Joe fell off his deckchair when the angel landed in his garden. By the time he got to his feet, the body was already melting. He watched it decay. Human bones protruded through the sinking flesh. Feathers fell from its wings.
He thought of calling the police. But instead he found himself fetching a spade and digging a new flower bed in the centre of his lawn. Then he buried the body, shoveling cold earth over the broken black feathers.
Petunias, he decided. That’s what he would plant over her grave.
He found that he was weeping, but didn’t know why.