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“Alright, there he is.”

Three crossbows rose to the sky, their arrows tipped with hard metal balls instead of the traditional point. Three pairs of eyes locked onto the white, feathery wings of the angel gliding above their heads, a messenger bag slung across his shoulder. After a quick countdown, they pulled the triggers, sending the arrows sailing into the air. With a cry, the angel fell, landing a few yards from where the trio watched. While the angel attempted to right himself, the three humans ran to his side, grabbing onto his arms and helping him up. The angel pushed them away, scowled, and scooped up the discarded arrows.

“Are these yours?”

Two of the three shrank back at the angel’s commanding voice, but Tyler kept still. “Yes, sir,” he said cheerfully.

The angel stared at him, “Do you understand the gravity of this situation? You shot an angel!”

The smile dipped slightly, but he remained optimistic. “Well, yes, but we need your help, sir.”


Tyler glanced to the other two for backup, but they were looking elsewhere, distracted by the wonders of the ground at their feet. He turned back to the angel and produced a few letters from his pocket. “Can you deliver these for us?”


“Regular mail is too slow and these are kind of urgent. We couldn’t send pigeons because, well, the dog caught them yesterday. We should’ve sent them earlier, I know, but,” he shuffled his feet, “you know, procrastination.”

“You shot an angel to mail a couple of letters?” Tyler nodded, “What makes you think I’d agree to this?”

“Well, you’re a messenger, aren’t you?”

“For the Lord!” The angel shouted, “Not for humans with toys!”

The angel wrenched Tyler’s crossbow out of his hands, turned, and marched off. He shook off his wings and prepared for flight, but Tyler latched onto his robe. “It won’t even take you a minute!” Tyler said, “Please?”

“What could possibly be so important that you shot an angel to try to get it delivered?”

“Funeral invitations.”

The angel hesitated, then took the letters, muttering Bible verses under his breath to remind himself that it’s a sin to tear peoples’ heads off because they were being annoying. He did, however, ram Tyler’s crossbow against a tree, shattering it to pieces. “Do not. Shoot. The messenger,” the angel snarled, “again.” Then, he took to the air.

The slender stem of a wineglass
garnished with a lime wheel,
the mark of sophistication,
summoned to whisk you away and
bury your troubles in
a blanket of nausea

But tomorrow's problem is today's solution,
the sparkling liquor flavored by salty tears,
all contained in this little
self-sufficient wineglass

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