The Fargo Kantrowitz'z Literary Campsite

Then you know your eyes are closed and you wonder whether you are asleep, whether Jed is dead, and whether Diana was right for bringing Henri off of the flying saucer, if maybe she just should have let him go since the guilt of killing her was way too much for him to handle.  And night falls, eyelids slope down.  We die or we don’t or we sleep only.  Which?
(Albert’s dream, uncovered by his soul at 4:22 a.m., Tennessee time):
The Angel Gabriel falls from the sky, his wings flat, dirty, beaten, and torn.  He’s fallen from a window fourteen tenement floors above.  Copper water flushes through his open mouth as he lies in a city gutter.  He doesn’t drown.  Instead of accepting death, he turns over and breaks off a wing accidently.  His leg kicks at the curb once, then twice, then three times, until the cement cracks, and his eyes are flashed open, and he stands.  He thrashes about trying to capture his broken wing, twirls madly, raging at the demons that fear him now more than he ever did them.  He stops and looks up.  He cannot fly so he begins to climb the building.  He climbs the fourteen floors to the room from which he fell.  He pulls himself up and lands in water.  He floats and sighs out in relief.  The water continues to rise as he floats and he wonders if he has fallen asleep again.  It rises and rises and then reaches the tip of the sill and begins to fall out of the window.  He inches closer and closer to the window sill, watching it pull him towards it as he floats half-asleep, the lip of the water smooth as the lip of a woman, yet not so beguiling, plainer, worthy of far less fear or care.
He goes over the sill again.  Albert is there. He reaches for him, almost jumping out of the window to hold him.  He’s got him by the broken wing.  But Gabriel is heavy because Gabriel has become Jed and Jed doesn’t want to stop this time.  The floating was too nice.  But Albert holds him, crying, screaming in pain at the weight at the end of his arms, arms too weak to hold anything anymore, but arms not about to let go.
Then, after a few moments of this agony, their eyes meet.  Albert watches as Jed’s eye unwinds, his pre-birth, killer stare unraveling before his brother’s sight.  Jed never was the angel Gabriel.  Gabriel had momentarily become the man known as Jed.  Jed was dead then, having given up the knot in his eye, the only thing that had kept him connected to life. Gabriel, mended, flew away, his wings causing wind as he departed.