a few days.
Then she told me to rest. I’m sure she knew how much effort it took for my brain to process our 
conversation. As she hummed down to her nest, she said, ‘He’s grateful for the kindness you’ve 
shown me.’

IV.
I woke up to find the angel having breakfast, and Mabel had passed. The angel watched as I rubbed 
the sleep from my eyes and realized what had happened. Then she flew over to me. 
‘Does this make you sad?’ she asked. 
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘It’s easy to get attached to a hen, especially one as stubborn as Mabel. Her 
personality was a lot like mine.’ 
‘She was old,’ the angel said. ‘She always wanted a flock of chicks, but I couldn’t stay with her. So I 
saved her life.
We buried Mabel in the garden near the fountain with my wife’s ashes. Afterward, the angel invited 
me to sit on the grass. 
‘Ask me questions,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you what I can.’ 
I looked around the yard. I studied the plants that still needed harvesting. Ralphy lay on the deck in 
the shade of the awning. The hens roamed the yard, chasing bugs in the tall grass I needed to mow. 
‘How do creatures as small as the adults I’ve seen lay eggs as large as Mabel’s?’ I asked.
The angel laughed, a light tinkling sound. She flew around the garden, fluffed my hair, and playfully 
pinched my earlobe. Then she landed on a rhubarb leaf and gave a cheeky impression of a hen 
laying an egg, complete with the cackle. I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing, harder and more 
freely than I had in a long time. It took us a while to calm down. Once we did, she explained.
These creatures are true mammals and live up to 250 years, having only two or three offspring. Their 
babies are born like humans. After birth, they’re nursed until their brains begin to understand an 
unspoken language, a process that takes three to four weeks. Then, they’re placed in a different 
environment.
This environment is a gaseous medium that halts their physical growth almost indefinitely while 
allowing their minds to keep developing. The infant stays in this state for fifteen to thirty years, 
during which time their minds are guided by teachers.
Once an angel’s preliminary education is complete, the babe is moved to a typical environment, 
and their physical growth resumes rapidly. Wings sprout almost instantly, and they reach a 
maximum height of six inches by our standards. Only then does their 250-year lifespan truly begin 
as their body starts aging.
My angel was born light-years away. Her elder and others trained her in wisdom accumulated over 
millions of years. Afterward, she was sealed in what my limited mind perceived as a blue egg. Her 
education paused, and her mind, along with the rest of her, went to sleep. When Mabel’s warmth 
finally awakened her, she instinctively remembered how to use the small bumps on her elbows and 
emerged into this world. My angel has lived a long time, yet she won’t celebrate her first birthday for 
almost a year.
‘Why would your elder choose something as unreliable as an old hen and a human to care for her?’ I 
asked. ‘He must have had a better way to bring the egg to the right temperature.’
‘Mabel was a nice hen, and my elder studied your mind while you slept,’ she said. ‘He decided you 
were good enough to be trusted with his daughter.’
She tried to tell me her name, but I couldn’t grasp the phonetics of their language. I told her I’d just 
keep calling her angel.
‘What is an angel?’ she asked. 
‘An angel is a being that embodies the best qualities we aspire to—wisdom, purity, and a deep 
connection to the divine,’ I said. ‘They represent a perfected version of ourselves, free from flaws 
and weaknesses. Angels are seen as protectors, guides, and messengers between the human 
world and a higher realm. They possess a grace and serenity that surpasses human understanding, 
as if they exist on a higher plane altogether.’
‘Was it just you and your elder who traveled here?’ I asked. 
‘There were four adults and nine children,’ she said. ‘The landing was rough, and much was 
damaged. Three of the adults died, and my father is gravely ill.
She told me her planet was like ours, slightly larger, with a longer orbit around a sun like ours. Two 
smaller moons brightened the night sky—nights when both moons were visible were rare and 
'magical.' She said she’d ask her father to show me one if he could.
She also explained the giant green people on her planet. They were the closest thing to humans 
there. They were always friendly, though they hadn’t always been, and they were more intelligent 
than we are. Most preferred manual work, but some were excellent mathematicians. A group of 
them even built the first practical spaceship with the angels' help.
