Archive for the ‘Sara Genge’ Category
Status Quo
Friday, June 29th, 2007
I can do this, Marcus thought; I can play him along forever. He sat on the couch with the angel who was in charge of commissioning the stained-glass windows in the Cathedral. The angel called himself Uriel. Whether he really was the angel of Repentance or not, wasn’t the issue. This being had the power to keep Marcus alive as long as he needed him to paint.
Marcus would pull a stunt like Penelope, and drag his work throughout his life.
“I know what you’re doing,” said the angel.
“What?” Marcus was pudgy and did not look particularly intelligent. This trick usually worked.
“Cut it out, I know what you’re thinking.” The angel spread its wings and Marcus winced at the sight of those dirty feathers on his cream sofa. He would have thought that an angel would use his powers to keep his wings clean, but this one seemed to think the bohemian look suited him. “If you think this can go on forever,” Uriel continued, “You’re an idiot. Finish the windows and get out of this cesspool. Heaven is much nicer.”
Marcus didn’t want to go to heaven, not yet. He had been dying a few years back of hereditary kidney failure. Then this being had appeared, claiming to be an angel and offering him the commission to paint the stained-glass windows in the Cathedral, the bishop’s new pet project. He’d said yes, and suddenly, there was a kidney for him and he’d been transplanted. Freed from dialysis he’d thrown himself into the job, designing the intricate patterns that would move the faithful to awe, experimenting with lead alloys that made the windows light and airy, as if an angel held them up, as if they weren’t made of glass after all, but of breath or air.
When his body started to reject the kidney, he’d devised a plan. Work slow and, if necessary, destroy the panes. It hurt, but if it came down to his art or his life, the choice was made.
“I know what you’re doing,” repeated the angel.
“Do you know how to stop me?” asked Marcus.
“No,” said the angel.
“Then it’s settled,” said Marcus.
The angel sighed. “Oh well, what are a few years to me?”
“They are everything to me,” said Marcus.
We Are Siamese If You Don’t Please
Wednesday, June 20th, 2007
“Ooooh prettty,” the leprechaun sighed. The garden gnome hushed him
and reasserted his grip on the leprechaun’s arm. The bar was noisy,
there was a chance Pandora hadn’t heard but if the other one kept this
up someone was bound to notice.
The tie of invisibility was knotted around both their necks. As long
as they stayed bound together nobody could see them. Albert felt like
the smart sibling of a pair of Siamese twins, being dragged around by the
leprechaun. It had been the leprechaun’s idea to come to the bar to
stare up girls’ minis and the gnome had agreed thanks to a few glasses
of whisky. Besides, there had to be some advantage to being a
foot tall.
Albert was terrified of being caught. It wasn’t like him to go off on
some undignified panty quest and the leprechaun gave new meaning to
the term ADHD. Disaster was imminent and the gnome wished he were
outta here, preferably with his reputation intact.
“Preeety.” The leprechaun looked blatantly up Pandora’s legs. The girl
took a step back and stared at the floor in their general direction.
For a second, Albert wondered whether she could see them, but her
pupils scanned the space in front of them without focusing and the
gnome relaxed.
Pandora’s confused look turned into a smile that made the gnome feel
like ice-cubes clinking down his back. She opened her purse and
extracted a pearl, twirled it around her fingers and tossed it on the
floor.
The leprechaun gasped and the pearl erupted into a lily, which
blossomed and morphed into a white rose.
“Oh!” The leprechaun shouted and leaped off, yanking the tie away from
Albert and leaving him exposed.
“Sorry Miss.” The gnome blushed, tipped his red cap at her and ran.
Three blocks away, he turned around to look. All that was left of the
bar was a mushroom cloud, red with white dots on the top, a typical
Amanita. From where he was, he could still hear Pandora’s mad cackle.