Gabriel's

It was a regular day of running for Jordan. Just stretching his legs, and back, and arms, and neck. Mostly his legs of course, doing every stretch he had learned since he was a child and improved over years of training. Leg swings, front, back then lateral. High knees, then butt kicks and alternating to walking lunges. Finally alternating side lunges and heel toe rocks. There were plenty more that could be done, but those would cover the basics. Of course, he always carried his trusty water bottle and two towels around his neck, just in case.

Not that he ever wanted to compete in anything, the glory of the gold wasn’t his thing. The opposite in fact, for Jordan’s running was akin to meditation, a way for him to find peace, a calmness that nothing else in his life could ever achieve.

So he took his morning jog, which he hadn’t ever missed in over twenty years and enjoyed the rush of wind on his face. It was beautiful, it was wonderful. Nothing could top that feeling, save for a gust that would hit his sweat-covered skin twenty minutes in, making him feel so invigorated, exerting his muscles to their limits but never breaking. That’s why stretching was important.

His smile was wide and he took a moment to close his eyes, familiar with this path well enough to dodge anything on his way, simply enjoying the wind on his face and bare legs.

“Watch it, dude!” He felt it almost as soon as he heard it.

Someone was running above him.

“What?”

That was impossible of course, how could someone be over Jordan? Behind or on his sides maybe, but above?

Jordan opened his eyes and looked up, the voice had indeed come from up, as well as the shadow that casted from a body blocking the sun. It was uncanny, a whole person levitating above Jordan, in shorts, a tank top and running shoes. For a moment, he could do nothing but watch with his jaw on the floor.

“Looking good!”

It was a guy, younger than him, leaping over with the ease of an olympic competitor. Except he wasn’t jumping, but rather stepping over Jordan, taking a leap and staying in the air far longer than anybody could, physically speaking. It made no sense until it became clear why.

“What are you wearing?” Jordan’s eyes were focused on the sneakers.

Pristine, new, almost glowing white under the sunlight, with a pair of white feathered wings on the heels.

“Nice, huh? Can’t beat them Gabriel’s!”

Jordan cocked his head with curiosity, but mainly in disbelief, and for the first time in twenty years, he stopped his run. This was insane, but he didn’t want to be rude, so he didn’t say much other than:

“What…”

The guy winked back and kept running, jumping and leaping over the ground, nimble as a hare, light as a feather. And at no point did his shoes ever touch the ground.




“My, these are amazing!”

“I know, right? I’m so glad we could get them on sale!”

The two ladies were chatting amongst themselves. Jordan had seen them before, walkers more than runners, but that was to be expected from someone who was, by his estimate, between sixty and “a lady never tells.”

“I feel like I’m forty years younger!”

“Me too! Like I’m back in kindergarten!”

They laughed together and even Jordan could admit that was sort of endearing. It was a nice contrast to the fact that both of them were skipping on those weird, winged shoes. Every day that passed, more and more people showed up on his running route, with those shoes, suddenly eager to take a run through the park.

It was to be expected, there would always be a flood of newcomers after New Years, the resolutions and such, but this was unexpected and not the least bit annoying.

Not that Jordan was not that Jordan was possessive of his space being invaded. , on the contrary. He had always felt pride at helping new runners into the hobby, even if he could sometimes overwhelm them with his litany of advice and precautions. He hated gate-keepers and would always provide newcomers with everything he felt they needed, which perhaps explained why he wasn’t too fond of those shoes.

They seemed like a needless advantage, they weren’t crutches or wheels, which he’d learned how to fix over the years so as to help disabled people coming to learn more of the hobby. They weren’t aiding anyone, and the people using them weren’t running, not really.

“Hey there, haven’t seen you in a while. Jordan, right?”

Still, no reason to be rude.

“Yes, but I’m afraid I don’t remember your names.”

“Oh worry not, it’s a miracle this old hag can remember yours.”

“Oh shut it, Mariah!”

They laughed, and this time Jordan joined them. Even if he was having trouble keeping up with them, it was one of the nicest things about the hobby. Hanging out with other people, bonding through this wonderful experience. Which is why it bothered him how much those shoes soured it. Perhaps that’s why he was having trouble keeping up with them.

“Oh my, are you okay?”

“You’re not wearing Gabriel’s? You know, they’re on sale right now, if you can't afford them.”