They mastered space travel millions of years ago. The angel tells me the universe is full of worlds, 
many harboring life, often in primitive stages. Nothing stopped them from colonizing and 
conquering—they could have populated an entire galaxy. But they chose not to because they didn’t 
believe they were ready.
They learned something we may understand one day: intelligence without goodness is more 
dangerous than a bomb in the hands of a baboon. For beings beyond the early human stage, 
intelligence is easy to develop but dangerous to misuse.
These angels don’t strive for perfection; they aim for what’s possible. They endured millennia where 
technology only worsened their situation, heightening the risk of self-destruction. But they made it 
through. War became so obsolete it was impossible, paving the way for truly rational beings. Only 
then were they ready to mature, spending more millennia in self-examination and discipline, 
seeking simplicity within complexity, and learning to use knowledge without being consumed by it. 
Even so, they often regressed. There were eras of fatigue, with dark ages, lost civilizations, and 
hopeful beginnings that ended in failure.
Their most profound period of uncertainty and self-reflection came when they realized the universe 
could be theirs for the taking.
They explored. Their small spacecraft roamed the cosmos before humans existed—observing, 
recording, but never interfering or participating in the life of any world but their own. They even 
forbade themselves from leaving their solar system for several million years, despite how easy it 
would have been. This self-imposed restraint remained even as they traveled unimaginable 
distances.

V.
This morning, I woke up to find her lying on my pillow, right where I could see her. 
‘My father passed away,’ she said. 
I felt a strange sense, something I could only interpret as his life being saved. Still groggy, I asked, 
‘What will you do now?’ 
‘I’ll stay with you if you want me to, for the rest of your life,’ she said.
At fifty-three, I might have another thirty or forty years ahead of me. 
She seemed preoccupied, her thoughts distant. Whatever she felt about her father’s death—
whatever might be akin to human sadness—she kept hidden from me. But she did mention, almost 
as an afterthought, ‘He was sorry he couldn’t show you a two-moon night.’
As we talked, I noticed something sparkling around her neck. 
‘What’s that?’ I said. 
She smiled, took it off, and handed it to me. I fetched a magnifying glass to get a closer look. It was 
a necklace, intricately designed like the finest human craftsmanship—only on a much smaller 
scale. The stones resembled diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds, with the diamonds 
flashing every color under the sun. But there were also a few dark purple stones unlike anything I’d 
seen before—not amethysts, I was sure of that.
The thread it was strung on was finer than a cobweb, and the clasp was so delicate that even the 
magnifying glass couldn’t reveal much detail. When she put it back on, I saw a shy pride in her eyes, 
like any girl showing off something beautiful and new.
‘I have more to show you,’ she said. She flew to the table where she’d left a small satchel, about an 
inch and a half long—quite a load for her to carry. The material was so light that when she set it on 
my finger, I could barely feel it. She eagerly arranged the items for me to inspect, and I got the 
magnifying glass out again.
One of the items was a jeweled comb, which she demonstrated by running it down her chest and 
legs. There was also a set of tools, too tiny for the glass to make out clearly. She later explained they 
were a sewing kit, a book, and a writing instrument like a metal pencil. The book, she said, was 
blank—a record for her to fill as needed.
Once I was fully awake, dressed, and we’d finished breakfast, she reached into the bottom of the 
satchel for a parcel that was heavy for her. She made it clear it was a gift for me. 
‘My father made this for you, but I set the stone myself last night,’ she said, unwrapping the parcel 
to reveal a ring that fit perfectly on my little finger.
I got a bit emotional, and she understood, perching on my shoulder and gently patting my earlobe 
until I composed myself. I still need to find out what the jewel is. It shifts colors with the light—from 
purple to jade green to amber. The metal looks like platinum but has a rose tint at certain angles.
Later in the morning, we tidied up the house. I showed her around—just a little split-level house 
with two rooms upstairs and two down. She was fascinated by every corner. When she found a 
shoebox in the bedroom closet, she asked for it. 
‘Could you place it on the chest near the bed by the window?’ she requested. ‘The window should 
always be left open.’
