"Like me?"

"You're like something out of a myth. Or a history book. You're different. You're not afraid that I'm going to contaminate you."

"If you have a disease, Mister Seraph, I doubt it's a contagious one. If it were, I'd have caught it years ago!"

"Don't be so formal. It makes me feel like I'm at school."

"All right, then. Would you like me to call you Gabriel?"

"Please, Doctor."

"Now who's being formal?"

"It's safer this way."

"I'm not an enemy, remember? I'm here to help you, Gabriel."

"I know. I'm sorry . . . Do you have to keep typing everything I say up on that machine?"

"I'm sorry. Force of habit. I can write by hand if it would make you feel more at ease."

"I'd appreciate that."

"I'd like you to be as comfortable as possible."

"I'm all right. Anything's better than being out there."

"Tell me about it, Gabriel."

"You aren't from around here, Doctor, you don't know what it's like. Everything's so perfect. Everybody's so perfect. It's revolting, to see everyone so happy. Any one's ever different. No, that's not right. They're different, bu they're different while still remaining in their perfect little mold.

"Me, though, I'm different. As far back as I can remember, I've always been different. Not outside, but inside, where no one can see and know unless you show them.

"You wouldn't think I'd be so different, everyone in my family's normal. All my brothers and sisters, my parents, everyone."

"Are you the youngest?"

"Yes, why?"

"I come from a large family myself. Just curious."

"Oh. They all look like me, you know."

"Your siblings?"

"Yes. It's part of the normal perfection of us, I think."

"It's genetics."

"Huh. The brothers who're closest to me in age hate this genetics thing, then. The older ones too, because they say I make them look bad in front of people, but the ones only a little bit older than I hate it the most. Sometimes people mistake them for me, and treat them the way they treat me. You'd think they'd change the way they treat me, when they know what it's like."

"Do they beat you?"

"No, they would never do anything like that. It wouldn't be right. Then they'd be worse than me. They just treat me like everyone else does. Did, until now."

"How did they treat you?"

"They pretended I didn't exist, if we were in the street together, or at a party, or school or something like that."

"I meant everyone else."

"They ignore me too, if they can do it without appearing rude. If they can't ignore me, they just try to treat me the way they'd treat anyone else. But it's still not the same. It comes off as feeling really faked. Forced."

"Why do they treat you like this, Gabriel?"

"Because I'm different."

"How?"

"I told you, the way I am inside."

"But what do you do that lets them know you're different? You said how you felt inside was secret."

"Oh. I see."

"Well?"

"I cry."

"Lots of people do."

"In stories, maybe. We don't cry thought. Not real people. Not here."

"That can't be all."

"No . . . I swear sometimes."

"People are very religious here?"

"Religious?"

"Devoted to a deity of some form?"

"I don't understand."

"Never mind then. Continue. How do you swear?"

"With little words. Rude ones. I don't usually say them really loudly, but people still here them. Sometimes I insult people."

"How?"

"I call them rude things and swear at them. Sometimes I yell, or scream. I don't know why. I never mean it, not really."

"That's not why your parents looked for someone like me though, is it? Why am I talking to you, Gabriel? What did you do that your parents couldn't ignore, couldn't pretend was normal?"

"You accepted this job without knowing what I did?"

"That's right. That's what I do, sometimes. Your parents wouldn't talk about it. It must have upset them a lot. Now tell me. Please. I just want to help."

". . ."

"Gabriel . . ."

"I tried to kill myself."

". . ."

"I started telling them months ago that I would. That I'd take my own life. They were really scared, at first. They worried and cried and wouldn't leave me alone for a minute. That's probably when they started looking for you."

"Understandable."

"But after a while, they just stopped caring. I never did anything. They thought I was just joking. Just acting more and more different to get attention. They never thought I had the stomach to go through with it. That's really when everyone starting ignoring me, I guess. When I kept saying I was going to do it. Soon, I told them. Tomorrow. Before bed. Anything."

"Why did you want to kill yourself, Gabriel?"

"To make it go away. All the pain, being alone. It's not fun being different. I never asked to be. I don't understand why I was born so different. It's like having a big, empty pit inside of you. It just sucks everything up and leaves you with nothing. It aches. Every time someone's eyes pass over me without registering my presence. Each time they brush me off, or close me out of their confidences. I hate them, so much. Sometimes I just wish that they'd die, not me. They're the ones who hurt me. They should suffer. But the rest of the time . . . the rest of the time, I'd give anything to have them like me. To have them treat me the way they treat their friends. To be close to them. I hate them, but I'd give anything for their approval. None of them understand what it's like to be so different. No one understands what it's like. It's almost like there's something living inside me at times, tearing me up, ripping my soul to shreds so I can never feel truly normal. I've tried to be normal, I've tried to fit in, but it never comes off. I can't keep it up for long, it's not who I am. And so all that's left is for me to die. I want to die. It would make all the pain stop. That's why I tried to kill myself. It was hurting so much, I just thought I could use my father's sword and end it all. I meant to. I nearly did, when my parents found me. If they'd only left me for a little longer, I could have been free of all the pain. I would have bled to death. But now they'll watch more closely than ever and I'll never be free of it. Not unless you can give me something to make the pain go away . . ."

"I'm not that kind of doctor."

"But the history books tell of drugs, medications that make people act the way they're supposed to . . ."

"Perhaps, but I'm a healer of the soul, not the body. I don't believe in those treatments anyway. They hide the soul and beat it down. You aren't sick, Gabriel."

"Then why do I feel this way?"

"It's just the way some people are. Sometimes because they're lost, or don't have a true goal in life, or are misunderstood. It's just something inside of you that you have to come to terms with. Once you do, the people around you will be able to understand you better."

". . ."

"I know it may seem hopeless, but truly it isn't. You may never completely fit in, but to try to would be denying a part of yourself. You've already realized that. Don't kill yourself. Often, feelings like these, depression and misery like this, are signs of potential greatness. Remember that, Gabriel. I hope you feel better. Soon."

"All right, Doctor. Are you going to talk to my parents now?"

"I have to. I'll try to make them understand."

"Thank you Doctor. Good bye."

"Good bye, Gabriel. Get some rest."

"Is our son going to be all right, Doctor?"

"He should be fine. The things he told me were in confidence, however. You'll have to ask him yourselves, if he's ready to talk about it to anyone he really knows. I'd guess his wings will take a while to recover from the damage he did to them though."

"The poor thing . . . Is there anything we can do?"

"I don't think so. Not yet. He has some things to work out with himself, first. You just need to give him all the love and support possible."

"What about for his wings?"

"I have a brother who's a medical doctor. I'll leave an address of some sort where you can reach him."

"Thank you so much, Doctor. How much do we owe you?"

"Nothing. I wouldn't dream of charging for something like this. However . . ."

"Yes?"

"You're a fishing community, right?"

"It's good of you to notice such things, Doctor."

"Not at all. I would be greatly obliged if you could send a shipment of fresh fish sometime within the next month, though, through the same channels that you contacted me."

"That's all?"

"That's all. It isn't too much trouble, is it?"

"Not at all, Doctor."

"Good."

"Is there any particular person or place you'd like it addressed to?"

"Just to me is fine. Kurome DyBane-Startredder. That should get it to me fairly quickly."