Of Angels and StarsBy Mark Budman
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When I went for a walk today, I saw two angels arguing over a rock the shape of a five-pointed star.
The angles were the size of garden gnome figurines, and the star was even smaller. The angels wore white surgical gowns, wooden shoes and rubber gloves. The nimbuses around their heads shone pink neon light. That’s how I knew I saw angels and not their evil cousins or costumed kids. “It fell from the Milky Way,” one of them said in a childish, piping voice. “See, it’s seared.” “No way. It was born on Earth,” the other said. “Maybe even man-made. Look how straight the points are. I’d say it’s manufactured by humans.” They turned to me. “What do you think, sir?” I like being called sir. No one ever calls me that anymore. Not even my grandkids. I didn’t tell the angels what I thought. I didn’t support either point of view. I took all three home. I collect my cousins, feral angels and stars. Especially of unknown origins. I let my grandkids play with them. That’s how they learn to be gentle and open-minded. Mark Budman was born in the former Soviet Union, and English is a second language for him. His writing appeared or is forthcoming in Witness, Five Points, Guernica/PEN, American Scholar, Huffington Post, World Literature Today, Mississippi Review, Virginia Quarterly, The London Magazine (UK), McSweeney's, Failbetter, Sonora Review, and elsewhere. He is the publisher of the flash fiction magazine Vestal Review. His novel My Life at First Try was published by Counterpoint Press to wide critical acclaim.
Visit his website: http://markbudman.com |
