Tales on Tuesday...Golden Girls

We look down at the ground.
'Angels,' she whispers and it sounds like the wind.
The city is golden around us, lights sparkling like a Christmas tree.
'Angels,' I echo, glancing at the sky. It's a cloudy midnight, but the city's light pollution makes it dusk-like. 'In the country it would be pitch black tonight,' I say.
'Mmm.'
I follow her line of sight. We are nineteen stories up, would be higher but they aren't built yet. I am tired from scaling the aluminium ladders at opposite ends of the scaffolding, and my hands are cold from the frigid metal.
Below us, maybe there are people. I can't see any, even when I look where she is looking.
'What do you see?' I ask quietly.
She doesn't answer right away. 'We're like angels, Jenny. Looking down on everyone from Heaven.'
I glance at her, unable to read her thoughts.
She looks up. 'Angels in the clouds, just waiting to come down to earth.'
'Marsha?'
'Yes?'
'We aren't angels.'
She turns away abruptly. ' Just waiting.'
'We aren't angels Marsha.'
'Down to earth...'
'Marsha!'
She has stepped off the edge of the building.
'Marsha?' I shriek.
'Jenny?'
'Marsha, where are you?' I run to the edge and look down.
'I changed my mind,' she mumbles.
Her hand is turning white from clutching the building.
'Here Marsha, grab my hand.' I reach out to her.
'I don't want to die, Jenny! I changed my mind.'
'I know, I know. Here take my hand.' I pull her back onto the metal framework.
I put my arm around her shoulder.
'Angels,' she whispers again. 'We were angels.'
'That's right,' I say. 'Genuine golden girls.'


This is a Tales on Tuesday post.

Magpie Tales #3...Five

A golden ray of sunlight drips from the clouds and flows over the calm sea. Macy stops walking and looks at it.
It dribbles over the petite waves and spreads across the bay. Macy smiles. She won't wait for it to disappear. She starts walking again.
Every so often, she glances over her shoulder. Sometimes it is a nervous glance, as though she is afraid of a follower. Sometimes it is a curious glance, as though she senses footfalls at the edge of her hearing but cannot see their source. Mostly she looks at the ray of sun.
The sun is still above the oppressive clouds, but this single ray, which spreads at its base to a pool of light, slices through their grey cotton wool.
Macy stops again. The ray is persistent. Every time she turns, expecting to see it gone, she sees it shining strongly onto the water. Even as she whips around, as she has begun to do instead of just turning, she knows it will be there. Its warmth on her back is unmistakeable.
She continues. It's just ahead, the place where she is going. She can see it.
Macy reaches into her pocket. She fingers a cold metal object then takes it out gingerly. She dials a number.
The phone doesn't ring, the automated voice doesn't say 'your call cannot be placed as your phone does not have reception here.' In fact, nothing at all happens. Macy doesn't notice at first, she's used to him not picking up.
Finally, she looks at her phone in disgust, realising that it is not ringing. She dials in the number again, making sure she gets it right. Even though he is deleted from her contacts, she still knows the number by heart. She presses in the eight, the nine, the threes, and the two, but the five isn't working. She presses the five button with all her strength. She sighs in frustration as her nail snaps.
Macy slides the phone closed. She sits down on a rock. She can't go ahead with it, not if he doesn't know. He will pay for what he did, and he will feel guilty for the rest of his life.
She tries again. The five still doesn't work.
In a burst of anger she flings the phone. It sails over the rock and bounces on the grass. It disappears over the edge of a precipice.
She rises and goes over to look. She stays away from the edge. She can just see crashing surf and rocks far below.
After another five minutes, when her back starts to hurt from the rock and the significance of losing her phone has sunk in, she stands again. The ray of sun is still shining.
She sighs and reaches into her pocket. She takes out five weights. She puts them on the rock.
Macy turns away. She starts walking. There is a new spring in her step and her back is no longer hunched in some resignation. She swings around once, and smiles in satisfaction at the weights glittering dangerously in the sun.
She twirls in a circle. She laughs out loud as she realises that she can't remember his number.
Behind her retreating back, the weights slowly darken as the ray of sunlight disappears behind the clouds. Macy doesn't even notice.