#onehourstories

Sara stood on the rooftop edge contemplating the great secret

she had discovered. She lived with a lightness, tightness in her chest, and a calming hush in her brain.

She hadn't been human for a full day now: four days exactly since the last bite of food. It has been a hashbrown Brian King had given her when he'd been on his break, had told his supervisor it was for him so it would be free. When he slid it across the table to her (like a gun, like a salary offer) she couldn't turn it down. He looked so handsome even in that terrible uniform, hair matted by the net he yanked off and crumpled in his hand when he saw she was there.

She had wanted to tell him then. It had been during his radio show that she'd had the dream, after all, and the music he'd played had unlocked it somehow. But he said he only had a few minutes so she took out her tape recorder and asked him how he got into radio, and how he found out about the bands he played, and tried to match up his familiar voice with the way his lips moved. Later when she transcribed it for the article she had his voice alone, and it was easier to listen, but then she was distracted by the fact that this recording was hers: not anyone who tuned into his 2am college radio station, but just hers.

She rocked on the very edge of the rooftop, surprised there was enough of a human left in her to feel a slight thrill. She wished there'd been time to tell him that all you had to do to leave the human world behind, with its hairnets and annoying supervisors, was to stop eating and sleeping for three days. That the dry uncomfortable skin sloughed right off you.

That as an angel, free of mortal heaviness, you could fly.

From here, she could see the restaurant he worked at. Wouldn't he be surprised to see her alighting on the arches?

She pushed up on her tip toes, inhaled until her chest was full, and leapt.