The Angel's Guardian

Chapter 1

A/N: So this is my new story. It's not going to be my main story since I really need to finish the Guilty By Design series.

This was inspired by a song I rediscovered recently so I had to start it while the idea was fresh.

Warning: if you're looking for a romantic, happily-ever-after fairy tale story, this won;t be what you're looking for but hey, give it a try!

Please check out Guilty By Design! It does have flaws but it will be remodelled eventually but right now I really want to get it noticed so if you could go check it out, maybe vote and comment I would love you forever!

But enough from me. Enjoy! Vote! Comment!

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A walking miracle. A ticking time bomb. That's all I'll ever be to these strangers in white, rushing around my room trying to save a life that doesn't want to be saved. I didn't even have to be completely conscious to know that my last day was coming to an end, and soon the living will I'd been working on for years would take effect and order no CPR. Soon there would be no more machines forcing air into my tired lungs or making sure my infected heart kept beating. No more drugs flowing through my veins as freely as my own blood. There would no longer be a suffocating feeling of doomed hope filling the already crowded hospital room.

A crowded hospital room. Yet another thing I hadn't expected or wanted. The strangest part was that I didn't actually know any of them. It was hard to believe I'd effected so many people. All I was trying to do was carry on my father's legacy, but I would've never expected it to make such a difference in so many lives. I guess it's true that one person can make a difference.

But I never wanted any of this. I never wanted attention or pity. I wanted to finish what my father had started and melt back into the faceless mob of the long forgotten. I didn't want anybody to grieve over me; all that did was prolong unnecessary pain. I didn't need to be remembered.

But I knew that none of that was an option anymore. Even though I wasn't even conscious enough to breathe on my own, I would be lying if I said i couldn't sense the strange feeling of strained hope dissapate, replaced by the heavy silence of finality as my clock hit zero.

The rushing in the room stopped completely, as everyone started to register that the fight was over - though I'd known it was over before it begun. I heard the machines slowly being turned off one by one as they were rolled out of the room, the respirator was last to go. The room was eerily silent once the machines were gone and I began to wonder if I'd imagined all the people in the room, if I was actually going to get my wish and die alone and forgotten. But eventually, the horrible sounds of violent sobs filled the room.

Miraculously, something kept my heart beating and my lungs moving, but it wouldn't last long. Each awkward, forced thump of my heart became farther apart and my breathing became shallow. I heard everyone come to my side one by one and say their goodbyes before they left. I didn't blame them; I had seen way too many people I knew and loved die before my eyes and i didn't want any of these people have to experience that. Soon there was only one person left. I wasn't sure how I knew who it was, but I did - she was the only person who'd ever made me doubt my acceptance of my death, the one person that made me want to live more than anything. and here she was, crying over me at my deathbed, and i couldn't even tell her how much she meant to me. How much she changed me. How even though she wasn't able to save my life, she at least made it worth saving.

I couldn't do anything but lay there as she cried and made promises she couldn't possibly keep. She held my hand tightly, like if she let go, I would be gone forever. And in a way I guess that was true. Her hand on mine made my heart beat just fast enough that I was still alive for these last few minutes.

But I was slipping. I wasn't just on Death's doorstep anymore; I had walked right in and called it home. A strange pressure began to build up on my chest, making it harder and harder to breathe. My pulse faded and slowed until it was practically no more. I couldn't feel her there anymore as I slowly and peacefully started to drift into a sleep I wouldn't wake up from.

When I was young I would always ask my Father a continuous stream of questions, just like every other curious kid would and he would just chuckle and answer them with a patience I would never understand. Once, I asked him what Death was like. I remember he told me that Death comes in the form of your strongest memory. I never believed him. But now, as Death gripped me, pictures and memories flowed back to me, taking me back to when my life changed - for the better and the worse.