I am the God of this town you could say and you should and it only cost me 300 euros.
Look at him there, swooping over those rooftops, great mechanical raptor ye, stealing through the clouds, breaking sky laws, privacy laws, like something out of the old stories.
You can tell they’re impressed below, all looking up and pointing, wondering, but he knows only me, tells only me the secrets he collects from those heights, and wouldn’t you like to know what I know now through my eye in the sky.
Look! We’re flying over the old school, and the old library, and the old windmill...
Yes, I am the God of this town.
Just 300 euros.
In Argos.
Look! The Green Church....Wait!
No! Get out of there!
Stuck!
Ech, we’re pinned to the wall of the tower, impotent.
Yes, I am fallible now. Grounded. I must rise. I must up and conquer those sacred walls to retrieve my treasure, my star.
Look around! Any priests? No. So start climbing.
They’re watching down there. Can’t get enough of it. I hope no-one calls the cops.
I can hear him above me diminishing on the spire, his droning, his sobbing, my crippled angel.
Ah, my foot’s stuck. Shit.
They’re still watching down there.
I cannot reach. Dangling are we both now in the heavens. The other Gods have gone.
My seraphim is failing, my Gabriel, my divine motor device is dying.
300 euros.
Are they laughing down there?
‘Call someone. Call the firemen, I’m stuck.’
Sean McNulty has published fiction with Richmond Review, Androgyny Magazine and Epoque Press, and his poetry has featured in Dreich. In 2018, he was a winner in the Irish Novel Fair. Twitter: @thispersona