Statue of a Cherub

He coughed blood from his mouth a little, as if it were coming from his gums. He wasn't worried but he did notice his wife had brought home a brand new statue from the flea market that day. The statue was grey and had a marbled effect to it. It was a statue of a cherub - a child angel whom she thought was cute because it looked like their son. He was four but he had the very same curly head of hair that the statue had. He beamed up at it, trying to touch it but she pulled him away and put the statue on a higher shelf.

"Jesus" she turned to her husband "are you alright? You're bleeding..." He nodded his head and assured her it was probably because he'd brushed his teeth too hard or something. She furrowed her brow but went to put the child to bed all the same. He sat back down to watch some television. "You're not coming to bed yet then?" She asked halfway up the stairs, but he said he'd stick around to finish watching a football game and she continued on.

The game he was watching was brutal, a fight more than a game but all the same, he was intrigued. Then he took another look at the statue and yes, it did remind him of his son. He smiled a little and leaned back. But, something wasn't quite right. When his wife brought the statue into the living room, it was completely upright, he could've sworn it was. Now, it was hunched over slightly as if it too, wanted to watch the football match. He didn't quite understand it, but tried to ignore it the best he could.

He left to get some snacks from the kitchen. He had loved some sweets called 'brain lickers' as a child but his mother would never let him get them and so, being the adult he was now - he snuck one for himself whilst the family was asleep. It was nearing midnight when he saw the statue move again. This time, its right foot was slightly above the platform it stood on. He ate the sweet and stared at it. He couldn't prove it was moving but he did see it in a whole new position. That's when he got a nosebleed.

"Christ, every time I come around here, you're bleeding. See a doctor!" His wife was rubbing her eyes and walking over quite angrily. He pleaded that the game was still on and he needed to see the results. "Yes, but you're bleeding. When are you coming to bed? When does it finish?" She asked hurriedly. He told her the whole thing would be over soon. She knew though it was a whole different game to the one he was watching when her and their son walked in. "You know what, do what you like..." She put her hands up. "You're not sleeping, you're bleeding from your mouth or your nose. God knows, you'll be bleeding from the eyes next!" She stomped back upstairs and he was quite off that he'd made her sad. But, he couldn't tell her about the statue and how it moved. He didn't want to worry her.

The next night, he went to bed on time. His wife was happy and thus, when she fell asleep, he crept back downstairs to watch the statue with the television aptly turned off. This time the right foot was quite far off the ground and dragged back as if the cherub was about to take flight. It's left arm was raised with the fingers pointing up to the sky in a way someone would misdirect you to look up whilst robbing you blind. He noticed it and stared, getting the same nose bleed as before. After a few hours of staring, he began to cough. The statue had moved yet again and now, the right foot was out in front - arms out like a child would make themselves a plane. He coughed up one of his teeth. He heard the sound of footsteps above and knew his wife had heard his coughing downstairs and woken up.

"Are you watching television again?" She whispered in anger. He shook his head, telling her he simply couldn't sleep. She stared at him. "What happened to your teeth?" He spat out another. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't a clue what happened to his teeth. He told her that he needed to stay downstairs. "What's going on with you? Why are you staring at a black screen?" By now, she was sobbing. "Are you going insane?" He shook his head again, but when he opened his mouth to speak, blood came out in spurts. "I'm calling the hospital and god himself cannot stop me." She stormed into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. He looked back to the statue and saw it now in a weird position. It looked like, it was about to...

And he fell backwards. He kept falling forever. As he fell, he heard a scream but he didn't know who it was. He was in free-fall until he smacked his head off the side of a pavement. The back of his brain cracking on the lift where the pavement meets the roadway. It was raining outside.

***

II

I worked security on a football match that got, as you can imagine, a bit bloody. The players were all playing dirty and because the weather was good until 6pm, everyone was flat out drunk on the cheapest beer imaginable. I hated the smell of beer. It was disgusting. But this wasn't my first rodeo and so I just watched for any movements I didn't quite approve of, checked everyone's tickets and followed up when anyone said they were being pushed around. As I said, the players were not making this any easier. They were playing terribly, everyone beating the crap out of each other. But the rain started earlier than we thought it would and so, when the match ended - many of the folks in the stands started rushing out to get into their cars.

As you know, football matches very rarely end with the game finishing. People from all walks of life like to take it to the car parks, the supermarkets, the streets, basically anywhere they can find to have a brawl. My job was to patrol the first few streets for the next hour or so until most people had left to make sure nothing broke out. I wasn't hopeful and honestly, I was correct.

I saw a group of men leave the stands, all looking very slight and so, it was rather idiotic of them to say something to a footballer who was twice their size at least. The problem was, the footballer picked on the wrong guy. He wasn't the person who said anything at all. A small-ish guy who kept to himself and looked like he smelt of beer, so I kept my distance until something went down. All of a sudden, this guy punches him in the face and his mouth bleeds, then he does it again and his nose bleeds. One more time and his teeth are just flying out of his mouth. This guy is not fighting back and I radio for help. But, in a stance going for a kick - this guy kicks him straight in the chest and sends him flying on to the pavement.

I think I heard his head crack on the corner.

***

III

This guy died there and then. "So there's nothing you can do..." The security guard stood over me as I tested the guy's vitals. I shook my head and said that since his brain was spilling on to the pavement there was really nothing I could do. He was wired up and everything and just shutting down. The best thing I could do as a doctor was hold his hand and his what remained of his head.

The security guard and I watched as they took the footballer in question into custody in handcuffs. The other friends had all run away and dispersed, some were brought into police questioning before they could dart off. "Why is his brain still working then?" He was watching the machines slow down.

I told the inquisitive security guard that his brain wasn't working. I explained that in people's last moments, they often have visions of something they really want, even if only for a few moments as they also come to the realisation that they're dying. This thing they really want often doesn't exist. It could be that they wanted to see the world and so they have visions of a cruise ship or flying first class on a plane. Or it could be that they wanted a family and so, they have visions of being married and having a kid.

It's really that simple. But it doesn't exist.