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office angels
“Nine Unheard Messages…”
“Hey, it’s me. I jus-“
“Message Skipped.”
“Hi. Did you get my last mes-“
“Message Skipped.”
“Hello? Are you doi-“
“Message Skipped.”
“Hey! Answer m-“
“All Existing Messages Deleted.”
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound reverberates inside my skull like pounding fists.
shut up. Shut Up. SHUT UP.
Wait. Wait. Oh.
The fists are real. They’re real this time.
I drag my feet to the door and look through the aperture. Just in case. Just in case.
And the knocking stops.
It’s her. It’s her.
Maybe if I just ignore her. Pretend that I’m not home.
“Peter, I can hear you. Just let me in.”
Mad.
We’re in the living room. She’s suddenly uncomfortable. I know why but I wish I didn’t.
“You know that Ed Sheeran song about angels dying because it’s too cold?”
She nods.
“Well I always thought that was strange because when I picture an angel it’s all white and bright and pretty. And that’s the color of snow. I always thought of angels as cold creatures, so the thought of one freezing to death never made sense to me.”
She brings her eyes up to mine.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“People think differently. It’s not all the same. We’re not all the same.”
secondhand
She herself had nothing in particular about her that would make her subject to verbal or physical abuse. She herself was born with nothing in particular about her that would make someone dislike themselves. She watched the life around her like a movie, never feeling truly involved, but that fact not bothering her in the slightest. The only thing that kept her connected to this world was her wild and bucking emotion. Sometimes her best friend would go to her for advice, but not because she knew anything about what was happening to them. They would go to her because they knew that she knew about feelings. They were bad at feelings. So she felt for the both of them. She would tell them whatever she felt about what they were feeling. She never knew if she was helping. She liked to think so. And she felt very deeply about them and these problems that were so important to them. She found that it was important to her as well. She found that helping them out with their baggage helped her sort out her own life, even if she never went to anyone else with questions. And along the line, she started to wonder if she was so comfortable with giving all of this advice because she was similar feelings. But that didn’t make sense, she would know. She knows about feelings. But that one thought made her think, maybe she really didn’t know that much at all.
angels of the deep
A swarm of statues awakens within the cold, stirred by the tampering of man. Their stony gowns weigh them down as they rise from the chill of the waters, like cicadas in July, until the last emerges from the expanse of the night sea. She gently lowers herself, clutching the waves as if they were stone themselves, and lifts her waterlogged moth wings, slowly opening her eyeless lids. The artificial intruder looms before her, threatening the calmness of her organic domain. The sight of the illuminated white, the sounds of her sister screeches draw her toward the abomination. Every instinct she has is screaming Danger.
