Forget their taste anytime soon
The angel enters the other angel’s shrine bowing, its halo a faint autumn purple.
“Do you have a name?” it asks the other one sitting beside a window. “I mean, right now.”
“I don’t. I don’t need one right now. Do you?” the other one replies, not turning towards the door. Then it adds “You are welcome.”
“Thank you. As for the name, yes I do have one. I was asked to pass it on to you, after making sure you don’t have one already.”
“I had quite a few recently. None now,” nods the one still sitting. “Do speak it to me then.”
The one in the door moves in, crossing the small, bright room. It casts shadows, and there’s a loose feather trailing a circle slowly behind it in the air. It is a black feather, tinted purplish by the autumn halo. When the angel reaches the other one, it leans to it and whispers something in its left ear.
“No,” the sitting one says, not a shadow crossing its pure face. “I cannot bear that name now. I am too light for the task it implies.”
The raven-winged one reaches into a pouch of its robes. Its arm loses some of its colour.
“That is why I was told to bring you some of these.”
“What do you mean, these?”
“Pills. A new invention of internal affairs. It’s called a depressant, and it comes in pills. It helps taking on certain names. Its effects do wear off after a while, I’m told. I’m not yet sure it is true, however. Giving you the name has already helped a bit, but I’ll just have to see if I can forget their taste anytime soon.”
(c) 2007 Gabor Csigas