20190620

Day 1,748

The angels are outside again. They keep climbing up our houses and leaping off, trying to fly and only succeeding in breaking their bones. It's why so many people moved away from skyscarpes and apartment towers - all you could hear at night was wings manically flapping, soft screams as they fell and the sickening crunches where they landed.

In the mornings the streets would be covered in feathers, blood and bone fragments but the angels were nowhere to be seen. They can't stand the sun, the bright light reminds them of where we told them they are supposed to be and how far they are from it.

We made them too much like birds and told them they were God's messengers until they believed nothing else. Either they don't know just how fragile they are or they're too focused on getting back to heaven that they don't care.

I saw one once on my way back from work. It looked so much like a child but it had eyes like a crow and jagged, feather-covered stumps for arms. I suppose they were meant to be majestic wings but the poor thing had tried to fly one time too many and its next trip would probably be its last.

We don't know what they do with their dead, only that they mourn them with hymns.

If you wait long enough near the upper floors of any tall building you can hear them sing.

If you wait a little longer you can watch them try to fly.

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