At the Gate
At the gate, the angel has fallen asleep. It is late, the clouds are dark, and the stars shine the sky bright. Their illumance comes from the inscriptions inscribed upon them, placing them in their proper constellation places. At the gate, the tired angel’s body refuses to keep watch anymore. In the shim, sham glow of the moving constellations her wings trace the passing of time becoming painted with the first rays of the sunrise. Her brown, page cut hair hangs down in her face as she sleeps, fetal curled, dreaming.
The gate’s eye opens at appearance of Her. Her form materializes ghastly, descending from the Higher Heavens, a will-o-wisp form hovering over the sleeping Angel. And yet, Her presence never disturbs the sleeping Angel. Words float across the sky and a conversation between two hidden figures commences. The will-o-wisp vanishes, kissing the Angel awake on the cheek.
The gate is secure and all is safe in Heaven.
The stage is set. The town, silent, doesn’t see the dancing mechanical. She wanders down the street, balancing a rooster head toy upon her finger. She is humming, smiling silently to herself, thinking about the masquerade. She had such a wonderful time. When he asked her to dance, her face blushed. It was a moment she had waited for all evening.
Overhead fallen streamers wave back and forth in the evening breeze. Upon the ground geometric party favors lay discarded in the street. But she continues her majical dance. It is late, hours after the party finished. Skipping, she wanders the streets continuing the party in her mind.
She wears a white mask upon her face and a conch shaped hat upon her brow. She has mechanical wings attached to her back. Her Angelic cream skin shadows through the tight bodysuit. Grabbing the balancing rooster she bows to it, kisses the tip of its beak, grips it in both hands and proceeds to dance.
The Infinitesimal City
The Infinitesimal City, whose walls adorned in paint, stands somewhere between waking and sleep. It’s walls stand tall overlooking the boundaries of Reality. White washed walls whose tips are towers. Towers and windows painted like blue and red petals. An imaginary bouquet fit for the Queen.
And then one day it happened. A noise so grand it broke through the boundary.
“Crashed right through the city wall,” on-lookers exclaimed.
“What a sight,” the children giggled.
The tower guards scratched their heads in wonder, “Where did something that big come from?”
But it happened. To this day still no one knows where it came from, how it got there, or how to get it out. Why would a gigantic bumble bee, seven stories tall, crash into the outer wall of the Infinitesimal City whose windows and towers painted petals of warnings.
Every man in the city wanted to court her. Each and every day they’d all line up, patiently awaiting her arrival. When the globe in the middle of the square glowed bright, she wandered out into the midday light.
Stepping across the cobblestone sideways, the men sighed light. They were all in love. In love with her, their perfect angel. Even the Heavens above acknowledged her presence. The men, standing kitty corner to her bench, leaned against the graffiti flecked walls. Her image reflected in each one of their eyes. They watched her every move.
Every day she sits beneath the same overhead sill. Today she wore a red bustie, which flattered her rose red lips. Still, even the line of suitors could even see the milk white skin beneath the lacy surface. Entrancing and enticing. Taking her time, she looked over them. It was if she took a particular delight in watching them squirm. Giggling, she smiled. The all wore hats. The traditional Elysian courtship rituals demanded that during courtship a man wore a hat befitting the suitor’s personality, fame, and fortune. One man sat fidgeting, muttering homemade proposals under his breath. He wore a short derby hat that perfectly matched the woman’s red suit.
None of the suitors ever talked to her. Few attempted to sit close to her; fewer still attempted to look her in the eye. Her beauty frightened them, shook their confidence. But they all want her. As the sun sets, turning her hair flame in the sky, not a single suitor rose to greet her.