Her skirt flits in the breeze and sways with the motion of her hips as she glides straight toward me. She’s not looking at me, she’s making her way closer to me, but she’s looking past me. She’s an angel. An angel would never dare gawk into the eyes of a simple mortal like me. She’s getting closer with every breath I take, but I hardly notice I’m breathing. I can smell her perfume now, sweet, like roses. Are there roses in heaven?
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, taking it all in. The sun shines through my eyelids and I can see through them to the outline of her figure. I open them again and by some miracle she’s right there in front of me, halted maybe a foot away. I must have been wrong about angels because she looks me in the face now. Her face is pale and round, her plump lips are smeared with crimson and they part. They move. She’s speaking. I look up at her icy blue eyes and they look back at me, infected with disgust. “Um, could you please, like, move? You’re sort of in my way.”
I look around and realize I’m blocking the entrance to the school. My heart drops to my stomach and my pulse rises to my throat as I step shamefully aside. “Sorry,”
I mutter under my breath. She plows through me, knocking her shoulder into mine, shuddering, slapping at the contaminated cardigan in an attempt to brush away any potentially fatal germs that might have been transferred during contact.