The Parable of the Singer (HTML Excerpt)
“You must be the one they talk about for miles,” the Devil said, all innocent tactlessness. “The fallen angel come to live among men.” The women gave him harsh looks that were as tired as they were angry. They had heard it all before; must they hear it again? “They say you bear the scars from where God severed your wings, and that He took away your voice to prevent your telling the secrets of Heaven.”

“Not scars,” the mother said, “just birthmarks. I should know.”

Her daughter wrote, with chalk on a bit of slate she always kept by her, I could WRITE secrets just fine.

To save her more scrawling, her mother added, “Not that she has any to tell.”

Her daughter nodded, but kept hold of the slate and chalk in case of further conversation. It is irritating to be constantly picking up and leaving off with a spinning wheel.

“Then you are happy, even without a voice?” the Devil asked. The woman rolled her eyes but nodded. “And the marks on your back, they don’t pain you?” Another exasperated sigh as she shook her head. “Is there nothing you wish for, then, that other men and women do have, that you have been denied, that I might give?”

“What, are you offering to marry her?” scoffed the mother. But the daughter looked thoughtful. She slowly erased her previous words and began to write once more.

I might wish to sing, is what she wrote....
This has been an excerpt from the Friday Fictionette for May 12, 2017. Subscribers can download the full-length fictionette (946 words) from Patreon as an ebook or audiobook depending on their pledge tier.

Cover art incorporates public domain photography from