He tried Turkish food for the first time and shortly after broke out in a rash. Benadryl cured the itch everywhere except for between his shoulder blades, which got worse. It got so bad that it kept him from sleep and he rubbed his back against the walls like a bear. The itch got worse.

In the mirror he looked and found two raised, red areas of rash, presumably hives. The night passed slowly as he itched, and paced, and considered a trip to Urgent Care. At the mirror again he saw his skin was broken where the rash raged. It itched and hurt and made him scared.

He took sleeping pills and finally slept. Hours later when he woke his back was in agony. He found himself at the mirror again. Two long falcon wings had grown from his body. When he extended them black, brown, and tan feathers rustled and hit the walls and ceiling, but the pain eased.

The doorbell rang, and he opened the door a crack. Three angels stood on his doorstep. Their wings white and pure.

“Does this mean I'm dead? Am I an angel now?” He asked.

They pushed past him into the house and stared at his brown wings. “Yes you are dead, and you lived a good life, but you can't be an angel. Your wings are dark so you will belong to the dark lord.” The tallest of them said and turned his back on him.

The angels walked away and shortly thereafter there was a soft knock on the door. He was afraid to answer because he knew who it would be and he wished to delay the moment as long as possible. A tiny child patiently stood there waiting for him to open the door. Her eyes large and innocent.

He could delay no longer and opened the door.

“Buy some Girl Scout cookies?” She asked.

He breathed a sigh of relief, bought a box, and watched as she skipped away.

Three dark-winged fallen angels strolled up to his door. “Sorry we are late.” They said. “Jeremy here ate some bad Turkish food yesterday and has been sick all day. Kind of put us behind. Are you ready to come along?”