Of Sixes and Sevens

wonderland: the definition of perfect

an excerpt from the story of two grounded angels

☬ ☬ ☬

figures decorate the clear sky, and their soft feathered wings

bless them with everything at arm's reach—so unlike

the pair who scuffle at the dirt

and are grounded more by their reality

than the gravity on this "heaven"

which in this case, was nothing more than a large

irritating, hunk of earth

that was only one of many islands

floating in the sky.

the boys go to class in the only way they know—climbing the trails of vines that have embedded

into the sacred wall of the school

they can't just fly through the doors after all.

so they slink through the halls, ignoring the intricate designs and colors plastered across the high ceilings and upper walls.

the unadorned floor is the only mediocre exception in the extravagant building

angels have no need to walk after all.

today's instructor teaches the paragons of virtues how to wield their powers

powers that the boys do not have

but they still watch, they still stay

admiring the shower of abilities that fly through the air.

a particular holder of ice flurries out of control as someone is blown into her by gusts of air

and a b

                e

                   a

                      m

of cold narrowly misses them and

exposes them

to the frigid looks of the students and instructor

because heaven isn't perfect and those without wings are shunned.

they flee by foot and barely escape

only having done so because the angels know not of the ugly vines tearing through the stone of their school.

the angels believe they and anything of theirs are the definition of perfect.

hmm republished but on both accounts because i love this so much

an excerpt from a preciousmetal poetry thing

that i took down after like a month because there really was no reaction

i'm sorry this account is like dead