Manuel was dead. He wasn't quite sure how long he has been dead for or why he died. In fact, he couldn't remember all that much about his life other than singing. Whenever he looked down at earth, he would always hear a woman's voice, softly singing.
It wasn't the most beautiful voice, nor did it appear to be all that significant. Yet, when you look back after thirty or so years--or at least he assumed he was in his thirties--and singing was all you could remember, it seemed pretty important.
As much as he would love to investigate the matter further, Mother Superior forbid it. New angels were not supposed to dwel on thier past lives; otherwise, they could never truely be accepted into heaven.
The voice, the woman singing in his head, tormented his curiosity. He yearned to know her name or at least her face. Somehow, he knew she wasn't dead or at least, not yet. Of all the angels and all their singing, he never once heard her voice. The reason, he supposed, he could not let go of earth was because of the singing. It was driving him crazy not knowing her name or face when it felt like it should have been the one thing he would never forget. He knew his heart should know the name at least.
Mother Superior forbid these thoughts, and she tried her best to keep him constantly buisy. For a while, it worked. He forgot his entire life, even his very name, but the gentle singing persisted.
Sometimes he would pray to God. He would beg for the singing to stop, and would make all sorts of unrealistic promises about being a better angel and not making Mother Superior worry when he got that distant look in his eyes. He would plead with his forehead pressed to the ground. He would pound his fists. He would cry--yes he would even cry, but like always, God was silent.
Now, as he watched Eath, he heard the voice again. First it started as a hum, barely above a whisper, rising steadily as if in beat to his own heart. He knew it was all in his head, but he still looked around, just in case.