The Works

Angels on Earth

"Oh God I don't know what to wear!" You shout.

"Come on babe, you must have plenty of choices," one of your friends says, opening up the doors of your wardrobe.

Today is the Angel Ball — welcoming those that are not from Earth into society in an extravagant manner. Your government and the Angels had recently come to a truce and an agreement to integrate ways of life, and aid each other.

Your other two friends are getting ready in the bedroom next door; you quickly peer round to see them already putting on their makeup, almost dressed. You start to panic.

"What about this one?"

"Too short."

"This?"

"Too tight."

"What about?..."

"Too old."

"This one?"

"I don't even know why I have that."

"How about this!" She exclaims, holding up your most recent purchase — a long black dress, mermaid-cut, made of lace, with two slits in the skirt.

"I can't wear black to an event where there's Angels. The dress code—"

"Oh, shut up that's just a guideline. As long as it's formal, it doesn't matter. Look, I'll steam it for you."

You nod, running around trying to prepare your cabin before you leave so it's ready when you come home. You and your family barely use it, only as a lodging when there's special occasions in the city that you must attend, your primary home a long drive away in the outskirts.

"We're leaving in ten!" Your father shouts from the car outside.

"Shit! I haven't done my makeup!" You exclaim, running back into your room.

"What? You know how long we've had! Can you do it in ten?" Your friend steaming your dress asks.

"Uh...yeah I can make it work...something easy..."

You open up your makeup case, picking out a white-purple holographic highlight powder, a light blush, statement lashes, and a matte red lipstick. While your friend steams your dress, you somehow manage to put on your full face of makeup. You dab on some setting powder, and your friend helps you carefully shimmy into your dress and heels. You brush off the powder, quickly apply the lipstick and remove the claw clip from your hair, letting loose curls fall around your shoulders.

"Girls, are you ready?" Your father asks from the doorway.

"Almost, we'll be out in a minute," you say to him and he returns to his car. "Quick, help me get the jacket on."

Your friend holds up the white faux-fur cropped cape; you grab your bag, and all four of you run out the door.

- - -

The museum is sparkling with lights, the pillars at the front decorated with white roses and fairy lights. Streams of people wander in, flutes of champagne in hand. Most are in light colours, or white, but you, you're in black.

"I knew this dress was a mistake!" You whisper to your friends.

"Oh shush, your jacket is white, and your shoes are covered in diamonds, you'll be fine."

You sigh, feeling mildly self-conscious, tugging at the dress and trying to pull the jacket around your shoulders as you make your way up the carpeted stairs. You are handed your own flute of champagne as you enter the foyer, where the banisters are clad with more white roses and fairy lights, the glass roof opened up to reveal the starry sky and bright moon. Someone takes your jacket, hands you a raffle ticket for collection at the end, the portable heaters keeping guests warm. Photographs of the government accord adorn the foyer, the list of agreements engraved on a slab of marble. The Angels can be spotted from a mile away, an ethereal but dim glow surrounding them, and all are dressed in black suits, interestingly.