Jordan shot them a look, as if two white women saying that to a black man didn’t have a number of implications. Mariah caught it immediately and tried to save a bit of face.

“Oh please don’t take it that way. Silvia always runs her mouth too soon and for too long.”

“At least I have real teeth to show when I talk.”

“Perhaps we should get you some dentures, I mean do you look at yourself in the mirror when you brush them?”

They laughed, but Jordan could feel the mood was soured for him at that point.

“Well, don’t let me keep you ladies. I think I’ll take a break. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Oh we’ll miss you alright.”

“Right, God forbid we spend too much time together and get sick of each other.”

They kept on laughing and skipping, and Jordan had a strange feeling in his gut. Something wasn’t quite right, and it wasn’t them or him. It'd been a while now that running hadn’t felt right, every morning was less and less exciting. His eyes lingered for a couple of seconds on those immaculate winged shoes.



 “And then he screams, like out of nowhere! I mean, who does that?”

“Mhm.” 

Jordan had never been much for conversations during a run, but his friend had finally asked for help starting the hobby, and so he had begun the morning in a better mood than he’d had in a long time.

At least until she arrived with those shoes on.

“Like, I get it, maybe I was a bit pushy but- Hey, are you listening?”

“Sorry Lili, been a bit distracted lately.”

“Business troubles? How’s the shop doing lately?”

“The shop’s good, just got some other things on my mind.” He felt it’d be better to change topics, lest he get bitter with her. “Speaking of business, how is Mr. Chen doing?”

“Oh my old man is as he’s always been. Complaining all the time regardless of whether  we’re doing well, or if we’re doing bad. If you ask him, we're always having trouble.”

“And what do you think?”

“We could be doing worse.” He hoped to get a bit more than a shrug, but that’s all she gave him.

They were silent for a moment, a moment through which Jordan could simply enjoy the cold wind and the warm sunlight on him. It had been like crawling on glass just to get some enjoyment out of running lately, which deeply hurt him, even if he didn’t show it. So he was very happy to have a moment of normal, regular running , up until three guys did cart wheels over them just to show off, landing right in front of them.

Jordan frowned, but Lili smiled, practically beaming with excitement.

“Hey, I didn’t know you could do that with Gabriel’s!”

“You can do anything on these, Missy!”

“Clearly! Hey Jordan, do you mind if…”

“Go ahead.”

She rushed to their side, asking for advice and gaining plenty of distance over Jordan. He sighed and slowed down, shaking his head. He didn’t want to admit it, but he hated them. It was to the point that the sight of them made him cringe, those flashes of bright white leather above and around him. He wasn’t one to judge or voice his complaints, but he couldn’t deny that this was ruining the whole experience for him.

He’d have to do something about it, simply complaining wouldn’t do. It was time to face the music and find what kind of place would be selling those shoes.



They’ve been all over the news, how could they not? Magical shoes that let you defy gravity, only available at one shop in one particular city in the world, and it just so happened to have opened so close to his own business. Most people didn’t believe it, so not that many had come to visit yet, but it was only a matter of time. As it turns out, Gabriel’s shop was barely a floor underneath his own. On his lunch break, Jordan closed the shop he’d been running for ten years and paid it a visit. 

Once he got there, he found out it was also closed for lunch, with a friendly “Be right back!” handwritten sign on the door. Still, he thought it’d be worth at least checking if someone was in, so he knocked on the door.

“Be there in a moment!” The voice was sweet, almost melodic. “Sorry, we’re closed right now but you can come back in an hour and I’ll be happy to show you what we’ve got!”

Through the gap of the barely opened door, Jordan could tell that the man who spoke was at least in his seventies, yet despite his apparent age, he seemed to be a limber and fit old man.

“Yes! Sorry, I came to introduce myself. I own the workout supplements shop on the upper floor. The name’s Jordan.”

“Ah! A fellow businessman!” The man chuckled as he opened the door. “Please, come in.”

And he did, noticing immediately that the place looked more like an old library than a shoe shop. Or any sports shop that had anything to do with shoes or athletics. Even in the low lights the man had kindly turned on for them to walk around stack, all that Jordan could see were stacks of boxes and shelves decked to the brim with those shoes. Wooden shelves mostly, again like those one could find at an old library. It wasn’t dusty at all however, quite the opposite. It seemed that the owner went to unusual lengths to keep the place pristine. Especially the shoes.

