Angels At The Door

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Horror. Humour.Flash Fiction



Clover is Sydney Lord Mayor, Christine is her political opponent. They should get married, they deserve each other.

Submitted: April 29, 2018

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Submitted: April 29, 2018

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Angels At The Door

 

  Clover and Chistine had a small house on the edge of town. 

One day two angels knocked on the door...

- We have nowhere to stay, all the hotels in town are full because 

of the mardi gras, can we stay with you?

  The ladies looked at each other, finally Clover spoke...

- Okay, you can stay in our spare bedroom, but in exchange you

have to entertain some of the rainbow boys from town.

- Alright we'll do anything if we can rest, our wings are very tired,

we're been flying around for ages. But I hope we won't have to do

anything bad.

- No, no. The rainbow boys practice safe sex, Don't they Chistine?

- Yes, yes.

- I'll just phone them and let them know you're here.

  Well the rainbow boys arrived and brought lots of condoms, and

dental dams, and tubes of KY, and bottles of wine, and the angels

were having a great time, screaming, and laughing, and climaxing...

- I just love your wings angel! Take me for a ride!

- Do they have discos in heaven?

  Just then Clover got a call on her mobile.

- Christine quick, we've got to run!

- What's wrong Clover?

- It's God upstairs, he upset about our diversity again. He said he's

going to nuke the town, quick run!

- What about the angels and the rainbow boys?

- Stuff them! Run!

  So Clover and Christine ran as fast as they could. They heard a

deafening explosion behind them.

- Don't look back Christine, you'll turn into a pillar of salt!

  But Clover's warning was too late, when she finally turned around to

grab her wife, Christine wasn't a pillar of salt, no she was a screaming

shriveled mangled mass of tinsel and glitter!

  Clover took off, running down the road again. She saw a street sign 

saying Oxford Street and headed in that direction...


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