She passes along the streets, ministering to her remaining followers. They huddle, soaked and freezing, on corners and under awnings. They do not smile when they see her. She wears a canvas coat with many pockets, and beneath the curtain of her hair is the glowing ember of a cigarette. That flame has never gone out, kissing each new cigarette like a baptism, passed on to one of the faithful to hold until she returns, a trail of fire and ash through the years.
They need her, and they also hate her. She accepts their bitter love and is gone.
Nice imagery, very poetic.
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of the personification of the four horsemen of the apocalypse in Good Omens. By which I mean, nicely done.
ReplyDeleteI figured you two would like this one. ;-)
ReplyDeleteI have to restrain myself from doing endless series of Small God snapshots. I enjoy them way too much.
Go ahead with them! My favorite part of American Gods was the conversation with the god of TV.
ReplyDeleteI second the comparison to Good Omens! And that you should go ahead with the small gods snapshots.
ReplyDeleteI have to save some of them for the novel that will never ever be finished...
ReplyDeleteOkay, I've been absent for a long time. This is awesome. Awesome.
ReplyDeleteWelcome back, Deb. :-)
ReplyDelete