Hickory'd punched that Angel, all right - hand curled tight into a fist, spitting and hissing' and swinging, it didn't connect -

He felt the blow, felt it push through the glowing stomach, it shoulda knocked the wind out of it, instead all that light just splashed like water around him. Like he'd been trying to catch a frog and missed -

Hickory pulled his hand back for another lick but it stuck, the light swallowing him, wrapping him tighter then a snake round a squirrel and he was stuck in the honey of it, his heart buzzing, breath lost -

Then nothing.

What had he done? Punched an Angel - right. Right. But wouldn't anyone? With Ma not getting no better, a Da long dead and buried, Hickory's knees black and blue from prayers piling up, unanswered, feeling more helpless by the day, even as he fought his hardest, did his best?

Then outta nowhere, up pops an Angel, not to help Ma, but to ask for help? His help. A big ole glowing' Angel - all the power to fix the world's ails, instead bleating' like a drunk sheep - "The Heavens call for aid!"

Was it wrong to punch? A sin? Hell, no! When someone's tryin to fuck ya, ya don't bend over to kiss their ass, ya punch 'em. There's plenty a time for forgivin' after if he was wrong, it was the only way he'd have it - but this time, if he'd bitten off a bit more then he could chew, if he was choking on it - he could feel his body slowing, his mind slipping - that if he died doing what he felt was right, died fighting like Da, a man, that was life -

Because when he was spat back out like a wad of chewed tobacco he landed in a round, stone room, stone brick, in the center was a tall fountain. The smooth wall the circled round him had seven stained glass windows spaced evenly - seven Angels, Hickory thought - except.

It was seven of him! Seven, all done up in different colors, from fancy to silly!

"I'm dead." Hickory whispered - getting to his feet, taking in the almost silence, the only sound was that center fountain gurgling, and his throat was dry and hoarse because he'd just died - and it was without a thought that he leaned over the fountain and drank - the water was cool, perfect - pure. The best water he'd ever had in his whole life - or after, he reckoned.

"Oh, Mamas not gonna like this." Hickory whispered - following the seven beams of light that came through the painted windows, all even, like spokes on a wheel, day light don't work like that, the light landed in sinks filled with water. Colored water.

That art was too neat, Hickory saw himself flying in one, fighting big ugly monsters in another looking all strong and mean, another had him playing a queer guitar - and they were painted so nice that it made him look like an Angel -

And that brought his attention right back to the terrible truth, that he'd died.

Dead.

He didn't feel dead - but how would he know what it felt like? Even if he felt the same, how else could he be here? Hickory stood there thinking, trying to understand what it meant to be dead - leaving Ma all by herself, not getting to eat that catfish, not getting to see May again - not making Da proud - it made his stomach hurt, feel hollow, knowing there wouldn't be nobody to watch them chickens and him not even saying bye -

He didn't cry. He was mighty sad - and maybe close, but - well, this was awful to say, but he was also distracted, not feeling right - from being scooped up and put in this strange room, dying, his stomach, upset - and he'd just been in class, around people, and Hickory was polite. Respectful - if it had been building up for a while and held back for a moment of discretion?

He tried to hold it in still, but sometimes you can't -

So in that quiet, hallowed room, illuminated only by the holy renderings of him as seven different Angels...Hickory broke the silence.

"I ain't dead." Hickory laughed, and he felt better after - a bit happy, it was good to be alive, he hadn't wanted to die - he pinched himself. A bit guiltily, he also sniffed his shirt - he'd smoked some crazy grass before - but nothing like this...

He wasn't dead. He was just...well he'd figure it out.

Hickory circled the room, taking in each fancy sink where they rested waist high - he approached the one that was filled with stormy blue water, that he was in the window, hair blowing behind him in a cloud, arms held up - he was standing in the ocean, wearing only waves.

Hickory stuck his finger in the water and nothing happened. He stuck his hands in cause if it was a sink? He tried washing his hands but the water didn't feel quite right!

He slapped the water and it rippled - but it didn't leave the sink, he couldn't splash it out.

Now that wasn't how water was supposed work!

There was half a clam shell just on the rim of the sink - Hickory picked it up and dipped it in, this time a scoop of water came right out and he sniffed it, the water smelled like he imagined the ocean would, salty, fishy, and also like the air after a heavy rain, a summer storm - he put the water back and set the shell down.

All of the sinks had something next to them, he moved to the next, the picture had him looking all fierce - his forehead was angry, his clothes made of rough hide, running across tree branches, it was him alright -

This sink had a cup, too, a hollow horn. Hickory lifted it up, felt how solid, heavy it was almost like it had lead in it and when he scooped the water? It smelled right, like dark beer, like sweat and blood and running as fast as you can, that first second you jumped off a bridge into the river, between fear and fate, it had him grinning -

It was a strange thing, all these sinks of water that wasn't really wet - Hickory knocked on the walls, they felt solid as stone, the windows just as tough, thick smooth glass -

Of course no door, he'd of already left!

He turned back to the fountain in the center of the room - there was no cup there, and the water? It hadn't smelled different like these sinks - he touched the fountain water this time using his hand, he couldn't catch this water, either. Not a single drop.

