Flash Fiction: Snow Angels

Before setting off to revel at Worldcon, Chuck Wendig in his frothy eviltude commanded his minions to write “1,000 words or so”. Again this week we used a random number generator to pick from twenty settings – I got #18, “In a serial killer’s nightmare”.

It’s late, I’m really cutting it close on the noon EDT (9:00 PDT) deadline posting deadline, so all I’ll say is that this is by far the creepiest thing I’ve ever written. As always, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated.

SNOW ANGELS

The holiday crowds flowed past, faceless, spectral forms wrapped up in grey parkas and ski jackets, breath fogging as it was expelled from unseen faces. No individuals stood out as the mass of humanity ebbed and flowed along the crowded sidewalk, tens of thousands of anonymous, ant-like drones shuffling with unseen purpose.

The sidewalk and gutters were full of sludge and horrific excrement. As the pristine snow drifted down from the heavens, it spun and writhed to avoid being touched by the disgusting world below. In punishment for their failure, the pure white crystals were transformed into obscene shades of grey and black before being trampled into the deepening muck beneath the mob’s boots.

No sound could be heard aside from the tinkling of a lone set of unseen wind chimes. The fragile, random notes floated in the snow above the crowd like golden butterflies on the wind, but none in the mob were aware of their existence.

Only He heard the music. Only He saw the snow. Only He saw the crowd. Only He wept.

Patiently and stoically He endured his sorrow and watched the crowd for the inspiration He knew would be there. From His niche off to the side of the world, in it, but not of it, He scanned the moving masses for any glimpse of anything not already consumed by the filth that filled the universe. Ceaselessly His eyes moved, searching for a way to ease His suffering.

She came from His left, flowing along with the crowd splashing along the curb in the rising runoff of sin. Steadily She drove forward, not moving or acting to draw attention to Herself, just another shapeless form in a sea of shapeless forms.

But He saw Her. To His eyes She stood out like a beacon, Her red dress as bright as the lights on a fire engine, Her golden hair as bright as the sun. He could not look away from Her. As She passed Him, He slipped out of His sanctuary and began to follow Her.

For block after block they walked. She led Him without ever looking around or noting His presence. He stayed a hundred yards in back of Her in case She turned or looked back at Him, but now that He had seen Her it would have been impossible for Him to lose Her in the crowd. He knew that they were now as one.

Gradually, as He became more comfortable knowing that She could not escape Him, He began to relax a bit. Reaching into the pocket of the oversized, black overcoat that He wore, He began to absent mindedly play with the knife hidden there. Soon it would be the time.

As She approached the train tracks and crossed them, sirens began to wail and brilliant green lights flashed. Crossing gates slammed down across the intersection. Desperately He tried to find a way around them so that He could stay with Her, but there were no openings. As He looked up and saw Her one last time, the train rushed between them.

The train went on for eternity, countless cars speeding by in a blur. The train was the same emerald green color as the crossing guard lights which still flashed like a laser show into His eyes. As He stared at the train, hoping to keep track of Her through the car windows and cracks between the cars, He slowly became aware of the train’s passengers.

As every car flashed by He could see that the side facing him was filled with angels. They were all staring directly at Him, their left arms straight out in front of them, their hands raised with their palms facing Him. In their right hands they all carried long, silver swords. Their mouths were open as if they were singing or shouting together. As He listened, He realized that the roar of the train’s passing was actually the sound of the angels’ combined voice commanding, “NOOOOOOOO!”

With a shock and a jolt of adrenaline, He awoke to find himself in His bed, His heart pounding and sweat pouring from every pore. The dingy, dirty flop house room was dark, but a few gleams of the rising sun made it past the tattered curtains. In the distance, the desolate whistle of a vanishing train faded on the wind.

He knew that the angels believed that they had stopped Him. But He knew that She was still out there, somewhere. He was connected to Her and He would find Her again, sometime today.

The angels had tried to stop Him before, but they had always failed. They would fail again today. He would find Her as He always had, as He always did, and as He always would.