This story first appeared in Word Riot Magazine.

THE ANGEL

With a good tailwind I can get from New York to Moscow in about three and a half hours. From above the stratosphere the earth appears beautiful and calm, wrapped like a beloved round infant in its blue and white garments of watery air.  You would not guess from up here at the terrible afflictions of the children of men, how they tear at one another, break their poor hearts, labour in vain.  From the ground the earth is a place of terrifying sorrow and I do not understand how they are able to withstand this constant onslaught of pain. I often see them laughing, and wonder why.  At night they sometimes dream of us, but in the morning they open their eyes, blink, and have forgotten us again.

 

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THE DWARF

Sometimes at night when she cannot sleep the Queen takes me out of my box and carries me to her bed.  I nestle down into the whispering silk sheets, I slip down between the Queen’s silky thighs, I get to work with my tongue.  When the Queen is well satisfied she pulls my hair – one night she pulled whole handfuls of it out by the roots.  I’d like to do more but this is not allowed.  If I attempt it she slaps me, hard, and puts me back in the box. If I’ve been very good, and satisfied her very well, she sometimes allows me to press myself against her round soft pink silk behind.

 

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THE QUEEN

How ugly he is!  Hideous indeed.  Those ridiculous great  grey eyes, crossed like two wandering moons, that great head bobbling on the tiny doll body, those pathetic arms like animal paws, those little bandy legs like the limbs of some half-formed lizard, those tiny feet in tiny yellow boots.  I can do anything I like with him, too, he lets me do anything I like, he enjoys it.  I can tell he enjoys it by the look in his great eyes.  Afterwards he slumbers in my arms like a child.

 

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THE NIGHT WATCHMAN

When they first brought her here they said it was of her own free will that she was to be confined, and I believed them, it’s not for me to question, after all.   As the years have gone by, doubts have arisen in my mind.  Does she never wish to leave those rooms, comfortable though they may be, to step out into the fresh air and the light of day?  Sometimes in the depths of the night I see her white face pressed up against the glass, looking out into the abandoned garden.  No one goes there anymore, it is not permitted, it is reserved for her exclusive use and she does not wish to use it - at least, that is what they say.  Not even so much as a single bird is allowed to enter that garden, only the moonlight ever dares go there now.

 

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THE BOX

I began my life on a hillside, facing south, looking out towards the sea.  When I was four years old two men came with sharp axes and murdered me, splitting me open with ruthless blows – they were deaf to my screams of agony.  Then I was cut and shaped, planed and seasoned by another, different man, who handled me carefully and came to love me.  My corners were fitted together as lovingly as the insides of a living thing, my skin was burnished and oiled till it glowed like the sun that once shone on the hillside, then carved with infinite finesse into the likenesses of animals and plants - this cutting did not hurt me as the first had done.  When I was completely elaborate in rich design I was brought to this large, dark room and shoved under a bed, where all my beauty goes to waste.  A smelly dwarf sleeps in me now.

 

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THE FLY

Zzzzzzz, Zzzzzzzz.  I wait till they’re asleep, then I bite.  The big one’s blood is sweeter, is sweet as baby’s blood, is sweet as honey, the little one’s blood is bitter but still drinkable, and I’m hungry so I bite him too.  Zzzzzz.  When they’re dead I’ll have a grande bouffe and invite all my friends to the party.  It won’t be long – Zzzzzz.