Miracle- Flash fiction story

By Kenny West

I breathe life into my chest, red heaving, mouth gaping, agony still settled in my hollow bones. Gasps are sounding around me, they must be happy to see me, they must think me beautiful. I open my eyes and there he is, Father. My Father, gift from God, passing his blessing onto me. He looks frightened, perhaps he is nervous with me, perhaps he thinks me delicate.

“Sweet Lord above! What has thee done to it?”

“I could not leave it dead.”

“It would have been better that way, Kentigern!”

My Father looks upset now, rage burns me, who would dare upset him. I flap my wings, one twisted and aching but useful still, and rise to my feet, claws gouging the ground, the Sanctuary of my Father’s Father silhouetted against my mangled back. The heathens are wailing now, falling back, wishing death upon my chest, torn and bleeding because of their cruelty. My Father does not flinch, sitting back on his heels, he admires me, mouth agape, eyes bulging. He looks just like me now.

In his life-giving hand he raises a rock, still wet with my blood, dripping down his arm. He grips it with two hands, crying out to his Father, wishing me back to the earth where so many had already been buried beneath me, and I feel myself burning again. I am angry, seething, hateful. I lunge at his throat, bone sawing through the tender flesh there and he cries out. One hand releases the rock, grabs me tightly – for a moment I think he may cradle me, caress me. 

“I am sorry, little one, this, you did not deserve.”

I hack up a clot of blood onto his wrist, a final parting gift before My Father snaps my neck, and I am no more.