A Jar for Destruction

He dropped down fiercely, plummeting like a pile of stone. The place he landed tasted cold, and Drolene felt succinctly the unsettled mist that blocked out the light. His wings stood upright. Singed, but upright. His fall had been predicted; Drolene was destined for destruction. This was, for him, a non-issue.

His hands were heavier than normal, and gravity seemed to sap the power in his flexing back. He brushed off the soot from his shoulders, the gray stuff flying into the sky like a blast of dust from a forgotten nightshade. He tried to jump to relieve the stress from his ankles, but his own weight forced him down, cracking the asphalt beneath him.

Drolene continued to brush off his coat, his pants, his feathered wings. The street outside of the alley brushed with noise, screamed as busy. A waitress down the street was bright enough that Drolene couldn't help but notice. He coughed, the angel, from inhaling the gray that swirled from behind his strong arms and strong hips. The color wouldn't brush off, and the large winged creature realized the truth of it.

Trudging up the strength it took to walk towards the waitress was more difficult than his fall. Stepping towards a human for the first time, ignoring the hardening in his bones, taking in breaths of air that coursed with sorrow, these were not actions to take lightly. Drolene, his heavy footsteps a stone weight against the air, made his way toward the woman. Her name tag read “Agatha”, but Drolene didn't need to read it.

He hadn't much time, each minute weighed down on him more than the one before. He pressed up against her, spreading his wings as they cracked and shuttered. Not too far down the street a semi-truck veered right, very nearly mounting the curb. Drolene wrapped his arms around the waitress named Agatha who stood smoking a menthol. He dug his feet into the concrete below him, pointed towards the sky with a hardened finger, and braced against the impact he was made for.