Plasma Frequency Magazine: Issue 10 by Gary

Author:Gary [Gary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Plasma Spyglass Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Nyki Blatchley is a British author who graduated from Keele University in English and Greek and now lives just outside London. He has had about forty stories in publications such as Penumbra, Lore and Wily Writers. His novel At An Uncertain Hour was published by StoneGarden.net in April 2009, and he’s had novellas published by Musa Publishing and Fox & Raven, among others. He’s currently working on a fantasy trilogy called The Winter Legend.

Fire Angel

By Tim Talpas

It's unfortunate that she doesn't have a head. But her wings don't need higher brain functions to beat, to ferry children and animals and old men from the tenement buildings that burn through the night. I watch her from the park, flitting through the buildings, reacting to some deeper stimulus than light or sound. She's graceful, like a prowling feline, her milky arms reaching out in tandem with her wings as she flies.

It's two in the morning, another fire starts in the massive city that stretches outward beneath the blanket of smoke, and I see her take off from her perch above the fire station. There are others like her, but she is special, careful, curious. She saves a young boy from an apartment near the top of a burning tower, his arms open to her, wondering if she is the winged seraph his mother used to speak of, telling him stories by candle light. Later, they'd say it was the candle that burned the building down, that killed his mother, and brought the fire angels out into the angry sky.

When the boy is safe, she lands nearby to preen her wings, and I approach, not carefully as I should, but quickly before she can escape. Her movements slow as I get closer until she stops, and I can see the part of her neck where a head should be. It's flat and smooth, like a pedestal in an art gallery that's been abandoned. She lets me look at her, keeping her wings parted.

I tell her she's beautiful, and she shudders with eager excitement, her hands reaching out then drawing back against her stomach. She wants to save me, but I'm not in trouble, not yet.

When the firemen extinguish the blaze, her wings fall close to the ground, her torso seems to fold forward. I ask her not to go, but she turns and beats her wings once, fanning dust and dirt up into the air to mix with the ashes from the fires.

I pull a match from my pocket, a single match that I strike on the pavement. She turns to the noise, her wings high above her head. She approaches me, closer than ever before, waiting for the screams of children and animals, and old men.

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