'Soul Brothers' by Rosaleen Lynch

They were not recognisable as angels. All six-foot something, wearers of XL, sometimes XXL in clothes and personality and not a feather in sight. But they were angels none-the-less. And brothers.

They were not the biblical or fairytale kind of brother or angel but the down-to-earth kind you would like in your corner in a fight of the head or the mind. Between them they could bring a soul back from the edge.

The Eldest fished for the souls, finding them at night in the dark waters of his mind.

The Middle was guardian to the souls, kept them safe and secure.

The Youngest, talked to the souls and tried to understand.

When each had done their work, the souls were released again into the wild to live their lives in peace, until they got into deep water again where the eldest could fish them out.

This was the way of the brothers for many years, until a soul appeared which did not want to be caught or guarded or understood. It wanted freedom, uncertainty and the excitement of the unknown. The brothers stood together on the bank of the river as never before. Three shadows on the water, watching a soul swimming which made its own light as it moved. Their shadows lit in wonder at its brightness, speed and delight.

'It's like a free and innocent child,' the eldest said.
'Or a child who feels safe and secure,' said the next.

'Or a child who is happy,' said the third.

The sun spilt over the horizon, erasing their shadows with darkness. The last light was the swimming soul, stilled by the quiet of night. A flicker. A spark. An explosion. The light of the soul split into three, jumped out of the water and into their hearts. It melted, soldered and joined fragmented pieces they knew nothing of. Until now.

How could they know what they didn't know? Search for what they never knew was lost? Find the missing pieces they never missed?

They thought they were the saviours, now they were the saved. They had graduated from being angels. Now they were men. Free, secure and happy men.