To Fall Is To Be Free

Feathery Flash Fiction

Hullo.

I wrote this piece in the beginning of this year, in an attempt to craft a more philosophical, less character-driven piece of flash. I don’t know if I quite succeeded in making it compelling, but anywho, I like how this one came out, and I’m excited to finally share it.

Photo by Jenelle on Unsplash

His feet had never touched the ground before. Jay closed his eyes, savouring the feeling. Stability, concreteness, matter. And warmth, despite the winter wind raging all around them. They kissed for what seemed like eons, but then she pulled away, disappearing into the snowstorm. He let her go. He had some thinking of his own to do.

That was on Friday.

Two days later, they’re sitting in a cafe within walking distance of her flat. The sun, a hearty orange ball of light and life, illuminates the lacquered surfaces so much they seem to be surrounded only by the colour white. The spell has been broken, and Jay knows that flight will never again be an imposition, nevermore a reminder of his slavery to The One Above. He feels powerful, like an angel should feel, as he sips the dark brew the pale waitress has brought without asking. It’s called “Coffey,” explains Maria, which Jay finds funny, because it sounds so much like somebody’s name.

‘You narcissists name everything after yourselves, don’t you?’

She shrugged. ‘You’re awfully opinionated for a higher power; did you know that?’

Jay has been protecting Maria ever since she was a baby. He shielded her during the raid that, at twelve years old, left her an orphan, and saw her safely past the border and into her aunt’s arms, in Gilbert, Arizona.

He knows everything about her. Embarrassing teenage crushes. The precise date and time of her first period. Her favourite bands, her dreams, her phobias. When she was born, screaming in her teenaged mother’s arms, he held her hand and calmed her down. Nobody saw it, of course. They believed Maria had quieted on her own, that she was just a good kid with a rough start. Which, anyway, is what she was.

Soon that kid became a woman. The day following her first kiss, when the boy she was certain she’d marry someday never texted her back, Maria smashed Tío Ramón’s guitar on the living room floor. Jay watched her let it out, then put a solemn hand upon her shoulder. She cried awhile. Then moved on. Many boys followed, and a few men. None of them keepers.

Yet Jay was jealous of every single one.

On the table, sticky with other people’s Coffey, he puts his hand on hers. She’s absorbed by a story she’s told many times before—her boss keeps her chasing boring leads for inconsequential stories, not seeing her true potential—but he isn’t listening. He lifts the hand he’s holding, turns it this way and that, looking for the mark.

One summer a few years ago, Jay left Maria alone for the first time. He’d been called upon to help quell a rebellion Below. It hadn’t even been that urgent—rebellions down there were cyclical events, not unlike Earth’s seasons—but leaving so quickly meant he’d been unable to secure a replacement.

In November of that year, Maria was diagnosed with a chronic disease. The following March, her fiancée Rick cheated on her with her boss—her male boss. Then, at the office Christmas party, she was nearly shot to death, when some guy from accounting opened fire with a Glock and tried to shoot janitor Pete, whom she liked a lot, and she got between them, trying to protect the old man, and the guy with buck teeth pulled the trigger, aiming for her head.

That’s when Jay came back. The bullet slowed in mid-air, allowing her to strafe left, so all it did was graze her right wrist. It left a mark, though. A reminder, embedded in the skin he loved so much, of his worst failure.

I’m here now, he thinks, finding the mark with his mouth, and I’ll never leave again. This he says out loud.

‘How do you know?’

Angels don’t fall in love. They’re creatures of the sky, purer than any human and complete in themselves. They were never taught to walk because they weren’t supposed to need it. Perhaps a mistake was made when Jay came to be. Maybe he’s defective. What if some crucial piece of his heart never made it to the production line, dooming him to seek his happiness in others?

Angels don’t fall in love, but they can see the future. The couple have chosen a hard path to follow. Closing his eyes, Jay sees outrage. Ostracization. Soon, people will start suggesting Maria should see a psychiatrist, then they’ll try to have her committed against her will. As for Jay, six months from now, he will be stripped of his powers. Exile: the highest form of punishment for a divine being. As if being divine had ever helped anyone.

Beyond this point, he can see nothing. It’s weird, like…being a kite without a string. An oft-heard human phrase, but one he’s never understood before.

“Trust me,” he says. “In this you can trust me.”

Exiting the cafe, they kiss for a second time. Then, he lifts her in his arms, and they fly.

No, they soar.

Earth and sky be damned.

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