People often hear a flutter of wings above their head in the trees
A crow, a pidgeon, a dove
A raven perhaps
They never consider the possibilities.
You never do.
A gryphon.
A flutter of pidgeon wings, that much is true, but the body of a fox. Long, red tail. A pidgeon's head. Searching for food on the ground and in the garbage cans.
A gryphon, bigger maybe. Vulture wings and head, the body of a raccoon or a badger.
A dragon.
A flutter of bat wings. A snout, scales. The eyes of a snake but purple. Glowing against dark yellowish skin and scales. Flying without a purpose, for the fun of it.
A dragon, bigger maybe, like a small car, the scales maybe not yellow. Not any colour and yet all of them. Blending into the background.
An angel.
A flutter of dove wings, ghostly white against olive skin. A cherub or a cupid. Doesn't mean any harm. They are here to observe humans for heaven. They are small like a child, their mentality equally child-like. Laughing and playing.
An angel, bigger maybe. A seraph. Three enormous sets of raven wings, feathers black and blue, with a strange rainbow quality to them, like oil streaks.
Three sets of wings, flapping in unison around tan skin and blue eyes. Flying with intent. Searching for the Righteous Man who was wrongfully dragged into Hell. To rescue him.
You're sitting there. Hearing:
A flutter of wings.
And you dismiss the possibilities.
You hear it again and it's not a flutter, it's a flapping, a sort of "whoosh" sound that's too big to be a bird.
And sitting next to you there's suddenly a man, short with blond hair and eyes like sunshine falling through a glass of whisky.
It's not a man at all, you realize upon seeing something.
Behind him, there's a glow, a golden distortion of reality that makes your eyes hurt. It's like looking at the rising sun bound in two pairs of wings. Eagle wings, long primaries, you recognize the shape. Golden and yellow and orange, powerful. The wings of an archangel.
You brush your hair out of your eyes. You had not bothered with it since your brother's death but now you feel embarrassed.
Cast your eyes down, you're talking to an angel, God's messenger, the Archangel Gabriel.
{Flora Hansen}
