This story came to me after hearing the U2 song "If God Will Send His Angels" — specifically the line "If God will send his angels/would everything be all right." I think the Bible shows things are definitely not all right once God sends his walking nukes down to us.

"Has the World Ended Yet?" was originally published in the Amazon Shorts program. Here's a teaser. If you like it, you can buy the full story in PDF form ($2.99) by clicking the button after the excerpt. If you don't like it, you can still buy it.

— Peter

HAS THE WORLD ENDED YET?

Tank is the first person in the world to see the angels. He's drinking his morning coffee at the kitchen table and watching the house across the street when they start falling from the sky.

The house across the street looks just like his. Every house on the street looks just like his. He got lost the first few times he drove home after moving here. The only thing different is the woman who lives there. He's been watching her for months. He doesn't know her name, but he knows her. Sometimes she leaves the blinds open when she changes. Tank thinks maybe she does this on purpose. Tank thinks maybe this is some sort of sign language.

Michelle sits at the kitchen table with him, but she can't see him watching for the neighbor because she has some sort of mask over her face. It's one of those organic paste things, made of passion fruit and the essence of bees' dreams or something like that. Zucchini slices cover her eyes. He's married a vegetable.

Tank forgets all about Michelle and the neighbor when the first angel falls from the sky and bounces off the lawn and into the side of the house, right underneath the kitchen window. He puts down his coffee and looks up at the sky. More angels fall from the clouds, dropping down all over the city, leaving orange trails of sparks across the sky. The clouds are a dark red color he can't remember ever seeing before.

He looks at the angel in his yard as it stands up and brushes dirt and grass from its wings. It's naked and has the body of a man. A perfect man. Iron pecs, cut ab, arms like cannons, a dick that belongs in the porn files hidden on Tank's computer. Tank puts his hand on the window. The angel reminds him of his football days. Only its skin isn't sagging from too many hours in an office chair, and its knees look like they still work.

The angel stares at Tank for a moment, its skin smoking from the fall. Then it wanders around the side of the house, out of sight.

Michelle takes the zucchinis from her eyes and looks at the falling angels. "Are they shooting a movie?" she asks.

"It's the end of the world," Tank says. He drops his hand from the window. "Thank God."

© Peter Darbyshire