July

Issue 34

       The Lord of Smoke smiled a lop-sided grin. Miracles were always difficult for him, and the pigs had taken most everything he could muster. He lifted his red leather jacket from its resting spot on the fence post and shrugged it on. Fumes rose from around the coal black collar and thickened into a cloud of smoke the color of his heart--dismal gray verging on something darker. An ominous cloud that formed and hung in the air over him; then silently reshaped itself into a small marching band and followed along behind as he walked.

         As he left the barnyard, the first of his pigs flapped new-made wings of skin and bone. With a small grunt, the beast took to the air, followed quickly by more and more until all were aloft, flapping and climbing higher.

         The Lord of Smoke paid them no attention. In his craw was an eons old jealously and hatred, still scorching at his insides.

         He had made only one mistake. Just a little one. Then Mike and Gabe backed by a bunch of the others threw him out. Those two never could fight their own battles.

         "Law breaker," They called him, and "Outlaw". When he tried to come back, they said "When pigs fly."

         The fight had left him exhausted, and even then, in the prime of his youth, miracles were hard. So, it took awhile to figure out how to get the pigs aloft.