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Literature Text
"Are angels real?" Jack asked picking at a scab on his knee.
"Depends on who you ask," Grandma answered.
"Grandma, do you believe in angels?"
"Yeah." She took a long drag on her cigarette. "But not the kind with wings and halos."
Jack was stumped. He thought maybe Grandma had read the Bible wrong. "What kind of angel doesn't have wings?"
"All of them." Grandma stubbed the cigarette out and looked at the pack of Marlboros. She'd save her last one for after dinner.
"That doesn't make sense," Jack implored. "Father Kenny said-"
"Father Kenny, nothing. Jacks, do you know anyone who's died?"
"No," Jack replied quietly.
"Angels are the people who we loved and have now passed on. I remember one time I was getting ready in the morning when I was girl. Brushing my teeth, and I saw a little peek of white near the door. I know that was my MomMom, your great great grandma."
"So when you die, you'll be my angel?" Jack stared at his shoes, twiddling his thumbs.
"Precisely. But angels aren't ghosts or things like that. They're just people who give you a little nudge when you're lost. You might see reminders of them remember them at odd moments. Whenever I see a blue jay, I think of your great great grandmother. She loved them. My mother and her would watch a flock every morning as they sipped coffee."
"What do you mean when we're lost? Will it be like GPS?" Jack couldn't grasp the logic.
"Kinda, except angels are silent. It's rare that they'll say anything. They usually come in dreams."
"What if you don't remember dreams?"
"Trust me you'll get the message whether you're awake or dreaming," Grandma smiled.
"Depends on who you ask," Grandma answered.
"Grandma, do you believe in angels?"
"Yeah." She took a long drag on her cigarette. "But not the kind with wings and halos."
Jack was stumped. He thought maybe Grandma had read the Bible wrong. "What kind of angel doesn't have wings?"
"All of them." Grandma stubbed the cigarette out and looked at the pack of Marlboros. She'd save her last one for after dinner.
"That doesn't make sense," Jack implored. "Father Kenny said-"
"Father Kenny, nothing. Jacks, do you know anyone who's died?"
"No," Jack replied quietly.
"Angels are the people who we loved and have now passed on. I remember one time I was getting ready in the morning when I was girl. Brushing my teeth, and I saw a little peek of white near the door. I know that was my MomMom, your great great grandma."
"So when you die, you'll be my angel?" Jack stared at his shoes, twiddling his thumbs.
"Precisely. But angels aren't ghosts or things like that. They're just people who give you a little nudge when you're lost. You might see reminders of them remember them at odd moments. Whenever I see a blue jay, I think of your great great grandmother. She loved them. My mother and her would watch a flock every morning as they sipped coffee."
"What do you mean when we're lost? Will it be like GPS?" Jack couldn't grasp the logic.
"Kinda, except angels are silent. It's rare that they'll say anything. They usually come in dreams."
"What if you don't remember dreams?"
"Trust me you'll get the message whether you're awake or dreaming," Grandma smiled.
Literature
Tacos
Tacos are a food of creating new things.
The fillings are kindness and a boost of self esteem.
The sauces are sass and compliments.
The wrapped is nights at a sushi restaurant and working together.
Because tacos are the food that create the most beautiful things.
Literature
The Election
The Election
Once in a country not very far away,
An election was coming in a couple of days,
Three candidates with three agendas had set out to run,
The people would choose when the campaigning was done.
Billionaire Donald lived in a tower of gold,
His ego defied logic and his words were so bold,
He intimidated his opponents spewing fear to win,
and promised to make America great again.
Hillary lied at her rallies and acted true blue,
Pantsuit would preach equality as systemic racism grew,
Minorities flocked to her for overdue civil rights,
While her Foundation sold out to other countries every night.
Sweet Bernie cared for the tall and
Literature
280
pen across paper
the rhythmic tapping of keyboard running
my being is letters
yet i cannot make words
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
Read this while listening to "The Good Left Undone" by Rise Against.
