Sprig Magazine
Founded in Meanjin
Made for everyone


Email
Instagram
Shop

biblically accurate angel takes public transport

 by Ting-Jen ‘TJ’ Kuo



I’m on the bus, noticing again that the sun hasn’t been warming my feathers as much anymore, now that they’ve all turned white. My coat feels heavy on my pair of wings. I watch the clouds go by outside and wonder how old the little girl sitting across from me thinks I am, or that I used to fly. Her passive, angry gaze reminds me of my granddaughter. A hundred of my eyes blink with an effort, and I hide them away in my pockets and sleeves. It’s cold, I’m tired. If I’m not careful I might fall asleep, and by now I’m sure no one would wake me up. 


In the darkness, I feel fellow passengers morph into animals. A shifty lizard, broadcast goose, or investment banking Dior Sauvage alpha troll, primal and familiar. I don’t watch the news much anymore because I lose myself in translating everything like this, onto everything else. That man? A kettle. That chair? A table. That luscious rainforest? Nature will consume us all. 


So you see, my heart is often torn apart by a pack of mad, disinterested pigeons that scatter to different skies in search of the next breadcrumb, or in fear. Things would be so much easier if I were a creature composed of many creatures, each of one wing and one eye, forming some sort of collective consciousness. In the damp of my coat my wings feel shrunken and useless.  


Suddenly, I can hear that it’s pouring rain. In with the footsteps of boarding passengers stalks the stench of undried umbrellas. I keep all my eyes closed and imagine that I tap off, making my way under an awning, retaining an intense sense of anxiety about staying dry. Folks with umbrellas looking slightly bewildered, folks without fast walking and laughing at something, maybe at their own silliness at not bringing an umbrella. People come to join me, idling around, pretending like they have something better to do. 


In this dream, my granddaughter passes me by with her useless foldable umbrella that gets her wet anyway, with the little purple flowers on it. I don’t recognise her, and she doesn’t recognise me. Omniscient, I float above the scene, feeling my feelings, thinking her thoughts. I’m proud of her, a stranger, for at least attempting to shield herself from the storm. She wants to get home and doomscroll Instagram reels with the heater on. I watch the rain, she crosses the road. 


I wake up with all my eyes. I’m still on the bus, it’s taking me somewhere. The girl across from me tapped my coat again and smiled like the sun. ‘Is this your stop?’


Like every day, today feels like the first day of my life.

Short Stories
















About the Author 


Ting-Jen (TJ) Kuo is an aspiring journalist and writer based in Sydney. When not yearning on buses she can be caught being silly in public spaces.