“Sorry for the mess, still haven’t gotten around to doing some re-arrangements.”

“That’s alright, I should be the one apologizing for interrupting your lunch.” Jordan played along, assuming the old man to be making a joke.

The place couldn’t be more clean if you dusted it every half an hour. He thought, and considered that may well be the reason why it was so clean.

“Oh no worries! I eat light, so I was done before you even knocked on the door.” He chuckled again. “Speaking of, have you had your lunch already? I’d be happy to offer you something!”

“Thanks, but I have my own diet. Wouldn’t want to put you through that.” Jordan figured it’d be better to join in the banter with a joke of his own.

“Ah, the life of a sportsman, always forgoing taste in favor of protein, hm?” The man raised a brow in a complicit look.

“That’s alright by me. Truth be told, I have a weak stomach.”

“Well, I hope I don’t upset it. Still, I’m happy to have you here. I am pleased to meet you, Jordan.”

He noticed his neighbor had yet to give his name, but Jordan felt a bit awkward about bringing it up, so he changed subjects.

“I see business is going well, given all the people out there flying in your wings…” 

He hinted at the name, hoping the other would confirm or deny it. The old man did neither.

“What a blessing, eh?” He winked at Jordan. “I am thankful that everyone’s enjoying them.”

“Right, and it fills your pockets, eh?”

The man shrugged. “Not really why I do this, and I don’t see most of the money. Only what’s needed to keep the place afloat.”

Jordan raised a brow. “Where does it go then?”

The man simply smiled.

What a creep. 

There was something about the man that didn’t sit right with Jordan. He seemed nice enough, but he also avoided giving clear answers to most questions, and he smiled too often. Once again, he realized it was time for a change of subjects. “So how do these work?”


“Exactly how you see them. The wings let people fly, to a degree. Here.”

He brought one of the shoes down, placing it on Jordan’s hands. Under the soft orange tone of the lightbulbs, Jordan felt like a novice acolyte of some old monastery straight from a pulp magazine. It was weird, it’s what it was.

“Good leather.” As his fingers traced the surface, he could only think of how normal they seemed, in contrast to the wings.

They were white running shoes, the soles were flat and sturdy, with a textured bottom for better traction. They didn’t have any special design on top, and had a mesh on the inside for arch support. In fact, the design as a whole focused on the wearer’s comfort more so than durability, although the leather was of high quality so that wouldn’t necessarily be a problem in the long run.

But what are they? He thought, seeing the wings slowly flap.

They looked like bird wings, at least in shape. White feathers on a rather thin bone, that never lost their shape or any feathers on them despite how much they moved around. They were small, so much that a regular bird wouldn’t be able to fly with them.

Then again, neither could a person.

They never stopped flapping but did so calmly, at least at the moment. When Jordan saw them on someone’s feet, they acted like their lives depended on keeping the runner flying.

“The best you can find, and very easy to work with.” The man said beaming with pride.

“I see.”

There was an awkward silence. Jordan didn’t know what to say, his eyes were fixated on those wings. They gave the shoes the impression of being alive, which made him quite nervous.

“You are not satisfied with my answers.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not at all.” A chuckle rang through the otherwise silent shop. “Would it help if I told you you’ll be getting some answers soon enough?”

No. Something about this conversation unnerved Jordan very deeply. “How so?”

The old man once again simply smiled.




It was another day of running, and every single one of them began to feel less and less magical. Jordan loathed using the word, he felt it made it sound either childish or naive, but it did feel like he was losing something wondrous, something that had given his life meaning.

He had tried to find new locations, new times of the day even if breaking routine irked him badly. But every single time, without fail, those damned Gabriel’s would be there. Those bright  sneakers made of tasteful white leather and otherworldly wings. Scratch that, it was never just the one.

They came in pairs at least, most of the time there were dozens. Forming groups that grew bigger and bigger, a whole community of newly converted runners. He hated it, and that made him sick. That so many people would enjoy the hobby and he could not be happy about it.

It was that bitterness that came every time he saw them, those shoes flashing with every step in the air, it made his stomach churn, made the sides of his head ache.

He knew deep down what it was, where that feeling came from.

They’re doing it wrong.

Jordan hated the thought, sounding like an insufferable old man who won’t allow anyone to enjoy themselves if it’s not his way. So many years of learning, training, trading tips and suggestions, caring for others and himself. He had found a community, a way of life, even a business with which he could sustain himself. 