I followed her directions, and she assured me the mosquitoes wouldn’t bother me. I believed her. 
Then I dug out a purple silk scarf that belonged to my wife from the bottom of the box. 
‘May I?’ she asked, holding up her sewing kit. 
‘Of course,’ I replied, smiling.
She snipped off a piece of the scarf, folding it several times and sewing it into a long, narrow pillow. 
Now she has a proper bed and her own little space. I wished I had something finer than silk, but she 
insisted it was perfect.
We didn’t talk much after that. She flew out for about an hour in the afternoon to play among the 
clouds. When she returned, she said she needed a long sleep.
Can I really have thirty or forty years with her? How much more can my mind learn? I can still 
absorb new facts, and this old body should hold up well enough.
I don’t know. There’s so much I don’t know about the angel or this new life she’s offering. But I’m 
willing to find out.
Ralphy whined to be let outside. I opened the back door, and he slowly walked down the deck steps 
to the yard. He stopped after a few steps to relieve himself, then stared at the stars for a bit. I called 
him back, and after he made it inside, I locked up and went to bed. Ralphy came into the room and 
plopped heavily into his bed, as if he had no energy to lower himself gracefully. I wondered if the 
angel could save Ralphy’s life as well.

VI.
I lay awake, restless in bed. Hours passed in unease. She appeared, bathed in soft moonlight, and 
the unease lifted. I fell into a peaceful sleep.
When we next spoke, I made it clear I’d never want to leave her. She told me I had two options, and 
the choice was mine. She encouraged me to take my time and be certain.
The first option was to live out my life with her by my side. She would advise, teach, and help me 
with my pursuits.
I imagined the books I could have written. The words never seemed right, capturing only a fraction 
of their potential. With her guidance, I could have shaped the world through my writing. I could have 
shared my knowledge and insights, and people would have listened.
Once they learned more about humanity, they could improve my health and extend my life. My back 
would never completely heal, but she believed the pain could be eliminated. I’d have a clearer mind 
in a body that no longer torments me.
The second option was a path that filled me with both fear and fascination. They developed a 
technique for total recall—reliving the past, magnified and clarified, capturing every detail stored in 
your brain.
These details are then transmitted to a receiving mind that can retain and record them. It’s like 
giving everything away. The mind is emptied of its past, and as the memories fade, so does life—
quietly, like standing still in a rising tide until the waters finally recede.
That’s how Mable’s life was saved. When I finally understood, I laughed. Somewhere in the angelic 
records, there’s probably a hen’s-eye view of me—hopefully not too unkind.
At the other end of the spectrum is the saved life of the angel’s elder. The recall process can take a 
long time, depending on how complex and rich the mind is. Her father’s recall began while they 
were still far out in space.
By the time the journey ended, the recall had progressed so far that he had little memory left of his 
life on their home planet.
My life could be saved. Every aspect of my existence could be transmitted to a perfect record. 
Nothing important would be lost.
It would be difficult and sometimes painful, as all pretense and self-deception would be stripped 
away, leaving only conscience.
How much of my life would seem horrifying if I chose this path? How many good deeds would reveal 
themselves as driven by greed, vanity, or worse?
I imagined this total recall as a journey down a corridor lined with countless images, guided only by 
the awareness of an open door at the end. It might have its moments, but I couldn’t see how it 
could compare to the joy of living a few more years in this world with the angel perched on my 
shoulder.
I asked her how valuable such a record would be to them. She said they came here to help us and 
themselves. For them, understanding us means knowing us entirely, in a way our most dedicated 
scholars could never imagine.
The recall process can’t begin unless the subject is willing. I wondered how many people they could 
find who would be willing to take that uneasy journey into death with no reward except the 
assurance that they’re serving their own kind and the angels.
I was ready to choose the most comfortable option: spending ten or fifteen years with her and then 
undertaking the total recall when my physical abilities started to decline.
Then I caught up on the daily news. I didn’t need a reminder that time is running out on our troubled 
planet.
I could die in an accident or from illness before I even began to transfer my memories. Another war 
might succeed in taking my life where the last one didn’t. We humans could destroy our own planet.
