Thursday, 21 July 2011

Pensive angels & suicidal cupids

(Zoé's diary)
Dear diary,

Today was a rather strange day. On my way to work, as I cut through the field, I thought I saw the wings of an angel floating in mid-air. Hovering on the spot, like a dragonfly. A pair of white wings. No body, no golden hair, nothing. Just two shiny white wings. I only caught a glimpse, from the corner of my eye, but I know they were there. I am not mistaken. No way! But, as soon as I turned around to see them, they disappeared. I know it was not a cloud, and it certainly wasn’t my imagination playing tricks on me. Anyway, as they seemed to have disappeared I continued towards the factory, stopping at the café on the way, where I had a quick coffee with Michael. I told him about the wings, but he just laughed. He said I had a vivid imagination and that he likes me because I still believe in fairy tales.

So, anyway, at work I got down to stitching as usual. The sewing machines make an awful racket. You can’t hear yourself think. There are about 120 of us in that hall. Each one with her own sewing machine. Stitching away. I dare you to try and imagine the noise we create. A rock concert sounds like a lullaby to me. And I have to listen to this 10 hours a day. 6 days a week. Anyway, I was stitching those stupid jeans, so that some spoilt teenager will wear them to school or to the mall, or maybe a supermodel will wear them in her free time, or a cute Hollywood actor or a really cool singer… Maybe even somebody I fancy. And when I meet him I will be able to say: I stitched these jeans and he will look me in the eyes and … Ooops, I drifted again. Anyway, I was stitching the jeans as usual and I needed to take a few deep breaths to relax the tension in my muscles and I stretched and looked up, towards the ceiling. And on the ledge, under the ceiling, I saw an angel. At that moment the production hall fell silent. I could not hear a single sewing machine. I know it is a bit of a cliché, especially for the factory in which I work, but it was so silent you could hear a pin drop. I looked around. All of the girls were working, all with their heads down, concentrating on their jeans and their stitches. The angel was sitting on the ledge, with a pensive look on her face. She looked worried, saddened, a young angel with an old face. I wish I knew what she saw…. I am certain she wasn’t watching us, but for a moment I though she might be looking at something ghastly that happened here in the past, or something terrible that is yet to happen. I watched the angel for a few minutes, but then the boss came and told me off. He said I was lazy and that I tend to drift off into my own little secret world too often and that was why he did not like me.

When I returned from my 27 minute lunch break I was convinced I saw the same angel dressed in our jeans, walking down the production hall. When I say down the production hall, what I really mean is, it looked like our production hall, but it was also way different. I mean the walls were there, the windows were there, but there were no sewing machines, no people, no noise, and the walls looked old and the two windows below the high ceiling have been crying and dripping their mascara. It looked as if they had been crying for years. Maybe even for decades. Who knows? Maybe they have been crying ever since the first stitch was made in this factory. Or maybe since whatever the angel saw happened. But this was just a quick flash. A hundredth of a second. Or less. I don’t know. So quick I was uncertain it was really there. I mean, imagine, an angel, a real certified angel, wearing fake Prada jeans, made in a sweatshop in rural England. But at that very moment I heard a soft voice whisper: ‘You know when something unjust is happening and that is why I like you.’ I looked around, but there was nobody to be seen.

As I was returning home, I heard a loud thump behind me. I was in the middle of the field, so I had no idea what it could be. I jumped and shrieked because it was so sudden and unexpected. You know, dear diary, that there is nothing in the fields but Red-breasted Robins, and it was impossible for a Robin to make such a loud noise. At first I did not turn around, I didn’t dare to, I just ran… fast, as fast as I could. After a minute or so I realised nothing (or nobody) was chasing me, so I slowed down and glanced back. I couldn’t see anything unusual. Just the field. I didn’t see a huge hungry wolf chasing me. Nor did I see the local madman. I stopped and decided to go back and see what made that loud thump. I walked slowly, and soon I saw something in the grass. I couldn’t recognise what it was, but it was not moving, so I dared to come closer. When I came right next to it, I saw it. It was an angel. The same one I have been seeing throughout the day. Not moving. Not breathing (do angels breathe, diary?) Dead. With an arrow sticking from her back. I could see a note wrapped around the arrow, just below the feathers. I wondered if it was alright for me to take the note and read it. I mean, after all this was an angel. But after sitting next to the angel for a while my curiosity won. I took the note and read: For Zoé, with love.

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