Tzipporah || Heavens Lost Property

Prologue

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Heaven’s Lost Property

The day Icarus flew too close to the sun, you could hear him laughing as he fell. The day Tzipporah flew too close to the earth, you could hear the booming sound of a rifle.

It was on that winter’s day, Tzipporah realised he took familiarity for granted.

The night sky was adorned with countless stars, twinkling in the darkness like little guardian angels. Tzipporah gently closed his door with a soft click and snuck out to the outskirts of Heaven. Where the soft clouds under his feet abated until he could see beneath the wisps. At the edge, he could see the entire earth. But it wasn’t just earth he was interested in, it was the little specks that moved and breathed with a life he couldn’t imagine. Each time he visited, he would fold his wings and come quietly like a thief in the night. Notebook in hand, just to sit and write out the stories he’s seen. No other angel was interested in Tzipporah’s fascination, so his expeditions were alone.

Why would he, they asked in shock, focus on specks when he a perfect life free from flaws? Every angel was perfect, and Heaven was a museum of art where everyone was the sculpture.

Because humans were perfect as well.

Or Tzipporah believed they are. He thought perfection was living a good life despite the flaws. Fascinated, he watched each story of imperfect humans still remain kind in the face of tragedy. They had every reason to give up, to become the brute that Angels decided they were without a second thought. A homeless woman judged for her poorness becoming rich and sharing her wealth. A young boy bullied in school now working as a school psychologist to help bullied children. It was strength. It was humans with bleeding hearts still in the face of pain. In Heaven, every angel had a silver spoon in their mouth, refusing to make sense of a world of imperfections. Facing sadness and loss and triumph and pain was beneath them. Everything was perfect. So why couldn’t he accept that and learnt to love it?

Quickly, Tzipporah became an outcast. An ugly duckling among beautiful, uncaring swans. He spent too much time watching the humans, mimicking their actions. He started blinking, started walking instead of flying. Like now, he blinked twice, squinting as he watches snowflakes fall from the clouds blanketing the earth in snow white as his wings. Reaching out, they melted on his palm with a biting sensation. Every night he’s done this, his wings fluttered with anticipation to simply let go. Just leave. Spread his wings and finally visit the earth. To see the specks grow into humans with too many freckles, or one finger smaller than the other. He didn’t think they were flaws, they were unique. No human looked or acted the same. Their differences combated the carbon copies of angels.

His wings twitched again restlessly, feathers falling in slow motion past the clouds. On earth, they were mistaken for doves and kept in safe condition. Humans and Earth creatures alike treated his feathers the same. Birds turned it into a nest, and humans sometimes stored them in novels with doodles sharing it proudly. Down there, they were hailed as supreme. Individuality was encouraged. Surely...

Tzipporah felt his grip loosen on the clouds. His usual hesitation waning, eyes wide, capturing the sights of how beautiful earth looked blanketed in white.

Then he fell.

At first he didn’t acclimate. The world fell around him blurred, and he was falling face first. But then his wings caught onto the wind and folded them to his back. Naturally, he folded his arms together and dove like a bullet. His eyes were open, and he shifted onto his back as he fell until he couldn’t see Heaven and its unique starry sky. Instead, Tzipporah felt snowflakes falling on him. Each a tiny love bite, barely able to stifle his excitement. Tzipporah giggled, then burst into laughter as he turned on his stomach and spread his wings letting the wind pick him up. Further. Further, he soared above the green specks until they weren’t specks anymore. The trees sprung into detail, green hidden behind white, brown branches with aged lines surviving decades. Tzipporah twirled and spun, his laughter echoing in the silence. Oh, what a glorious moment! He’s conquered his anxieties, and was now on the human earth safely. The stories he could tell the other angels. They have never seen a weathered tree this close, or tasted how nice snow felt against his tongue.

They would certainly realise how boring their lives are and join him. Soon, he might be able to open up a human fan club! Or even better, open back the gates for humans! Tzipporah flew sideways, coasting across the breeze with his wings spread fully as he ran his fingers over snowy tree canopies. Down here, the cold was sharp and stinging. Each breath misted and his face must have been flushed. To escape the chill, his powerful wings beat and he shot up until he had a perfect view of the entire forest.

The deep forest spread in every direction. Snowflakes fell around him, and when he looked up the stars seemed to shine brighter down here. An icy gust drifted past his naked figure and he shuddered. The cold made him appreciate the warmth of Heaven.

He couldn’t wait to return home with stories of his flight. This would be enough to let him dream easily. Tzipporah spread his wings fully and began to fly back—

BANG!

Something grey shot past him. Tzipporah’s wings flittered unsteadily, veering him off path. He looked around, eyes wide and heart racing a mile a minute. But he couldn’t see very well with the fog. What was that? It came with a booming sound that made his skin goose bump unnaturally. His bones rattled and his head shot towards each direction. But nothing—

BANG! BANG!

Pain rushed through his sensitive wings, searing through his senses, leaving him breathless and disoriented. He barely had time to break through the mental fog before the ground rushed towards him. His wings weakly fluttered, but only intense pain followed. What was this feeling? Was this... pain? Tzipporah’s fell, watching heaven disappear further and further. The forest was upside down, the stars mocking his actions as his head hit the tree branch. A sharp crack made his vision spin, and darkness soon followed.

Painful cold woke Tzipporah up. He felt something warm and liquid on his side and saw golden ichor spilling into the snow. Where his blood fed the earth, flowers grew despite the weather. Tzipporah winced, a hiss escaping as his hand flew to his side. His wings tried to open, but they were stiff, frozen with ice and dried blood. He was stuck. Stuck in this unfamiliar forest that he’s only seen from afar. His breathing picked up, chest tightening, each breath a frantic flutter against the invisible restraints that had snared him, his head whipping around like a dying animal cornered by the inevitable. But the pain forced him on his back, head spinning with a fierce agony. A groan escaped, golden blood pooling beneath him as his eyes grew heavy. This... felt wrong, he slurred, an attempt at words as his head lolled to the side. The cold felt relieving now against the burning warmth of his injuries.

Leaves rustled in front of him, but his vision blurred. He couldn’t see them, but he did recognise the gun in their hand. A... rifle. He was weak, mind muddy with fear. But he couldn’t move. His wings folded weakly over him like a cocoon, a last defence. All the warnings the other angels told him echoed like a haunting song in his memory. They are senseless, violent brutes. Incapable of being good, especially to angels. If they were to see one, they would torture him, devour him, worst. He was wrong, they were right. How could he have been so foolish?

He missed Heaven.