He'd already drank it...at least it tasted fine, even if it was misbehaving...

What was he supposed to do?

The only thing he could think - it was some sort of test, which of course had him sweating since there wasn't anybody there for him to peak at the answers just to make sure his were right, that he knew a bit about the Bible?

That none of them sinks had a wooden cup. That was known, that Jesus was a carpenter, he'd have a wooden cup, there drum cup from the music Angel and that was the closest.

There was a cup that looked like a white tear drop laying down with a black eye painted on the side, that Angel was sitting down legs folded, almost napping, another cup was a mask laid face down.

He was drawn to the cup that was a feather though - the window above showed him holding a sword, painted like over seas at the big church, how he always imagined an Angel would look. The water was almost white - not pure, but it was trying to be -

Hickory picked up the feather cup - it was sharp, around the sides like the sword looked. The feather was also light, lighter even then a birds - even filled with the almost white water as he dipped it in.

He smelled the water and it reminded him of honey bees and sunshine and he brought it to his lips - but when he tasted it?

Wind seemed to blow across his body, there was a sense of speed. Of height. Looking down with no fear of falling. And even through the breeze of it, of being above it all - it was too sweet, fake - like it was trying to hide some other flavor that wasn't good at all...

Hickory didn't like it, dropping the feather he rushed back to the fountain and took another sip. This time he could tell more about the fountain, noticed what made the water so good. Not only did it wash away the sweetness, but it had something else -

"It's just so fresh, it's like what they used to make that other water before somebody went and pissed in it."

Then the sound of boiling water pulled him back, Hickory turned around. The feather! He'd dropped it and it must have floated, not straight down but into the other sink! He rushed to scoop the feather out where it had fallen into the wrong sink, it was too late.

The window that had shown him with two colored eyes, the sort of grin he wore after putting a cricket into one of his buddies' beer, waiting for them to holler - that was gone. The cup that was a mask was gone -

Now there were two feather cups - two of him with a glowing sword, bright white, perfect teeth, a smile - a shaved, smooth chest, and after tasting the water he liked this one the least.

Hickory felt like the time Ma had dragged him to one of those fancy stores with the dishes and she'd told him not to touch anything, and even Ma had said she knew better taking him there...raking leaves to buy a plate already broke!

He tried taking the feather back, putting it back at the sink where it was supposed to be, but it didn't fix it.

He had a bad feeling - that he'd already failed the test, was out of his league here, big time, cause he hadn't tasted the masked Angel's water, hadn't even smelled it - what if that was the answer? What if that was the one he was supposed to drink!

Suddenly Hickory had an idea, he went back to the fountain and tried scooping the water again - failed, so instead he took a sip but this time he didn't swallow it, he walked back to the sink he'd accidentally changed and - he spit.

It was just a splash and Hickory watched, holding his breath, the water boiled - then, the glow faded, the window faded, light still came through. But no painting was there, just thick glass.

Nothing - The cup was gone and the water was just water, like the fountain now, the fancy table that held the sink became just rough stone like the rest of the room.

He'd erased one of him.

Now what did that mean?

Nothing bad had happened when he drank, though, so he went around and tried all the waters careful to put the cups back proper this time, but each had something he liked and something he didn't. The ocean water was too salty, bitter, but the feeling of being in the middle of a thunderstorm, of crashing water across his skin -

All of them were more then just the water - the red water felt balanced, like if you put a heavy knife on your finger it would sit there, but that wasn't how you held a knife, even if you were handing it to someone you held it blade first, handle out - of course -

The drum cup was fun, he tapped his foot as he took a sip enjoying the rhythm but it was also rules, he felt that.

Complicated -

Not like the dark beer was, almost the opposite, it had none of the rules of music, and he felt if they both could come together that would be right - that would be perfect.

How that music reminded him of May of course, magical - wonderful, and he liked the taste and wanted more - but the beer was just right, the wild drunkenness, the fun, even the chaos wasn't that bad, it could be exciting -

He had to choose -

And as much as he found May dear, wanted to taste her, enjoyed her music - he didn't want to be her music, he made his choice, using the horn he carried the brew like liquid putting a splash in each sink.

Hickory nodded at his decision, drinking the rest from the cup, feeling his heart pound, his blood pump - the wildness as he waited...

Nothing happened, nothing changed - he was still stuck in this room with nothing but a splashing fountain and seven fierce and wild Hickory Angels, seven horns - but of course!

The fountain - the fountain. Hickory looked at it, and wasn't that a thing? That feeling inside, even if he felt torn, he already knew. Knew his decision to be right, because as much as he loved beer and wild women he also loved music and moonlight, sitting outside during a summer storm or telling jokes by the fire - even if he thought he had a favorite there was something that made all of that better - brought all of it together -

The River. That maybe that pure water wasn't special, but wasn't that what made it special? That it didn't have to be good at one thing cause it made everything better? That's how it felt when he'd tasted it, when he'd tasted those different waters it had all started right there...with nothing good or bad added.

Hickory made his decision, had his answer to this test, and if it was plain a moment later that he failed? Well that's fine - nobody would ever say he was perfect, least of all himself -