Falling Angels. Flash Fiction.

It was a cold day, the day that the angels fell.

The first one fell at 10.01 A.M. Many people have looked for significance in that number, but none has yet been found. He fell to the earth in a blazing ball of light, people who watched thought it was a comet. He crashed into the ground, leaving a long furrow of broken pavement and road. People approached cautiously, going as close as they could before the heat became too much. They watched as he stood, his wings large, shattered and broken, hung limply on his back, his skin was a deep, polished silver, his eyes completely white and his hair was gold. He was muscular, but not unduly so, his crotch was smooth and free of any genitalia. When he cast his gaze at the people, they all stepped back, unable to stand too close to such beauty. He pulled himself from his crater and began to walk with a faint limp. Some people stared, slack jawed, others tried to take photographs, he ignored them all. He was the first, but he was not the last.
More fell across the earth, each one different, each one beautiful. None of them spoke, they climbed from the holes they created and they began to walk. Their wings, some white, some mottled, some black, all different, were broken and limp. The men and women were obvious in their gender in appearance, the woman wore their hair traditionally long with softer, feminine faces, the men’s hair was short, their faces angular. All were naked, though none had nipples. The women had soft, gentle swells of breasts, the men had defined pecs. Neither had genitalia.
When the day had ended, the blazing orbs of light stopped, the last angel falling at 7.05 P.M. All told there were three hundred reported “meteors” though a total of one thousand angels fell. And they just disappeared. No one knew where they had gone, or why they had come to earth in the first place. There was rampant speculation, cults began to pop up all across the world, some worshipping the angels as gods, others declaring it was the end of the world and committing mass suicide.
Two weeks later the angels appeared again. They marched through the streets, and, after a large crowd gathered they would speak. Recordings of the speeches quickly circulated around the internet, but no one could understand the strange language of clicks, whistles and screeches. Those present claimed they heard everything in their own native language and the message seemed to be the same.

No one knew why the angels had come to earth, or why they were trying to spread their message. Some people believed they had been cast out of heaven, hence the broken wings and their inability to ascend again. Others thought they came willingly or on a mission. The angels wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer questions. It seemed they could only repeat their message, their voices high, clear and strong.
“You must prepare.”

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About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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