The Cherub Hitman of Cambridge
Things got worse after he’d messed up the millennium gig. It was supposed to be… something much bigger.
He’d been banished to Earth, and of all places, Cambridge.
People tend to think of cherubs as porky and cute. Cedric was a carrying a bit of timber, sure, but to call him cute was offensive. Where he came from, he had a reputation as one of the fiercest of angels, a terrifying soldier of heaven. He was never to be seen without his war-paint.
When the Boss called him in, he knew it was bad. The eviction dished out. The Boss also had his wings clipped and they’d started to die and flap about in the wind like an older lady’s zebra-print underwear hanging on a washing line. He’d turned the halo into a hat, not just any hat, oh no, but the finest of all hats, a hat with long comedy hair glued the sides.
The Boss, then decided to force Cedric to walk the streets looking like a member from a 70’s glam-rock band, doing good deeds, like picking up litter. Any attempt to change his appearance would result in worse punishments, like, maybe, being sent to Ipswich.
He didn’t enjoy all the shouting and laughing at his expense. He didn’t enjoy the lack of respect. He was a solider of heaven. He was like that bloke from that film, the one where he had a special set of skills and the bad guys were going to pay.
Yes, he could do the work of the Boss while he was here and display some of his talents to the mortals. Oh, how they’d pay for their moral crimes and sins.
On the historic streets of Cambridge, he picked up an old stick from the nearby wheelie-bin. He swung it through the air. Oh, yes, this was more like it!
Aging man wearing shorts…take that.
Man walking down the street, only looking at his phone…smited.
Man walking down the street, BOTTLE IN HAND…wrathed.
A sudden flash of light. Cedric looks at his new surroundings, reads the town sign. His punishment just got worse.
Metropolitan Dreams 