Angel

This is for the Midweek Flash Challenge at http://purplequeennl.blogspot.co.uk and you can follow Miranda Kate on twitter @PurpleQueenNL.

If this gets proof red in the next week it will be a (Christmas) miracle.


It landed. Let me start again.

He landed, and after a moment I could see very definitely that he was a he, with a crash and a thump of his mighty white wings, cracking the pavement in front of me with the force of his arrival.  After I looked away and coughed several times, he folded his wings demurely about himself, but he still felt the need to sweep his long, platinum cover hair about himself before resting it behind his head.  He looked like an advert appealing those who couldn’t control themselves in the face of too much masculinity.

I’m not one of those.

I looked him up and down.

“I prayed to the almighty seventeen minutes ago.  What sort of service is this?  I’m in good standing you know.”

His voice was like molten steel, and the echoes of his voice preceded his words by several seconds.

“Patience is also a virtue.”

“Yes, it is.  I think you’ll find the matter urgent, however.”  I gestured to the child standing on the rock half a mile distant, surrounded by lava as the volcano rumbled.  I looked at my car nervously, calculating that there was about three hundred feet before the fire and subsequent molten rock cut off my escape.  The creature looked over with what I judged to be an indifferent glance.

“A lamb for whom time has come to claim for the Lord I fear.”  I felt the capital letter slide neatly into the sentence.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling my belligerence building, “when I see old clockface fetching up to bring the little kid upstairs for judgement I’ll kick his ass too.  Fetch the boy off the rock.”

“To do so would interfere with the natural course of events, the matter is out of my hands.”

“No it ain’t.”  I rummaged in my bag, putting on the special glove with forty grit sandpaper on the fingertips, before producing the paper.  Even with the glove I could barely grip it.  The paper was so smooth that it threatened any second to slip from my grasp.  I couldn’t actually feel it if I touched it with my bare fingers, it was like prodding something that wasn’t there.  I grasped the top which crinkled and crumpled, but I knew when I let go there would be no sign of my treatment of it at all.  Scribbled on it was an IOU, barely legible among the curlicues and illumination.  It said,

‘1 miracle, on demand for Leigh O’Mara, bearer of this note.  Yahweh.”

“My master would never write a one as a digit.” Said the angel, testing me.  “And you said you’d kick Time’s ass, that’s not pure.  You have to maintain your purity.”  He fiddled with his wingtip absently.

“The Lord excuses a little hyperbole in times of stress.”  I was starting to feel a little desperate, I could see that the lava was a little higher and little closer.  I couldn’t hear the boy, but my guess was that he’d gone beyond fear and was just praying.  It wouldn’t be heard, you have to be an expert, and pure, like me.

It wasn’t great for religion when we found out the Lord was real, and in fact imposed some very rigid rules about what was good and what was bad, and most of the rules we, humans, had handed down since time immemorial were a bit wrong.  He made it pretty plain very quickly that most things were a metaphor, he didn’t give a bugger about sex and sexual preference, marriage was indeed a contract to further stable family relations and being a wife was a job, not an obligation to love or provide personal service as a sex object.  He wasn’t really a he and manifested as much female as male, and she made it clear that husbanding was a job and most men had fallen down on it.

Not only that, the Lord made it very clear that his second coming was much more in the nature of judgement; he didn’t like any government, but particularly didn’t like Dictatorships, “Democratic Republics”, and Capitalism.  A few things got dismantled after he turned up looking like Charles Bronson.  Robin Williams was right.

We prayed a lot.  I am an expert.  The boy was not, and thus doomed, unless…

“You going to honour this chit?”

The beautiful angel sighed, and manifested some clothes, so as to not upset the boy.

“Oh, alright then.”

I’m out one Christmas Miracle.  Worth it.

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