"Comparison is the death of joy." -Mark Twain.
*************************
Zamiel tried to get up again, but failed. Irene put her hand gently on his shoulder. "Please, Zamiel. You are going to cause the wound to open even more."
He stopped struggling to get up and let his head fall back. He was panting while holding his chest.
More blood seeped from the wound on his chest. Blood should normally be bad, but in his case it was good. She just needed to stop him from trying to move.
"You will be alright." She told him when he looked at her with pleading eyes. "You will be alright and then you will see Heaven again."
He turned away from her and stared at the ceiling. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "I have wondered how I got so lucky to meet a wonderful woman again and fall in love. It always seemed too good to be true. Maybe… this is how lucky I will get."
