Yesterday -- a demon. Today -- an angel. Wherein real Horror lies, I'll let you be the judge!
On Angel’s Wings
Gabriel floated on a favourite cloud knitting with silver needles. He found it quite therapeutic, though it was also part of the job. When he’d finished knitting his wings, it would be time to call time. It wasn’t entirely up to him when that would be. He couldn’t knit his wings any faster than he could get hold of the materials and the yarn was spun on Earth.
Mankind had started spinning yarns long ago when they’d refused the gift of innocence and needed to cover-up. Since then they’d rejected many of the best gifts on offer, preferring the packaging. They had discarded reason in favour of woolly thinking and substituted vanity for truth, sex for love, fragrance for freshness.
One
day Gabriel would take flight on wings of innocence, reason, truth,
responsibility – the off-cuts of ingratitude – all the stuff man
had thrown away. Heaven wastes nothing. These unwanted things would
bear everything to its destiny.
In
the beginning there had barely been enough to knit with, but recently
supply had exceeded demand. Human beings seemed only to value things
that brought intense sensation or immediate gratification. They no
longer cherished a moment for itself. Packaging was paramount.
So
Gabriel’s wings grew and shone ever more brightly day by day. They
glowed white with all virtue – light as the air that had been
displaced by pollution. His golden threads came from the tones of
sunsets never contemplated and fruits not forbidden but uneaten. Soft
grey tones were woven from dove’s breast, beneath which beat
sacrifice and freedom now disdained in equal measure. Magnesium
bright, his needles clacked and scattered light for all to see but so
few looked to heaven any more and that was up to them.
Soon
he would don his ceremonial wings and place the golden trumpet to his
lips and shatter time. He would pull on the little superstring by his
feet and all would unravel and return to the light.
The
Archangel admired his new wings. He passed no judgments. The choice
was not his to make. If a DIY universe is put in the hands of those
who will not follow the maker’s instructions, the outcome is
perhaps inevitable.
Copyright: © 2008 Oonah V Joslin First Published in Static Movement which is no longer extant.
