Fallen Angel

It was as bleak as a day could get, the day the angel fell from the heavens. It was a cold day in November, and the only sign of life was the wind, hissing between the brown grasses and the lifeless tree branches. The ground was littered with shriveled leaves that occasionally were lifted by the wind to travel several feet before dropping back to the dull grass.
At first I thought that the winged shape in the sky was a sparrow, and I was glad that a bird had come out, for it was lonely with just the hissing wind for company. But as it descended, it grew larger. It was a goose. No, all the geese had left for the winter, and it was too large now. What was it? An eagle? Could it be? No, it was too large, and it’s wings weren’t open. It wasn’t descending with control, but falling. The creature was the flapping wildly, trying to regain flight, but it still fell, falling, falling, down to earth.

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