Unholy Trinity: Wings of an Angel by Martin P. Fuller

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Wings of an Angel

 It was beautiful and of ambiguous gender. And the angel spoke unto Ruth saying if she went to the tallest tower in the land and threw herself upon the winds from its heights, she would fly. Ruth admittedly had doubts as no one else could see or hear her heavenly messenger, but the angel assured her it was sincere. 

So, she journeyed to a city of tall great structures and climbed a building of great altitude, the angel whispering gently in her ear. 

‘Take a leap of faith’ it said, and bravely she did, stepping forward.

And the world changed…


Fall of Angels

They were known to all at first as helpers, guiders and advisors. Early Humans marvelled at their wings, and translucent skin which they could darken so all races would feel comfort in their presence.

But eternal life is hard, even for immortal creatures. The hate, lusts and avarice in mankind, tainted their hearts and led them to fall into cynicism, disgust and disappointment. 

An angel’s displeasure is hard on those not in favour. Cities fell and people died and at each punishment, their wings dropped feathers until the angels were flightless, bitter creatures and became the creatures they’d so despised.


A Sadness Akin to Lucifer’s

The child dies along with the mother. A man riddled by wickedness is executed. An old woman is thankful for release; and a loving wife gasps out her last breath, her husband holding her hand. The Angel of Death sees all; supervises their souls release and assesses Heaven, Hell and Purgatory’s quotas. 

The angel’s sword continually cuts all life’s strings, and puppet like, the people fall. Families grieve, lamenting their loss to disease, war, accident and hatred. Yet the Angel is not evil; just driven. Its sibling rules Hades but it controls life. Always waiting, taking; powerful yet eternally doomed.

Martin P. Fuller

Martin lives in his shoebox house in West Yorkshire. He was in his previous exitances: a beer salesman, a pall bearer, a car delivery driver, and oh yes… a police officer for over 34 years.  
He started to write in 2013 after attending a creative writing class and since then has become a writing course junkie. 
Discovering his dark side, Martin has had a number of stories published in Trembling with Fear and several other anthologies including Deadcades published by Infernal Clock.

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