"#€?)$%, onward, we must reach the others. Have you done what you promised me?"
"&=^!°, they told me that the other day you had…"
"€/?!-@, where have you been? I have waited for hours! You swore you would come as soon as you could!"
"Oh… *�/+… if what you say is true, then tonight… you and I…"
"@]{=¥¢, COME ON, MOVE! SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED! BEAT HIM DOWN UNTIL HE'S NOTHING!"
"Forgive me… but hadn't you said you had already…"
"Yoooo, *#&+)¢, come! Let's go and enjoy ourselves at your place!"
So many voices, equal in number to the fragments into which the angel was shattered, carried away the somatic pieces of the nameless one. They were figures almost identical in form and size to the Creator, though stripped of the signature crimson cloak. Surprisingly, though some spoke with a feverish edge to their tone, they all shared the same wilted gait: listless, joyless, moving as pilgrims without destination, clinging to material spoils that could never truly aid them. The black-and-white light from above did not touch them; they remained hidden in a darkness that denied the shape of their features. Only the pieces they carried shone faintly, even as they withdrew from the place of impact.
Strangers, nearly all of them unknown, departed thus, each with their chosen fragment of the angel to keep for themselves. One such piece was a circular form with two arms meeting at a thick central hub, known in the realm of men as a "steering wheel". Another, claimed by a voice of feminine timbre, was a long object of unmistakably… phallic shape, glimmering faintly as though, under a different light, it might burst into colors. These shards, now no longer of the angel's body but treasures of the human world, were embraced by their new keepers, sometimes by solitary hands, sometimes by a gathering.
There followed other pieces: A bucket brimming with pure vermilion blood, fresh, still warm. Another, heavy with ash of a muted green hue, borne by several figures, clearly the most burdensome, or the most contested, of all.
Only one among them moved, unlike the rest, wandering almost unaware of the shadowed multitude passing by. After minutes of searching amid the angelic wreckage, it rose and stood still, eyes, or where eyes might be, fixed upon a single point below. Its face, like the rest of its form, lay in darkness, without the lines that mark the living. Yet there, at the level of the nose, it drew upon itself a crimson sphere, and from above the eyes, unseen, two streaks of deep indigo fell. In time, those indigo lines faded in part, giving way to two small streams, liquid, descending from each hidden eye: the sign of a sorrow, of a horror that perhaps was best left forgotten.
At last, when every shadow had departed, one fragment alone remained. Its shape was irregular, undefined, beyond the reach of description. But it endured only a moment. From above, two massive shapes fell like meteors, shattering the angel's final remnant without themselves breaking. It was the two coffins…
"%✓¢¥£, are you hurt?! Answer me! I am here... Do not be afraid…"
"Ata që banojnë mes degëve mësojnë të përkëdhelin qiellin me duar të shpejta.Ata që shkelin tokën kërkojnë supe mbi të cilat të mbështeten;
Ata që presin në barin e lartë dinë të ndalin frymën,derisa hija zgjatet dhe kërcimi bëhet i pashmangshëm.Ata që veshin mish si i yti njohin dhuratën e buzëqeshjes…dhe thikën që fle pas dhëmbëve të tyre;
Ata që dridhen nën sipërfaqe ndjekin këngën e rrymave.Ata që mbajnë dy këmbë në vend të pendëvekanë zgjedhur tashmë drejtimin e arratisë;
Ata që martohen me erën njohin artin e shkëputjes.Ata që ecin mes të ngjashmëve të tyrenuk kanë frikë të mbyllin përgjithmonë krahët e tjetrit;"
(Those who dwell among the branches learn to caress the sky with agile hands. Those who tread the earth seek shoulders on which to stand;
Those who wait in the tall grass know how to still their breath until the shadow stretches and the leap becomes inevitable. Those who wear flesh like your own see the gift of a smile… and the blade that sleeps behind their teeth;
Those who tremble beneath the surface follow the song of the currents. Those who bear two legs instead of fins have already chosen the direction of their flight;
Those who wed the wind know the art of severance. Those who walk among their own kind do not fear to fold another's wings forever;)