A Match made in Heaven: Short Story Competition.

Scene One: Castel Sant’Angelo, the Library.

He looked at Simon, the picture of despair, his elbows resting on the other side of the desk, his head in his hands.

What the hell are you going to do, Simon? It’s make your mind up time, I need some sleep. Are you going to marry her or what? Frankly, it’s a bit bloody late in the day to be having this conversation. We’re supposed to be at the church in precisely seven hours.

Ed, I just wanted to be normal, you know, not the target for stupid jokes from bigoted nutters. Jesus, I haven’t done it since I was seventeen. Do you know what that feels like? Always hiding, pretending to be something I’m not.  Look, Edward, just give me the bloody key; this may be my last chance!

Edward shook his head sadly as Simon just groaned again and poured himself another brandy. Edward took the key from the desk, opening the windows and raising his eyebrows, stood clear, and tried again to get through to his brother.

Who was it said “The one charm about marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.”. Just don’t do anything stupid, and I really think you should tell Kate if you are determined to go through with this. It’s her life too, you know.

Oscar Wilde? Simon responded automatically.

No, I can’t let her go and I can’t …

Simon hurled the glass in the direction of the fireplace , unfurled his wings and flew slightly unsteadily out of the open window.

What a mess, thought Edward, they were ideally suited, but he couldn’t tell Simon that Kate was more like his brother than he realised. Edward caught her out when she was just seventeen. Poor girl was mortified and he’d sworn to keep it a secret. She wanted to be normal too, and he understood all too well. It  wasn’t a lifestyle choice: both Kate and Simon were born this way. He picked up the phone.

Kate, we need to talk

Simon soared in the June dusk, chasing the thermals and revelling in the sheer joy of flight, and the warm evening air funnelled under his outstretched wings. He travelled on, over the villages , fields and forests until his head felt clear, then he circled the peaks and soared into the valley,  gained height over the snow covered peaks back to the castle and rather more elegantly this time, he swept back through the window into the library. He furled his wings and drew up the armchair.

I can do this, Edward,  but I cannot tell Kate. She really won’t understand.

Simon had discussed this endlessly with his parents over the past two years. They all loved Kate, she was part of the family, but she was no Angel! Beautiful, intelligent, kind and generous, but she was earthbound and wingless. What about the children of such a marriage? It was not unprecedented that they could take after their father. This could prove exceedingly difficult. The Angels were a close knit and secretive group, and for obvious reasons they rarely socialised or married outside their circle. In an unbelieving world they had learnt to hide themselves, wings retracted invisibly into their bodies and their flying was restricted to largely uninhabited parts of the world. They hadn’t entirely abandoned their role as the guardians of mankind but these now materially wealthy Angels confined their good deeds, in the main, to funding charities, and their direct intervention in the woes of mankind was increasingly rare. They survived in extended family groups and contact with others of their kind was fraught with danger.

Scene Two: Wedding Day.

Angels from the realms of glory,

Wing your flight o’er all the earth;

Standing in the chapel of the Castel Sant’Angelo, the home of his bride to be, Simon stood,  as the organ and choir filled the space with the sounds of Angels from the Realms of Glory, and watched as Katie and her father, followed by her bridesmaids,  started down the aisle. She looked pale and almost ethereal, her expression unreadable behind her veil.

Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together – let them speak now or forever hold their peace.

The silence was absolute and seemed to go on for ever, until Kate stepped forward and turning her back on the altar, threw back her veil and unfurled her wings. They were shimmering silver and pearl, iridescent in the sunlight streaming through the stained glass window.

With barely a rustle Kate’s side of the church all stood and followed suit, and like a Mexican wave at a football match, the rest of the congregation followed.

Kate whispered to Simon her face serious:

It is not known precisely where angels dwell; whether in the air, the void, or the planets. It has not been God’s pleasure that we should be informed of their abode. Voltaire.

Followed by, with a lascivious grin.

So, show us your wings, big boy, get ‘em out! I’m no angel, but I’ve spread my wings a bit. Mae West

He did, and the service continued.

Angels fly because they take themselves lightly. G. K. Chesterton. He whispered before they kissed.

I’m Kate, come fly me! She replied.

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