3AM Exercise 3: The Unreliable Third

Write a fragment of a story from the POV of an unreliable narrator -- third-person limited [or attached] narration. (500 words)

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James watches the black angel sit and warm herself in front of the fire. She folds her wings and rests her head on Michael's shoulder, tired after a long day's work. Michael is new to their group of friends. James still isn't sure what to make of him.

“Jimmy, head’s up!”

He turns just in time to intercept the MGD. The wet glass slips through his hand, and he fumbles with the bottle, finally snagging the neck before it hits the dirt around the campfire. The sharp edge of the cap bites into the tip of his ring finger and blood smears on the label as he twists the top off the beer. James ignores the foam and takes a long pull, almost choking.

The black angel giggles.

“Thanks, Eric.”

“No problemo. There’s more where that came from.”

Eric pats the side of the cooler he’s using as a seat. He’s a proud father. The gatekeeper. The Beer Master.

The circle around the fire is full. Anna and Tommy are making out under the oak, an occasional flash of thigh visible in the half-light. Sam sits alone, staring into the fire, sucking down cigarette after cigarette. She waves a half-hello and motions for James to sit – somewhere. She’s irritated. There’s the log where Michael’s sitting. The only spot open is next to the black angel.

As James sits down, she rustles her wings. He can feel the tickle of air and feathers flow across his back as she moves closer. Thousands of stars burn in the black above them. An occasional ember floats up, past the branches of the great tree, fading as it tries to escape the forest canopy.

“I know you’re lonely,” says the black angel. At first, James thinks she’s talking to someone else. “Don’t worry. You will find love.”

“How do you know?”

“I can see the future, James. It’s not that hard. For instance, Sam there? She’ll murder someone in a coffee shop and run for the rest of her life. Tommy will die in a car crash in a year. Michael will drink a cocktail of Draino and Midori during summer break his freshman year at BC. You and I will make love in room 235 at the Suicide King and I won’t take your life because I’ll fall in love with you. And Eric? Eric dies in a fire.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true. Angels don’t lie. Even black ones.”

James hands his beer to the black angel and she drinks.

“Watch,” she says.

“Hey Jimmy, head’s up!”

Eric tosses another beer, but he’s tipsy, and ends up extending too far and his foot slips on the pine needles. He falls head first into the campfire. His hair and clothes catch as if they’re soaked in pitch.

The black angel snickers. “Flame on!”

Sam is the first to react, dragging him away from the fire. A log pulls free, somehow melted into his left arm. There is nothing left of his face, his breathing sounds like marbles rattling in his chest.

Anna is screaming. Michael and Tommy smother Eric the Torch with their jackets – and then there is no sound but the crackle and pop of pine. Everyone is gone - the future is just smoke and mirrors. The black angel wraps James in her wings and gives him a deep, long goodbye kiss.

“I’ve gotta go.”

James sits for a long time. When he finally makes his way out of the woods, the campfire is nothing but ash and smoke. Everyone is waiting for him back at the service road, hanging around the cars. Eric is smoking a cigarette.

“You look pretty good for a corpse,” says James.

“Excuse me?” and Eric catches the empty MGD bottle that James throws his way.

“Never mind. Let’s go home.”