The angel of death sits by my bedside
I stare into the vacuum of her eyes
I know for sure I’m being exiled
And she’s waiting for my demise
She comes to visit once a month
Brings me a bouquet of dead flowers
She always looks so stunned
That I’m awake at such late hours
Here’s a piece of horror flash fiction about despair and holy terror. It’s about 580 words and has a reading time of 2 and a half minutes. Let me know what you think!
Content warning: This one is rather dark and it contains mentions of suicide, self-harm, and substance abuse. Please skip this if these topics are triggering to you.
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The angel visits me.
Shocking sound, vast colors, she’s suffused in light. A messenger, her words deeply stirring. Her face purest yellow, shining,
smiling, brings ease, a luminosity
She says everything
Will be all right,
All’s well, all shall be well,
All manner of things
Shall forever be well,
Like Julian said
Centuries ago
Some of you may recognize this illustration – it’s one from William Blake called “Christ in the Sepulcher, Guarded by Angels.” I’m a big fan of Blake’s poetry and famously weird illustrations, so I wanted to distort one a bit with some graphic effects from Canva. I like how this turned out and I particularly like the orange hues.
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what’s all this talk of
angels hunched over
in storm-clouds with
their harps, waiting for me
to make a mistake so
they can swoop down
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