It pained him to see this development, and more so to know he could do nothing about it. As another group of skippers, as he’d come to call them, passed him by he sighed, resigning himself to this new way of life.

But then he began to choke. He figured that, distracted as he was, he’d simply lost his breath. It happened sometimes, especially when he was in a bad mood, which had been the case for weeks now. So he took a deep breath, as he had so many times in so many years, and coughed. Badly, painfully.

He dropped to his knees, his throat was soaked, his mouth was drooling and his legs shivered. Jordan needed a full five minutes of conscious effort to breathe again, every second of it was a struggle to get at least one breath of air enough to keep him alive. Tears were running down his face, his lungs were burning, his abdomen ached as his diaphragm contracted over and over to suck in as much air as possible.

When he finally managed to breathe like a human again, Jordan wondered, with no small amount of anger. Why had no one even asked if he was okay? He was surrounded by people hopping, skipping and jumping. There were dozens of them and more every day. Why wouldn’t anyone do him the courtesy of even asking if he was okay? 

It was as he raised his gaze that he realized why they couldn’t. The air around him was thick with mist, the densest he’d ever seen in his life. He couldn’t see anything farther than his hand, and when he gasped, a mouthful of it seeped down his throat, choking him again.

He coughed and quickly stood up, swatting around with his arm like that could push the mist away. His muscles ached like he had been running for a full day, he had to blink over and over just to clear his vision. Then he saw it.

It was the brightest light he’d ever seen in his life. Overpowering, incandescent, it could have been beautiful if it wasn’t burning his eyes. He lifted the same arm as before to protect them, feeling the skippers jumping past him, completely unaware of whatever weird weather phenomena was suddenly assaulting his senses.

He couldn’t believe it, it made no sense. Where did the light come from? Why was no one else noticing? For a moment the fear that he may have gone crazy buried into his mind. That at least would make sense, that his own resentment would manifest in this weird hallucination that would prevent him from running anymore.

But this fast? How can it be so sudden?

Not that he knew anything about psychology, but as far as he knew, hallucinations didn’t develop this quickly. Then the coughing came again, except it wasn’t coming from him. 

There was a young man, with one knee on the ground, choking like he had. Jordan started walking towards to help him out when he noticed the man was only wearing one of the shoes. His left leg was up in the air, puppeted by those small, flapping wings while the other was bent to the ground. He almost laughed, it looked so ridiculous and out of place. The poor man was coughing himself to death, while that damned pair of wings was forcing his foot to keep moving. Someone else came by and pulled him up.

“Watch it, man!”

They tossed him the shoe that had fallen off and the guy simply laughed as he put it on to keep skipping. He was gone like nothing happened, not even noticing Jordan standing next to him.

Jordan looked at him, at all of them, skipping and jumping around happier than he’d ever seen anyone else. The bright light illuminated them like a classical painting. Gold, yellow and white. They looked alive, thriving and completely unaware of anything else, like puppets made to smile and dance, injected with pure joy and forced to ignore all other feelings. It was the most wonderful sight ever to set before his eyes, and equally unnerving.

And it was at that moment Jordan noticed the mist that had now settled like thick clouds around them, was coming from their shoes. Thick trails of clouds came off like residue from the flapping wings.



The echo of the door slamming open was so loud, it would have made Jordan’s skin crawl if he hadn’t been the one to do it.

He was furious, his head was throbbing with pain and fury. He had no idea where he’d gotten the strength to walk all the way to the shop. He couldn’t run, but his steps were heavy with uncontrollable wrath.

“You!”

He screamed at the old man, pushing past stacked up boxes of winged shoes, making them topple to the floor and scatter around.

“What the hell are you selling?”

“Wrong direction.”

“What?!”

Jordan felt his jaw lock, his teeth hurt as he grit them. He had never been a violent person, had never been in a fight. But at that moment, he felt like snapping the man in half.

“You said hell. I said, wrong direction.”

“Don’t laugh at me and answer my question! What are those things?”


“Gabriel’s. It says so on the box.”

Jordan pulled him up by the scruff of his shirt.

“Don’t play with me! I felt like I was dying out there, choking on that weird smog of yours!”

The man winced at that.

“Ouch, no need to be rude.” Jordan was about to reply when the man cut him off. “It’s no smog, one hundred percent pure, clean air.”

