Jane

Jane sat cross legged on the floor.  The cold seeped into her legs, numbing her body.  Snow fell.  Gentle and silent.  She wiped at the tears.  How long had it been?  She leaned against the car door.  The engine still smouldered.  The tree lay at a strange angle, broken, creaking as though crying out in pain.

            She blew long and hard into her mittens.  There was a burning in her legs as she stood.  It felt like something had snapped.  Propping herself up against the car she rubbed them. They appeared mangled in the wrong direction.  She felt aloof, detached.  Like a paper dolly in the rain.  A cut out kind from a girl's magazine with tabbed clothing.

            Moments passed.  She stamped her feet, blew her cheeks and closed her eyes, counting to three.  She hobbled into the road, picking up the chainsaw and crossed to the block of ice.  Where had that come from?  Who put it there?  In the road.  Was it meant for her?  Did someone mean to kill her?  No matter.  It was there.  She swerved to miss it.  Jane felt sorry for the tree.  She liked trees.  Michael warned her to be more careful; observant.  Slow down.  She was flighty.  Allowing her mind to wander.

            "It only takes a second."  He would say.  He was right.  She imagined him saying 'I told you so'.  He was like that.  Michael did not believe in angels.  Ever since he lost his parents.  So many years ago.  A tragedy.  There was no denying that.  But it consumed him.  Still, he wouldn't offer to drive her.  That was not his style.  She should never have driven angry.  

            The drip of oil, thawing snow and petrol nudged her into action.  She pulled hard at the cord, jumping as the saw spluttered into life.  The roar of the chainsaw ripped through the winter like a giant's bellow.  Light reflected in the ice, dancing and skipping.  With a grunt she hefted the heavy saw and brought it down on the block.  Whatever it was, whoever wanted her out of the way did not matter.  Not to Jane.  She worked methodical and ordered.  With purpose.  She worked with surprising dexterity.  The chain ripped and chewed, hewing ice this way and that.  Great splinters and chips fell and cascaded, scattered by the violence of the saw.  She worked instinctive and autonomous.

            And then hot, sweating and breathless she stepped back.  She cut the motor.  Silence rushed in like butterflies scared into flight.

            The angel blinked once, twice.  Shook the remnants of ice dust from thick shoulders.  Smiled.  Jane smiled.  The angel held out a hand.  Somewhere behind Jane the click, click, click of a broken wheel.  Leaking oil.  Jane and the angel held hands.

            The air eddied as great, icy wings opened and shook.  A mighty leap launched them both into the air.

            Jane stared at the disappearing ground, at her battered body.  She watched the flashing blue lights in the distance.