Speckles in the Sky

8/12/2019 Speckles in the Sky

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For Lynda: a special tale for a special day ©Suzanne Conboy-Hill 2013

Speckles in the Sky

‘Coming on nicely,’ said the man jogging by. ‘Nearly there.’

Lynda turned to check out the source of this odd intrusion. Her heels

spun and she almost lost her balance; damn council, leaving the pavements in

disrepair. She twisted back again and found herself rotating the other way, like

a rapper’s disc on a concrete turntable. Maybe it wasn’t the pavement, maybe

it was the wine …

‘Last day, today.’ It was him again, and it wasn’t quite a question. Lynda

turned and the turn became a twirl. She winged out her arms for stability.

Definitely the wine! As a rule, she didn’t drink during the day but of course this

day was different. She took a step back and another forwards and her feet

seemed to leave the ground just a little, like she was walking on bubble wrap.

‘You’ll get the hang of it soon enough,’ the man said. Lynda brought her

chin down to give him a serious look but he wasn’t there. ‘Up here,’ he said,

and there was a kind of rustling overhead. ‘Can you see them yet?’

‘See what?’ Lynda craned her neck and angled her head backwards. That

made her feel just a little bit dizzy and also her shoulder blades were suddenly

itching like jiggery. She wriggled them and something whooshed.



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parcels, and a few of them nodded to her. One looked like her neighbour,

Delia.

‘Who are all these – these -- whatever they are? Oh God – am I dead?’

‘Far from it, you’re just about to live life more than you ever knew.’ The

jogger was back, materialising vertically this time. ‘Ever wonder why the buses

are half empty? Nobody on the trains during the daytime? We’re up here. Just

put in a few shifts at the bingo, use a couple of concessionaries from time to

time, stops people poking around.’

‘What do you mean ‘shifts at the bingo’? Who’s ‘we’? And you know

what - Delia didn’t have wings when she was putting out the bins this

morning!’

‘You hadn’t retired this morning. You don’t see the wings till you get

your own. Welcome to your new life, Lynda.’

‘You’re telling me I just up-ranked from a caterpillar?’

‘That’s one way of looking at it. I’ve certainly worked with people who

looked like they pupated years ago. So, are you ready to make your first official

flight?’

‘Any choice?’



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‘Not seeing as you’re up here already.’ The man tipped a glance at the

roofs below.

‘Ok then, here goes. Thrusters on quarter impulse, Cap’n – engage!’

Lynda made superman arms, twitched her shoulders, and shot upwards into a

great soaring arc. Then she plunged down, skimmed a chimney pot, alarmed

two cats on a shed roof, and scorched down the road on a slalom run between

the lamp posts.

‘Cats can see us!’ she said, grabbing a STOP sign and expending her

momentum around it.

‘Of course cats can see us! Dogs too, when they put their minds to it.

Not fish though.’ The jogger made a neat parallel turn and back-stroked into

place next to her.

‘Look at that plumage,’ he said. ‘Orange, gold, silver, and magenta. My

goodness, Lynda, you are one loved lady.’

Speckles in the Sky

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