Chaos Angel

Bill stood overlooking the Hudson River, contemplating what reason he had for still living. He half expected an angel to appear, a wise guardian able to show him all the people who'd miss him were he no longer here. Instead, he found himself completely alone, a feeling that had grown so oppressive that any outcome would be preferable.

Bill did have a guardian angel. His name was Donald. He was scheduled to be at the bridge at exactly the moment he was most needed. Unfortunately, Donald did not believe in keeping a calendar. He preferred to wing it (pun intended).

Next For Mel

“Choose.”

“What?” Mel was confused. It was 3 AM. Just moments before, he'd been pleasantly dreaming.

“You don't know what ‘choose’ means?”

“Huh?”

“CHOOSE, MEL!”

The irritated voice seemed to come from every direction, as though from out of a whirlwind.

“AND MAKE IT SOMETHING INANIMATE.”

This was it.

“TIME'S UP.”

Mel's life – if it could be called that – was over.

The angel had others to visit that Thursday and more important places to go.

“Couldn't I be a dog, or a goldfish?”

“REINCARNATION'S MAINLY INTO LIFELESS OBJECTS, MEL.”

People don't realize.

“Like...into an old basketball?”

“SO BE IT!”

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

The Road To Heaven Is Paved With Broken Glass

George's wait--a few moments or a million years, it's difficult to tell the difference--comes to an end as his number is called. The angel at his window looks over his paperwork perfunctorily before giving his folder the rubber stamp.

"You'll need to wait in Limbo. We'll alert you when a final decision has been made."

"How long's that going to take?"

His angel just shrugged. "You do know this is the most exclusive club in the entire universe. Only the best people get in."

"But I was really good."

"Being good isn't enough. Like I said, we're exclusive."

Angel On The Ground

There's no spark of recognition in her eyes when we pass. It's as if we'd never met before.

There was a time, before we became lovers, when she never touched the ground. She was just a white spot against a dark blue sky, soaring like a cloud far out of reach.

I was never good enough for her, too insecure despite all the reassurances that I was the only one for her. These are the things you say to each other when you're in love. It doesn't matter that one day will prove them lies.

Now I'm the one flying.

Angel

My father always says Christmas is a time for family not gift giving. Me and my wife Lili tell my son the same, and it doesn’t fly. So, now I’m driving to the electronics store in the snow to purchase an Xbox video game.

His grades are excellent, and he cleans his room, so we figure, why not splurge, it’s Christmas season after all.

I enter the store and it’s busy with shoppers. There on the front table I see the game he wants. I nearly collapse at the price tag.

Now I know why he’s been such an angel.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

True Meaning

As a boy, I remember my dad telling me Christmas is about family and spending time together. Secondary, exchanging gifts.

My own children are opening their presents and their beaming faces light up the room. The Christmas tree is sparkling with silver tinsel and an angel at the top of the tree, its wings white and glowing. Decorations and food consume the house this time of year, the baked ziti’s sauce filling the air with a delicious aroma. But these delightful things are not what my children celebrate.

The birth of Jesus Christ is the reason we celebrate the holiday.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Last Angel

Blinking like a stunned mole against the harsh white light of the desert sun, the last of the angels steps out of his winged chariot onto the hot tarmac. Little girls in braids present him with bouquets. Jeers erupt somewhere among the hundreds of people solemnly watching the ceremonies from behind a security fence. The plainclothes police officers mixing with the crowd club everyone within reach rather than try to identify the actual culprits. On the tarmac, meanwhile, a military band strikes up a brassy tune that has long been a favorite of dictators around the world. Birds hum along.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of more than a dozen poetry collections, including most recently Gunmetal Sky (Thirty West Publishing) and The Bad News First (Kung Fu Treachery Press).

That Night And What Came After

I reached up to cover my eyes and when I lowered my hands again, she was gone. No not gone, not completely. I could still glimpse her through the clouds.

I was aware that others had entered the room, and now I watched as a winged angel sailed out into the moonlit sky. I stood there speechless and motionless, one hand still strapped to the bed. I do not know who brought a coverlet and draped it around my nakedness. No one spoke for a very long time.

I remember little else. A sedative was administered and finally, I slept.

David Rae is an author of award winning flash fiction, short stories and two dark fantasy novels. His latest CROWTOWER is available here and more of his work can be read for free on his website David Rae Stories.

Sea Angel

Silvia, sound asleep, pleasantly dreamed of the beach, her solace.

She relished the sound of the ocean splashing against the dock, and the warm breeze against her face, when a beautiful image ascended from the water. A lovely sea angel flapped its white wings, and a halo gleamed above her head. The glowing angel approached Silvia and told her she would be her protector, then placed her translucent hand on Silvia’s forehead.

Silvia awakened calmed and ready to start her day. She showered, dressed, and left for work.

When she returned that evening, a glimmering halo lay on her pillow.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Tire Chains

"I'm packing tire chains in the boys' luggage. Just wrap them around the tires," the father of my two nephews advised.

"Sounds easy." I reply. "We'll have fun in the snow!"

Three days later, my nephews and I are standing by the snow-laden roadside with tire chains wrapped around the axle.

We look forlorn and lost. A park ranger passes by, a CHP passes by, and a dozen travelers glance at a young woman and two children in distress.

"Lady? Need some help?" says a tatooed Hell's Angel over the roar of his Harley.

"Please! You are an angel. Thanks."

From Guest Contributor Deborah Shrimplin