The Reluctant Angel-Part 3

by good2begone


As Angel continue to succumb to that aura of peace that overtook every particle of his being, he began to accept that the life he knew….was no more.

He didn’t know where he was, why he was here, or what would happen next.

All he knew was that he was dead.

And

All he could do was wait.

And hope that he didn’t have to converse with any others of the newly dead that congregated in the room for waiting.

His eyes forced themselves open after hearing an odd yet familiar sound.

It was an argument between a mother and her child.

It almost made him giggle, and probably would have, if not for the absurdity of the scene.

As Angel watched the confrontation, he concluded that they died when their house caught on fire, due to the child’s curiosity or maybe it was a fascination with matches.

The mother sat opposite him with the child standing in front of her.

Their hair had been completely burned off. Their scalps still smoldering. Their skin charred and drooping off parts of their arms and legs. What was left of their clothes had melted in with the skin that was supposed to protect them.

“How many times have I told you to leave them alone?” The woman scolded as she tore a piece of cloth from the bottom of the smoldering nightgown she was wearing.

“I know, momma.” The child pouted.

“If I have told you once…I have told you a thousand times. Now look at me and stand still. We have to look presentable for the transition.”

The Mother spat in the blackened cloth and proceeded to wipe what was left of the child’s face. Trying to remove the soot.

“That hurts, momma…and smells gross…did you brush your teeth today?” The child griped.

“Shut up, child and stand still. Do you have ants in your pants?”

“No..the fire is eating my pants…it burns!”

The mother paused, put her rag down, placed her burned hands on her hips and said,

“And who’s fault is that, little miss fire starter?….hmm…..WHO’S FAULT IS THAT??”

Angel shook his head and got out of his seat and headed up to the clearing at the front of the room.

As he passed the first row of chairs in the waiting of the dead room, he noticed what seemed to be a glass window on the wall he faced, about 15 feet ahead.

Behind the window, sat a woman who was seemed to be monitoring the occupants of the waiting room.

The woman behind the glass looked up as Angel approached and quickly stated,

“If your name has not been called, it will be based on the order of the deceased.”

Angel calmly replied,

“Well, could you at least tell me how many deceased are ahead of me?”

The woman quickly shot back-

“Why? Do you have an appointment elsewhere? Where on earth could you possibly have a appointment? Ohh…that’s right…you can’t…cuz you’re dead…..”

Angel just stared at her in stunned disbelief.

“No one ever gets my jokes anymore. Sarcasm was supposed to be my way to the top…instead it got me killed….and here. Name and cause of death….”

Angel shook his head and thought-

“What sort of afterlife job fair are they running here?”

He paused then spoke,

“Ohh…sorry. Murdered by gunshot. Davis…Angel Davis.”

She stopped looking at her list and back up at him and asked-

“Your name is Angel?……Angel Davis? Riiight….and I’m the Virgin Mary….I know Angel Davis….and you sir…..are no Angel Davis!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He replied.

She looked up at him and then glanced to the right. She lifted up her hand and pointed her index finger in the same direction and then spoke.

“Ask him.”

Angel turned his head to follow her point and was faced with the man in the grey suit. He glanced down at the floor to make sure he had the immaculately shined shoes on, then back up to the top of his head, where the fedora sat.

“Mr. Davis….it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I had planned to speak with you before your untimely demise….but your fate had it’s way with changing our destiny. Please follow me, so we may get properly acquainted.”

Angel looked at him, as he generously smiled, with a look of confusion.

The man in the grey suit slacked his smile and returned a similar look of confusion, cleared his throat and spoke.

“Pardon me for my rudeness. I am still taken aback by our greeters sarcasm and tone with the recently departed who have come here. My name is Angel…….Angel Davis and I am the transition coordinator. Please….follow me.”

The coordinating Angel began to walk down the hall.

The recently murdered Angel followed.

The greeter quickly flipped through her list, looking for the name, Angel Davis, on her list.

As she came to the end, with no luck, she flipped back to the front to start again.

And again.

And again.

As she was looking a forth time, she was shaken out of her one name seeking frenzy by a tap on the window.

She looked up to see a different coordinator staring at her. He also wore a grey suit.

He frustratingly looked at her and said,

“Well….who’s next?”

She shook herself out of her daze and replied,

“Ohh…sorry Angel….next is Donnie Kendle….cause of death…drowning. He’s the little boy with the robot.”

Angel shook his head and replied,

“Thank you.”

He then turned toward the waiting room and knelt down and called out to Donnie who was playing with the burned girl.

Donnie looked up, smiled at hearing his name being called and sloshed over to Angel, where he promptly coughed up murky water before asking a question.

“Do you want to play with me.”

Angel smiled and comfortingly replied,

“Yes….yes I do. Playtime is my favorite time.”

He gently took Donnie’s hand and winked at the greeter as he led him down the same hallway that Angel Davis was led down, just moments before.

She smiled and with that single wink from Angel, she completely forgot what she was doing before he arrived.

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