Flash Fiction

The lonely virgin stood atop the unweeded tower casting out battered screams over the flowering crowds. The royal duke and the royal duchess faced each other over broken ground. The duke unfit for purpose. The duchess long past her prime. But still they led the dance with the followers from the foxtrot parade pirouetting and curtseying around long forgotten memories. 

The angels carried the word of death on a voice of destruction issuing from a littered skyline. Celestial avengers pouncing on a world weary hoard of floating flowers. Scything in beneath the long acid rainfall, along bubbling, bloated rivers to wreak the Armageddon on the unrepentant and uninnocent. 

The lonely virgin's silver stained tears dripped steadily on the havocked crowd. Tears mixed with the words of the angels created a soothing amongst the crowd until the crisis passed.