That threw him off, making him drop the man with a confused expression on his face.

“What?!”

“You heard, at least, I hope so. Pure air, and water as a matter of fact. That’s what clouds are made of.”

“You’re not making any sense, old man!”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

Whatever took to bring blood to a boiling point had just translated into those words. Jordan was about to explode.


“So that’s it? You think you’re God?” Jordan took a step closer. “You got ahold of some cursed shoes and think you can play God?!”

“Oh heavens, no! I wouldn’t dare.” The man chuckled again.

“So? You think you’re on a mission from God?!”

“Well…yes, actually. Although I don’t believe it, I know it for a fact.”


Jordan froze. He said it so calmly, so confidently as if he was talking about sales or his morning routine. But it wasn’t just that, there was something in his voice. Like the certainty of his words was factually , intimately, and metaphysically real. It wasn’t a feeling in Jordan’s stomach, or some deep intuitive knowledge. The man spoke the words, and on a fundamental level both knew them to be true.

Jordan fell back to the previously topped off tower of boxes, once again sruggling to breathe. His chest heaved as his arms leaned on the boxes, trying to keep him somewhat still, although they trembled so badly he was at risk of laying back on those damned shoes.

“Hard to process a capital R Revelation, huh? It’s alright, take your time.”

The old man poured a glass of water from a jar that seemed to appear out of thin air. Jordan took it, unable to do anything else, but he couldn’t drink it. He held it in a trembling hand while looking at the man.

“What…uh…”

“Yes?” 

The man’s calm, almost patronizing tone irritated Jordan so much it was enough to snap him back to reality.

“What are you? Are you an…an…an angel?” The word came out in a whimper.

“Yes! And before you ask, no I’m not Gabriel himself. I’m still young, as you can see, still working up the ladder to get my own wings.” He said it in such a chipper tone, like he was amused by the whole thing.

“You…but…why?!”

“Why what?”

“Why do all of this? Why the weird shoes, the wings, the mist?!”

Just thinking about it made Jordan choke again, or maybe it was the nervous breakdown.

“That? Oh well, you figured out the shoes aren’t really for flying. I mean, they let you do that, yes, but they really exist to do some clean up. Prepare the grounds for Judgement Day. I suppose you could consider it akin to the Rapture, but that would imply ethics have anything to do with who stays and who goes.”

“What?”


“Well yes, heaven on earth requires a bit of work, the Holy Light of the Lord can’t simply illuminate the lands outside the Garden of Eden. So a bit of change in air pressure, temperature and such will do wonders to set the stage.”

“B-but…the people.” Jordan was sweating, and ice cold.

“Yes, that’s a shame, but such things happen. Death can be like that, you know?”

No, no!

Jordan crawled, grabbing the man’s ankles.

“Please, please! They haven’t done anything to deserve it!”

“Of course they have!” The angel didn’t look like he wanted to specify what they had done. “But it’s a bit late for that now, I’m afraid. I’m sorry Jordan, for what it’s worth it is natural of you to beg in such a situation. The people of Sodom also begged as fire rained upon them. I know, I was there.”

Jordan got on one knee, it was all the strength he could muster. But his rage wouldn’t allow him to stay idle.

“How dare you! Who do you think you are to judge us like that?!”

It wasn’t thunder that Jordan felt shaking the room. It wasn’t a drum made of leather, an earthquake, a bomb, a hurricane or a volcano erupting. Neither natural nor artificial things of the Earth could compare to the absolute power that he felt imposed itself on him. A darkness brighter than any star, a sound quieter than the absence of thought. Where the old man had stood, there was now a force of creation itself that looked upon him with the tiniest fraction of God’s Wrath.

And then it was gone, the old man was once again standing in front of Jordan, the room vaguely illuminated with not a single shoe out of place.

Jordan knew he was breathing, but he couldn’t feel it. He was alive, sure, but he would never live as the same man he’d been merely a second ago.

“Apologies, it’s important for us angels to follow a certain code of conduct. It wouldn’t do to let any human defy the word of the Lord.”

Jordan couldn’t move, could barely even blink. All he managed to do was lift a shaking hand to point at the wings of the shoes, the one thing that so far hadn’t been explained at all.

“Where…who…what are those?”

The old man smiled.

“Gabriel’s.” 

 

• A long one here! I got inspired by a passing moment in one of my nightmares that was completely unrelated to the rest lol. Enjoy!