Humans need fantasy to be human. To be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape.
– Terry Pratchett (1948 – 2015)
Tag: angel
Fiction: Angels We Have Heard While High
Erik knocked lightly on Craig’s front door and walked in.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi. How was Christmas dinner with the family?”
“About like always. Lots of food. My sister’s kids running around like maniacs. Everyone asking me when I’m going to get married and have kids. When I’m going to get a better job, a better place to live, some get up and go.”
“Grim,” Craig said. “I just got off work. People sure can be bitchy on Christmas. Want a beer?”
“Sure.”
Craig provided each of them with a bottle of beer.
“And,” he said, “I’ve got something else that will put the mellow back into the holiday for both of us.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I got a nice little Christmas present in the mail yesterday from my brother.”
“Your brother the big-city cop? What is it?”
Fiction: Souled Out
Darlan, an agent of Hell on Earth, sighed into his coffee. A good, strong cup of coffee was one of the few things that made up for being trapped in human form to do his infernal majesty’s will.
You couldn’t get any in Hell.
Today, though, even coffee wasn’t perking Darlan up. He was waiting for today’s mark to come along. Another soul to speed on its way to Hell.
Big deal, Darlan thought. The place is overrun with souls as it is, cluttering things up, screaming, pleading, whining — oh, the whining.
Three hundred years earlier, when Darlan was first given the job of infernal shepherd, it was exciting. He always exceeded his quota and liked to take on the tougher jobs. But any job begins to pale after three centuries, and Darlan was doing little more now than putting in his time. Other agents were showing him up, but he didn’t care.
Fiction: Mother’s Helper
Little Bobby’s mother said, “I’m going in to check on dinner. I’ll be right back out. You stay here in the driveway.”
The door closed behind her and Bobby immediately aimed his tricycle at the busy street in front of the house. He pedaled as fast as he could and giggled in glee at the rush of speed.
He launched himself out of the driveway and into the path of an oncoming car. Continue reading “Fiction: Mother’s Helper”
Fiction: The Side of the Angels
“You’re … what?”
Lonnie had been sitting alone on the park bench, quietly minding his own business, soaking in a little late afternoon sun, and continuing to recover from the excesses of the previous night. He’d come to this part of the park to get away from the old busker playing his trumpet. Still, a few high notes would sometimes drift over. And he’d been alone until an absolutely nondescript middle-aged man came strolling along and sat down next to him. Even at that, the man was so utterly unremarkable that Lonnie didn’t notice him at first, or that he had a cloth bag. Then the man spoke.
“You heard me,” the man said. “I am Satan, and I want you to do a job for me.”
“Look, guy,” Lonnie said. “I had too much to drink last night, too. Go home and sleep it off. I’m not in the mood.”
“Your mood is not relevant to our conversation,” the bland man said. “I need someone killed and you can easily do the job. The target sold her soul to me and doesn’t wish to pay. She’s trying everything she can think of to avoid her fate, and I’m getting tired of it. Even though it will do her no good, she’s holed up in a church, and the priest is sympathetic to her. I want you to go in and kill her.”