the_kiss_of_the_angel_saugus channel island surfer i opened my eyes. sunlight pouring into the room was harsh and i had to blink several times before i could figure out where i was. i was laying on a bed in a room. i looked down at my hands. bandages were wrapped around both of them. i slowly brought them up to my face. it too was covered. i looked up at the ceiling, over at the walls. everything was strange. then a woman dressed in white entered the room. "it's so good to see you've finally woke up," she said, smiling. she carried a bowl of steaming liquid. "i brought you some soup." the confusion in my head was begging to be settled. where am i? who are you? why these bandages? what happened to me? but i couldn't put my muddled thoughts into words. it was as if my mouth didn't remember how to make the sounds. she sat on the edge of my bed and set the soup on the nightstand. she gazed into my eyes and saw the pleading expression, the desperation to know. i watched her cheerfulness turn into a solemn seriousness. "don't try to speak, sir," she said, bringing her own hands to her throat. "you've been burned very badly. your vocal cords have been damaged." she cringed and swallowed hard. i suddenly remembered the fire. the suffocating smoke. the screams. oh my god. maneen! MANEEN! i tried to sit up. pain hit me like a hameer and all i saw was yellow. i could feel my eyes rolling back. the lady in white brought a cool rag to my forehead and pressed it against my eyes, gradually calming me down. and then she brought a spoonful of soup to my lips, the only part of me that was not bandaged. i was starving. it tasted good, but as i swallowed i felt like nails were being driven into my throat. "that's good sir," she said, smiling again and reaching for another spoonful. "you must get your strength back if your body is going to heal itself." 051226 ... channel island surfer a man came in also wearing white as she was feeding me. he introduced himself as dr. naracelli. the sunlight careened off the glass of his wire-rimmed spectacles as he sat down next to the bed. he also observed my feeble attempts to communicate. "it's way too early yet to attempt vocalization. you have a long road ahead of you. there is much needed healing and then a rigid plan of therapy," he said, running his hand through his short beard. "you must accept you will not be the same as you were before the fire." i held the spoonful of soup in my mouth and when he said those words i could not swallow. instead the broth dribbled out my mouth and ran down the bandages. "you were brought to us here in danton by a villager who found you unconscious under the collapsed remains of a house in ebbingsville right after the war with the talathians. initially, we thought we were going to lose you, but you're strong. unfortunately, you have third-degree burns on 75% of your body that will require at least a year to grow new skin and i must warn you of the disfigurement and scarring. it will be great." 051227 ... channel island surfer i wanted to scream, to curse god, to die, but all i could manage was the trickling sound of a dog who is ravaged by a pack of wolves. a final cry for help, a forlorn moan for death sure and swift. they removed the bandages for the cleansing of my burned skin and the air attacked like a thousand prickling needles, but the doctor explained its necessity for mending, alternating fresh air exposure with aloe vera poultices. when the face coverings were removed they started on my chest and arms. i looked down at the sickening remains of my burned flesh. i couldn't separate the pain of acceptance from the pain of exposure. they joined together like the laughter of demons. 051228 ... channel island surfer days, weeks, and months passed by in unrelentless torture. if it wasn't for the encouragement and unfailing optimism of the therapists i would surely have given up and killed myself. they treated me like a newborn baby, leaving my side only when i slept. skin grafts were done over a series of two weeks and only minor infection delayed the progress of the acceptance. with the bandages completely gone, my new skin took over and the scars were hideous. i dare not peer into a mirror. the doctors deeply discouraged it. they said i should thank god i was alive and the skin had healed so quickly. we also worked intensively on my speech. initial attempts were disastrous. i sounded like a monster. yet, as my vocal cords healed with time, my speech, though it was garbled and difficult to understand was something. i could talk for the first time in a year. they mentioned the possibility of my re-entry into the world. i was both thrilled and terrified. 051229 ... channel island surfer there was not a day, sunrise to sunset, that i did not think of maneen. that final image of her beauty bathed in moonlight, the warmth of her head on my chest, the silkiness of her hair was a revolving scope of longing. yet, i knew nothing of her whereabouts, or if she was even alive. my last sight of her was when she was clutched in the claws of the dragon. was she rescued? if so, would she ever receive me again as this scarred freak? as part of my therapy, i began to sculpt again. it was the only thing i could do that helped me to regain any kind of self worth. they suggested clay. the doctors didn't think my fingers and hands had the strength to hammer and chisel marble. my fingers, which were melted together when i was found in ebbingsville underwent intricate operations as well. it took me much longer to get them to obey the pictures in my mind. one day i was working on a piece when the nurse came in. "that woman looks very familiar," she said. "it looks just like the lady maneen of mytyson." i blushed. "do you know any news about her?" it had been almost two years since i saw her and in that time not one person ever mentioned her name until this very moment. my heart raced. i shuddered at the possibilities. was she dead? was she crippled? had she moved far away? "sir naraticus, it's been said, threatened her with death if she refused to marry the champion ardite orelia, the man who killed the talathian dragon and rescued her back to mytyson." i was gripped with chills and nausea. my head began to spin. i thought i would pass out. i sat down with sweat breaking out on my forehead. "what's the matter?" my nurse asked, approaching me. she dabbed my forehead with a cloth from her smock. my eyes portrayed my anxious curiosity. i felt like my life was on the edge of a great cliff hanging by a fraying thread. "what did she do?" i asked, my voice trembling. "she agreed to marry him, but they say she's miserable, a recluse. they say naraticus is even starting to blame ardite, threatening to banish him if he can't bring her around somehow. a lot of it could be just plain gossip. you can't believe everything you hear." i was relieved, yet i could also feel the pain and misery of maneen. i was just so grateful to hear she was alive. still, i knew it was because of me that she had refused ardite. it had to be. i had to go to her no matter what i looked like. 051230 what's it to you? who go blather from