Monday Readtime - Flash Fiction today.

Hello.

Here is my entry for the Pudsey Library Writing Competition...

An Angel Returns to Pudsey

Having undertaken Pudsey’s previous semicentennial sweep, Leon had petitioned hard to do this one, too; he’d fallen in love with the little town.

Up here, on the rim of reality, he and his angel kindred had no physical form, existing as energy, intention, light, but as he gathered himself for the jump…

…and plummeted Earthwards, he felt himself change, solidify.  A body, limbs, hair…  And, of course, the wings…

Atmosphere, the top of the skies.  Newly acquired lungs sucked thin air, heart pumping. The air thickened, his wings snapped out, and Leon laughed, his senses soaring with joy.  He angled his pinions in for the drop Earthwards…

Three kilometres up, he slowed, stilled, hanging hawk-like in the sky.  Such change!  The town had spread and sprawled outwards, filling in the formerly-green fields.  He circled lazily, losing altitude.

Leon didn’t worry about being noticed.  Humankind rarely looked upwards these days – their lives weighed them down so much.  He extended his perceptions over the town… the mood was generally upbeat… some people struggling, most doing well.  The local tone was good.

He covered the skies, from Swinnow to Fartown, round to Owlcotes and over Troydale, making sure all was well before landing stealthily near Pudsey Park, sliding his wings away.

Leon glanced at his human reflection in the long library windows.  Tall and lithe, with coffee-coloured skin and cropped, dark hair, his eyes brown and his nose aquiline.  He wore trainers, jeans, a hoodie.  Hmm… fifty years ago, he’d worn a smart suit and proper shoes and a very different complexion.  The world had moved on.

His last visit had coincided with the library’s opening.  State-of-the-art glass frontage, sleek teak and fern wallpaper… he’d not been able to resist a look inside.  He envied humankind their books, the massed stories waiting for release…

The interior had changed.  The wallpaper had gone, but still there were shelves with books and he reached for one he recognised… Tolkien’s ‘the Hobbit’… A different edition, but the same title. He cradled it, stroked its covers with long fingers, inhaled its papery fragrance…  Reluctantly replacing it., he reached into the back pocket of his jeans, approaching the counter where the librarian looked at him over her spectacles.  He smiled.  Some things never changed.

He slid a tired paperback across to her.  ‘Sorry,’ he said.  ‘It’s a little overdue.’