Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Upside down fallen angel

“Hell,” I blurt. “Where am I?”
To which a voice says, “You can say that again.”
I cast a quick glance this way and that, and see—just outside the mouth of the cave—two figures standing guard. Only they are standing upside down, perfectly frozen. Icy wings hang down from their shoulders, broken. And splinters are scattered on the dirt all around them. They are so still that it seems they have been carved from pillars of salt—if not for their feet twitching up there, above me.

Clenching my jaws so they stop clattering I manage to say, “Who are you?”
The only answer I can hear is a groan from the left, somewhat muffled this time. Turning right I bend down to take a good look at the other guard. Why is he silent?
“Who,” I repeat, “are you?”
His head is now barely visible; eyes and nose already submerged, he seems to struggle for air. Mud is flowing into his white mouth, and at the surface, froth starts regurgitating.
“Fallen angels are a dime a dozen around here,” grumbles a throaty voice from above. Her foot kicks some more muck in his direction. “Some,” she says, “have no names at all.” 

Job's wife in Twisted

My quick sketch, blue acrylic on paper, untitled

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