Angel's Crown
Winning Entry of Dark Yellow Dot's Creative Writing Competition June 2018
Winning Entry of Dark Yellow Dot's Creative Writing Competition June 2018
I think the temples of an angel are soft to the touch. Unlike wild and weathered humans, angels are far from the smog that pours from the beast’s belly. The beast is unmoving, it dominates the world humans live in. And where angels are, where they live is free of beasts, so they are free from their dominance.
Angels have golden skin. I thought they were pale once, however if angels are in heaven and heaven is where the sky is angels cannot be pale. To match their golden skin, angels have tight spirals in place of flowing locks, and angels have eyes the colour of copper deep, deep underground. I refuse to believe for a second that angels have blue eyes.
I was told by a teacher once, ‘Angels are pure like the whitest snow.’
Snow dirties easily. Once you step onto a patch of snow, the colours muddle and you’re left with a watery gruel unpleasant to the eyes.
‘Snow hardens into ice. I slipped once and hurt my head. In the black, the angels came to me.’ I told her.
There is peace in the black; you cannot muddle it the way you can with the white. When the sky is night, the angels lay in its stillness and in that moment they are lost to us. Yet they are there and once I remind myself they are there I become still as well.
Angels have golden skin. I thought they were pale once, however if angels are in heaven and heaven is where the sky is angels cannot be pale. To match their golden skin, angels have tight spirals in place of flowing locks, and angels have eyes the colour of copper deep, deep underground. I refuse to believe for a second that angels have blue eyes.
I was told by a teacher once, ‘Angels are pure like the whitest snow.’
Snow dirties easily. Once you step onto a patch of snow, the colours muddle and you’re left with a watery gruel unpleasant to the eyes.
‘Snow hardens into ice. I slipped once and hurt my head. In the black, the angels came to me.’ I told her.
There is peace in the black; you cannot muddle it the way you can with the white. When the sky is night, the angels lay in its stillness and in that moment they are lost to us. Yet they are there and once I remind myself they are there I become still as well.