Arndale Angel

A fallen angel has caused a few minor interruptions on the usual Bury- Piccadilly route. In the midst of the fresh fish being sold next door at Arndale food market, in the middle of the usual conundrum between buyers and sellers, in the midst of another group of impatient commuters waiting for their tram on a usual Wednesday afternoon. Indignation. Covered mouths, a moment of frozen silence and the smell of fresh death. A few mobiles ring and the latest news spills sporadically like afternoon rain onto the pavement.
" I have just seen him jump off from the top of the building."

A few heads make their way down to take a quick glance before heading back to work. A lonely angel has fallen from the top of the carpark to extricate himself from the stage set. A glimpse of his arched back, his lifeless feet, his drenched blue shirt and I’m frozen. I have stood under the rain waiting for him to get up.Surrender or liberation? Some name it selfishness. Others call it cowardice. I cannot name it.
Mobiles continue ringing, cigarettes are still being smoked, lies are being told, latest shoes are being bought. Lovers are kissing and new babies are born. New business deals are being sought just a few blocks down in Piccadilly. The latest ipods continue to make profit. A soul has departed today.

What did his laughter sound like? What did his eyes retain? Were his words ever released into the thick Manchester sky without trepidation? Was there ever a witness to his moments or his secrets? Did any pairs of eyes dare to look upon him while he wandered the streets at night? I will never know. I leave these red roses on the cold lifeless steps. Perhaps they will find the answers.

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