Flash Fiction Friday, July 27,2013
Roki knew this war would end one day. Not in this place or under these circumstances, but arrive nonetheless. He’d hoped he would have seen it from his vantage point in the sky. A sword of the enemy had sliced through his once shimmering, white wing, making it impossible to regain flight. Now the only thing left to do was to tear those who would hurt the humans to pieces on the precious earth they protected.
The fighting between to the two fractions had hit an all time low. Now the humans knew of the destruction and treachery in a place they deemed holy. Heaven was no longer a place of peace and harmony. Fear-filled screams could be heard in the distance as the souls ran in earnest to avoid the carnage. Who could blame them really? They had no protection other than their appointed saviors.
The flaming pain from behind blurred his vision.
Death was approaching.
“Mamma, who is that?” the five year old, little boy asked.
Seeing the curiosity in his sparkling blue eyes, his mother explained why she’d brought him there today. “The statue you see before you is of one of the bravest heavenly fighters ever witnessed. Though it’s black and made of metal, he’s just as beautiful this way as he was the day he died. Like you, he had long, blond, curly waves. His sapphire eyes twinkled with mischief the same way yours do. He died protecting me that day.” Sylvan took a shaky breath, letting a tear flow down her cheek uninhibited.
Nodding, the small child wiped a stray lock of blond hair from his eyes as he looked up. “So he was a hero?”
“Yes, Roki, he was. He was also your father.”