Feeding Angels




Hi, Mum, can you hear me? Martin has sorted my headphones. My hands are pretty busy at the moment – along with other bits of me.

Yes it was horrendous and our ambulance is wrecked. Backup is on the way.

I’m fine. Hit by one bullet but I’m … listen! I’m fine. Please shut up.

Petrol bombs, water cannon, rubber bullets, real bullets. It’s … well was … a fucking war zone here.

But that’s not the whole story.

Mum, this is important … there was this … what do I say? naked old man that appeared. Big red beard, wild hair and a really pissed off expression – nothing could touch him, not fire or bullets.

The shout he made had everybody running for cover. Shit: bits fell from buildings. He made the ground shake.

End of riot.

Mum, listen, that’s only the start of it.

Ow! not so hard, my sweetest parcel.

Sorry, Mum, I’ll get to that bit, hands full at the moment.

Right, so this spirit or demi god or whatever started touching casualties, totally healing them – even the burning officer we couldn’t get to. But with every touch he grew smaller and younger – from an old man right down through little boy to a toddler.

Oh, little one, your hand barely goes round one of my fingers.

So many casualties, Mum, and I was one.

Yes, I’m fine.

So this god-thing ended up touching me and healed me. He crawled onto my stomach but totally spent himself and turned into a tiny baby. The bullet wound in my thigh simply disappeared.

Right, this is the bit … oh, little one … you want my other nipple? Here, no, here … no, come on … yes … there … you’re getting the idea.

Mum, I have the tiniest baby at my breast. Martin dived into the wrecked shops to get formula milk, but this little man doesn’t want it.

He’s feeding like mad – but from my soul and I love it. He’s wanting all my compassion and courage. He’s already a bit heavier. I just realised souls are infinite – he can get everything he wants. He doesn’t need mortal food.

I hope he will get the best bits of me. Then he may be able to do that whole riot-stopping thing again – or something. That’s my plan.

Can I come home for a while? I’m sure after today’s conflict I can ask for a break.

Don’t know how to look after babies, angels or whatever, but I think I want to do it in private.


©Gary Bonn 2013