Fictional Piece-
My Name is Angel
On a frigid night, a hunter missed his mark, and the angel tumbled down.
She landed on the outskirts of town to be found by the farmers wife on the way home. Back at the farm house, the farmer's wife warmed her up.
“What is your costume for?” the motherly woman inquired “Are you an actress?”
“No, I am an angel,” she said with innocence in her voice.
“Your names Angel? Nice to meet you Angel.”
“T-thank you?”
Confused but tired, the angel followed the woman to her house. She learned of the woman’s daughter, an apparently, “wild” young woman who the angel would have the honour of sharing a room with, the thought made the angel uncomfortable.
The house was homey, the room, apparently the daughters, which the angel was to stay in has half naked men on posters on every inch of the wall. The angel was glad to close her eyes when she tried to sleep, despite the lack of any actual comfort. When the burning morning sun told her it was time to rise, she noticed a thin, sparsely covered figure by the now open window.
The angel went to bed in the Farmer’s daughter’s bed. The daughter came in with the morning light and woke her.
“You’re the girl mum gave my room to? Damn. What’s with the wings?” She sat on the windowsill untying her boots.
“I’m an angel,” answered the angel, sitting up in bed.
“Yeah, yeah I know your name,” spitting her gum out the window.
The conversation after did not get much further and the Angel stopped trying to explain who she was after what seemed like the millionth “I’m an angel”. The daughter finally gave up when her mother called them both down for breakfast. The meal was waffles and eggs and the smell almost cheered the angel up. That was until the mother saw her daughter. The angel did not want to remember the words either of them used. When the dust cleared they ate in silence, the food did not taste as good as before. In slight rage, the daughter snatched the angel’s wrist and yanked her back up stairs.
“Wear this,” the daughter threw a pair of short shorts and a tank top hard at the angel.
“It’s too small,” the angel held them up to her body.
“No, it fits you perfectly, don't be a prune” the daughter stands, taking the angel's hand.
The daughter storms out the house, dragging the angel behind her. The shadows on the streets made their opinions painfully clear.
“The hell she wearing?”
“Weird…”
“What with the wings?”
“Is she crazy?”
“Stop staring….”
The daughter speaks up, “if you don’t like the stares, then lose the wings.”
The Angel looked at her shocked, “b-but, they’re part of me”
“Stop being so dramatic, they’re just weird.”
The angel nods, hurt, struggling to remain patient.
In the park at the center of town, the angel and the daughter sit on a bench. Two local boys pass by, the daughter undoes her shirt a little, twirling her hair. The angel looks shocked.
“Come on, they’re looking!” The daughter winked at the boys as they walked over.
The angel averted the eyes as they flirted. The next thing she felt was one of the boys hands across her hip as they walked away. “W-what?”
The daughter winked at the angel, “good job.”
They walked home to the same rude remarks , the daughter got frustrated and the angel’s defeated expression, “just take them off!”
“I can’t.”
“Fine then!”
Then the daughter, in her frustration turned to anger, and ripped the angel’s wings off.The angel fell to the ground crying as the daughter stormed off. A stranger came by and helped her up.
“Are you ok? What is your name?”
“I’m fine,” She stood,
“My name is Angel.”
“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”~Ralph Waldo Emerson