I was reading Flaubert when the angel spoke to me. He was small like a worry stone. His head was a wee flashlight. I put the book aside. The angel spoke in a dialect I could not understand. After listening for a few minutes I could only shrug in my ignorance. He didn’t stop talking, his little light bobbing like a train’s. Finally I went back to Flaubert. Then the angel settled down and went to sleep in the ashtray. When I went to bed that night he was still there. I said a small prayer for his safety and went to sleep readily enough. My dreams, though, were filled with mad concupiscence and violent light storms. When I woke the angel was gone and my head felt chock-full of cotton candy. I only mention this because when you called I could not make speech, my voice suddenly angelic. To you it only sounded like silence. To you it was only silence.
The Angel’s Visitation
Art by Robinson Accola
In its third year, The March Micro Marathon will be, as usual, a prompt-a-day whirlwind for 24 days. You’ll exchange drafts of micro fiction, non-fiction, and prose poetry in small groups and gather for a series of online events (all recorded for participants unable to attend live). We’ll finish with 3 competitions, and participants who are not already in SmokeLong Fitness will be invited to workshop with SmokeLong Fitness until the end of April!