I’m uncertain how the angels will help us, but she said the record of my typical life could make a 
difference. It could be the small weight that tips the balance between success and failure.
I realized there was no longer any doubt about my choice.

VII.
I preserved the first 35 years of my life, a testament to my determination. The angel took a week to 
prepare for the recall, delving into my mind deeper than I ever imagined. It’s like a naturalist’s work; 
sometimes, a change in perspective—digging deeper or climbing a tree—reveals a whole new 
world.
The angel made sure I glimpsed the rewards and countless experiences I could have had if I chose 
the other option. It felt cruel at the time, but now I see it was necessary. I’m glad I stuck with my 
choice, and so is she. She even told me she loved me for it.
The recall sessions began at night when the village was quiet, with little chance of interruption. 
During the day, I went about necessary errands. I sold my chickens, and Ralphy’s life ended a week 
ago. His passing was peaceful. We sat in the backyard, eating strawberries that grew wild in our 
garden. I buried him near Mabel and my wife’s fountain.
I packed up my life, sorting my belongings to be donated. I listed my house with a realtor, and we 
finished the sessions in a shabby but comfortable motel room at the edge of town.
I have no memories of anything that happened before my 35th birthday. The angel told me the scars 
on my back were from surgeries to repair an injury I got during a war in my early adulthood.
I remember my wife and our life in this house, but I don’t remember our courtship or the happier 
days of our marriage. I only remember her being sick and painfully watching as cancer consumed 
her. In my memory, we had only five years together.
There are pictures of a little boy I do not remember who was with us in our younger years. Photos 
show him in my arms, playing in a lake, throwing a football, laughing. I found a clipping of his 
obituary—he was only ten years old.
When I read the early entries in my journal, I found a lonely man, much of that isolation self-
imposed. Bitterness bites at me through the ink on the paper.
I sat outside the motel, wrapped in a blanket, watching the angel race a hummingbird, holding back 
just enough to give the little green ball of fluff a chance.

VIII.
I’ve seen a two-moon night above soaring buildings of white and amber, set in a peaceful 
countryside with silver rivers winding through the landscape and a glimpse of the open sea. One 
moon rises clear and bright, while the other sets behind a wreath of clouds, with unfamiliar stars 
scattered between them.
It was a gift from the remaining elder during a visit when he and the six other children came to see 
me. In their unique way, each expressed gratitude for what I had done.
All that’s left to give away now is the memory of the time since the angel arrived. She told me to rest 
and finish my writing. Then I’ll lie down as if going to sleep. She says I can keep my eyes open; she’ll 
close them for me when I can no longer see her.
I'm steadfast in my belief that humanity holds great potential. In a few thousand years, we might 
tackle the simpler challenges, like eliminating evil and cultivating love for one another. And if we 
follow this path, who’s to say that in a few million years—or maybe sooner—we won’t find ourselves 
just a step below the angels?
I feel a strange calm tonight, knowing that my life, or rather the record of it, will serve a purpose far 
beyond anything I could have imagined. It’s a humbling thought, but also a comforting one. My 
journey, though soon to end, has not been in vain.
I find little left to say. The angel is nearby, quietly watching, waiting for when I’m ready. There’s no 
rush, no pressure—just a gentle understanding that the time will come when it’s right.
I’ve come to terms with my past, my choices, and the knowledge that my life will continue in some 
way through the memories and experiences that will be passed on. The thought of this brings me 
peace, even as I feel the weight of the final moments drawing near.
When I finally lie down, I know I won’t be alone. The angel will be there, guiding me through the last 
steps of this journey, just as she has guided me through so much already. This comforting thought 
allows me to face the unknown with calm and acceptance.
I think of the world I’m leaving behind, and though it’s far from perfect, there’s hope for the future. 
With the guidance of the angels and the potential within humanity, there’s a chance for something 
greater—a world where we truly understand ourselves and our place in the universe.
I’ve written all I need to write. The rest will be taken care of by those who come after. As I place my 
pen down, I take one last look around this little room where I’ve spent my final days. It’s a good 
place, a place where I’ve found peace.
Now, it’s time to rest. The angel is waiting, and I’m ready.