This just kind of hit me but it doesn't seem finished like a sandwich without the meat.
Help?
This just kind of hit me but it doesn't seem finished like a sandwich without the meat.
Help?
© 2012 - 2024 TheAngstyPoet
Comments21
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okay since it was kind of short, I will critique it here. Quite a nice dialogue you have going. It is natural and I like the discussion. The ending is fine but yea, isn't as good as it should be... I dunno. If I were you, I would start with the kid asking and Grandma being diverted from a memory of a little girl in white, peeking on her... and rather than adding the portion of MomMom in the middle, let it pass and... urgh let me give it to you:
"Are angels real?" The old woman heard as her eyes opened and the whiteness disappeared.
She saw Jack picking at a scab on his knee.
"Depends on who you ask," Grandma answered sighing.
"Grandma, do you believe in angels?"
"Yeah." She took a long drag on her cigarette. "But not the kind with wings and halos."
Jack was stumped. He thought maybe Grandma had read the Bible wrong. "What kind of angel doesn't have wings?"
"All of them." Grandma stubbed the cigarette out and looked at the pack of Marlboros. She'd save her last one for after dinner.
"That doesn't make sense," Jack implored. "Father Kenny said-"
"Father Kenny, nothing. Jacks, do you know anyone who's died?"
"No," Jack replied quietly.
"Angels are the people who we loved and have now passed on. Like your MomMom... your great great Grandma"
"Would she look old?"
"Oh no. When they become Angels they get young again"
"So when you die, you'll be my angel?" Jack stared at his shoes, twiddling his thumbs.
"Precisely. But angels aren't ghosts or things like that. They're just people who give you a little nudge when you're lost. You might see reminders of them remember them at odd moments. Whenever I see a blue jay, I think of your great great grandmother. She loved them. My mother and her would watch a flock every morning as they sipped coffee."
"What do you mean when we're lost? Will it be like GPS?" Jack couldn't grasp the logic.
"Kinda, except angels are silent. It's rare that they'll say anything. They usually come in dreams."
"What if you don't remember dreams?"
"Trust me" Grandma smiled as the little girl in white still lingered before before her eyes. "Those are dreams you never forget"
Now I know I altered this a lot and well... I kinda didn't help but I like it this way
"Are angels real?" The old woman heard as her eyes opened and the whiteness disappeared.
She saw Jack picking at a scab on his knee.
"Depends on who you ask," Grandma answered sighing.
"Grandma, do you believe in angels?"
"Yeah." She took a long drag on her cigarette. "But not the kind with wings and halos."
Jack was stumped. He thought maybe Grandma had read the Bible wrong. "What kind of angel doesn't have wings?"
"All of them." Grandma stubbed the cigarette out and looked at the pack of Marlboros. She'd save her last one for after dinner.
"That doesn't make sense," Jack implored. "Father Kenny said-"
"Father Kenny, nothing. Jacks, do you know anyone who's died?"
"No," Jack replied quietly.
"Angels are the people who we loved and have now passed on. Like your MomMom... your great great Grandma"
"Would she look old?"
"Oh no. When they become Angels they get young again"
"So when you die, you'll be my angel?" Jack stared at his shoes, twiddling his thumbs.
"Precisely. But angels aren't ghosts or things like that. They're just people who give you a little nudge when you're lost. You might see reminders of them remember them at odd moments. Whenever I see a blue jay, I think of your great great grandmother. She loved them. My mother and her would watch a flock every morning as they sipped coffee."
"What do you mean when we're lost? Will it be like GPS?" Jack couldn't grasp the logic.
"Kinda, except angels are silent. It's rare that they'll say anything. They usually come in dreams."
"What if you don't remember dreams?"
"Trust me" Grandma smiled as the little girl in white still lingered before before her eyes. "Those are dreams you never forget"
Now I know I altered this a lot and well... I kinda didn't help but I like it this way