November 22nd, 2013


The Last Trump, With Birds

So I had this dream last night…

In between the usual complicated foolishness, I was birdwatching. There was a beach with a strange watery bridge over it, and on the bridge were enormous dippers (a bird) and piebald herons and other birds that probably don’t really exist. I looked around vaguely for Tina to come tell me what the birds were, because I couldn’t recognize them, and was that a swimming sparrow? Huh.

Then suddenly the Archangel Michael landed in the middle of the beach, in a glory of wings, and apparently it was the Last Judgement, the End of Days, all that good stuff.

He was accompanied by a four-winged Beast covered in eyes (because I READ the Book of Revelations at a formative age, thank you!) and an elderly, rather genial man in robes.

“Pardon,” I said to the old man in robes, “can you tell me, do archangels count as birds? Can I put them on my lifelist?”

“Sorry,” he said, “they’re not birds. But the Beast Before the Throne there is pretty close, and I think you can count him if you get a good look.”

“Thank you,” I said, training my bins on the four-winged Beast covered in eyes. “You’re the Prophet Elijah, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.”

“I should go mention this to my friends,” I said, once I’d noted the fieldmarks on the Beast.

“Oh, probably.”

I packed up my bins and went back to my friends, who were at the bar. “So, it’s the end of the world,” I said. “We might want to get out of here.”

“Can’t just yet,” said one of them, carefully weighing little metal bits into a scale. “If we leave now, there’s a chance it’ll end badly.”

“Okay,” I said, looking toward the sliding glass doors that were, for some reason, on one side of the beach, “but we shouldn’t stick around too long.”

Something that looked like a fairy jumped from an upper window and landed hard on the ground. “You should have used your wings,” I said, as he picked himself up.

“I’m trying to learn how to do without them,” he said.

“Well, I guess that’s a good skill to have. Great landing, then.”

I wandered into an elevator, where an ancient dog lay on the floor, on a filthy blanket. “Want to come with me?” I asked the dog, a very old Rottweiler/Doberman sort of dog. He sighed, heaved himself up, and came with me.

A black panther wandered down the corridor and gave me a disdainful look. The old dog growled. On the beach below, I could hear the sounds of the end of the world.

Originally published at Tea with the Squash God. You can comment here or there.