Thousand: Nine Hundred Forty-Six

Jesus scoots over a little so the bundle is no longer between him and the fire. The angel folds his arms across his golden chest; his great white wings spread and rustle. Leaning forward, Jesus snatches up a burning brand and applies the flame to the lower feathers. The angel scowls. “Don’t do that.” “What’s the difference? Looks like you’re good and fire proof.” “The leprechaun,” says the angel. “The leper pawn,” sasses the one newly returned to life. When the angel continues to stand where he’s planted, Jesus shrugs. “What’ve you got for me?” “Your duty.” “My? Uh. Yeah.