They plunged into the orange glowing mouth of my kiln—yes, the whole choir dove straight into the fire. It blazed white and emitted a stench of burnt feathers. Then the angels were nothing but dark bodies going to ash, leaving me on my knees staring after them shocked and silenced in disbelief.

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Read “For Rain Is To Wet and Fire To Burn” by Robert Minto, in Issue #337

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Robert Minto's stories and essays have appeared in a wide array of magazines, including Asimov's, Interzone, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, The New Republic, Real Life Mag, and The Los Angeles Review of Books. He can be found online at www.robertminto.com.

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