Wednesday, September 07, 2005

"THE ANGEL WHO DREAMED OF BEING A COSMONAUT" is another teany-tiny fast fiction that I'm typing with my nose because my wrists are still sore from the 3-Day Novel Writing Contest.

I would like to thank Eugene Smith for fashioning such a brilliant image. He's done an impressive job of establishing himself as a talented artist through a number of different sites. Check out his monster blog to see for yourself.


After an eternity of hymns, harps and wiping God's ass with delicately perfumed silk, Stan the Angel wanted a change of pace.

"What are you nuts ?! We've got it all," Al shouted in disgust.

"Do we have massage parlours ?"


"Do we have cigarettes ?"


"Do we have just a single second to ourselves in a day ?"


Stan stared at Al whose face, while being exceptionally angelic, was also somewhat vacant.

"I know, I know. One crummy angel can't have it all. Nobody can have it all... except for of course the Big Guy. All I want is to experience total aloneness in space and then a bottle of vodka afterwards to celebrate. Is that too much to ask ?"

Al was too confused to respond.

"I want to be a cosmonaut."

And that's when he was thrown out of heaven in a thunder bolt firing. No two weeks. No severance pay.

No nothing.

Just the blackest of deep space, a belly full of vodka and death.


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