MLE, in her dark, wine blue bikini, her short, black hair desperate and wild tendrils around her head, as she floats in the clear, wormwood water of the swimming pool.
Nothing is blessed but all is bright, the city down below twinkling gold, the stars pushed away, and streaking across the sky, the missiles full of demons’ fire to wipe this world away.
Silver streaks across the obsidian sky, and MLE watches, sighing in the warm water, water the baby blue color of the sky when all was well, a time before humans, before the need for grace.
MLE, an angel, too long in the city of her kind here on Earth, knows she will live through the fires as white as God’s creation voice, that now wipes away all things.
But what will be left, what dreams bloom, even sickly, in these ashes? Grey and fragile, the black rains washing them away. Away. Away. A way of humans to burn every miracle.
MLE thinks of the one she loves, a prophet perhaps, who has put a child inside her. The child floats in her and she floats in the wormwood water, and fires again come down.
Angel and human, but both tiers are lost. All is lost. Fire never cleanses, never heals. What will be for MLE and this child born into loss? God does not answer, and the fires hit, speak his name.