Death Co Re-Write(3-4)

Getting back in the writing flow. Thanks as always for reading my unedited November trash! 

3. Angels and Demons

     Angels, are poorly dressed, self-righteous pricks, who use the halo above their heads to meddle in business that should be left alone. It used to be that in order to become an angel, one would have to perform an act of great kindness, or selflessness. However, as the days went on, these acts became fewer and far between. The powers at be had to start settling for less. The leader of the squadron that landed on the turnpike that day was Chad.

     In life Chad had been a member of a fraternity, and enjoyed drinking. One evening at a party, someone had the brilliant idea of putting together a ramshackle obstacle course, constructed from broken bed posts, mattresses that would turn even the most iron of stomachs, and surplus pillows from the local Cost Plus. Chad had already navigated the course successfully, receiving a slap on the back, and a glass full of brown liquid that smelled like jet fuel for his trouble.

     All in all, it was the beginnings of a standard night. Chad’s best friend was named Buck (one-syllable nomenclature was all the rage in those days). When Buck’s turn came to thread the obstacle course, Chad noticed that he was staggering rather violently. Buck made it about halfway through the course when, perched in a precarious pose atop a rickety bannister, he wobbled and began to fall. In a moment that was truly the most classless canonization of the modern era, Chad yelled “I’ve got you bro,” and jumped to the bottom of the staircase to catch him.

     Chad outstretched his arms like an idiot and soon found that the weight of his friend’s body was far too great to catch. It sent him sprawling to the floor, and on the way was impaled on a broken bed post. He passed out from the pain and when he awoke, he was sat in front of the Council of Elders (a group of ancient martyrs who felt that the criteria should not have changed). Shortly after he was wearing white and wielding a heavenly sword, carrying out what he assumed to be the swift justice of the lord.

     That morning on the turnpike, the clouds opened up and shot down a beam of bright white light. “Don’t go too gaga Jon. They may shoot sunshine out their asses, but they are no laughing matter,” Barker said, and pulled a menacing shotgun from a holster on his back. It had been special issued at Barker’s request. The gun was a relic of the Vietnam war, where he had fallen into a pit of shit-covered sticks. He called those the “good ol days”.

     He laid the large gun over his forearm and cradled it like one would a child. Through the beam of light I could make out silhouettes with large wings floating down to earth. Bitterness filled my head at the memory of being shot down from a cannon. “So I suppose anti-gravity beams of sunshine weren’t in our budget?” The other agents remained silent. Each had drawn their weapons and was standing in a position alertness.

     In The Manual, angels are listed under “Menaces to Society”. Essentially requisition agents are there to keep the balance between above and below, acting as impartial soul porters, and ensuring that no one is able to cheat the system. Angels and demons are on the opposite end of this spectrum, always meddling and trying to gain special clearance for souls of particular merit. For example: A busload of pious missionaries might seem like they deserve special clearance to go straight to Heaven, but it was my job to make sure that they didn’t get it.

     The angels landed with no sound and the beam of light around them slowly evaporated. As they became clearer I found that I was staring at five men dressed in cheap suits, with halos that they thought were “tastefully large”. Each sported the same crew cut, with a shaved line running right above their left ears. Some claim that this is to remember that above all they are servants of God; others say that they’re just radical pricks.

     “Good afternoon gentlemen. What brings you down to such a drab turnpike on what is sure to be a heavenly day.” Barker spoke with the sickly sweetness of a viper about to strike at its prey.

     “I suppose we could ask you the same question,” said Chad, taking a step forward and flexing his wings.

     “Move those again and they won’t be there,” said Barker, pointing the shotgun at Chad’s right side. “You have no clearance to be here, so I’m going to start counting, and when I’ve finished, you will all be gone.”

     “Barker is it?”

     “Oh, an angel who can read. I guess I owe you fifty bucks,” said Michael to Barker.

     “That is a rare site, but doesn’t change the facts. The five of you are trespassing and disturbing the balance. However, you knew my name so I’ll give you a five-count. 1,” the other agents shifted, aiming at their targets. I had never fired a gun in my life. There had been a few times when I needed one (being a seedy lawyer has downfalls), but I had never actually taken the step to getting one.

     In a display of what I hoped to be threatening, I pointed the gun at Chad’s forehead, and prayed that I would be able to hit something. “Surely this is the Lord’s work. We’re talking about a bus full of missionaries.” Chad was raising his voice now, and lifted his hands in a gesture of placation. “Let them have a pass. Burn that paperwork you were going to file and take the night off.”

     “Raise your hand an inch further. I dare you. 2.” It was at this point that the priest raised from his stunned stupor and shambled into the middle of the group towards the angels. He looked at them with eyes of wonder, hoping that they would be his salvation from fair judgment. It reminded me of the way criminals used to look at me when I would show up for first visitation rights at their cell block. Even immortality and a strong firearm couldn’t match the power of a lawyer in the right courtroom.

     “Thank God you’ve come,” he said, bowing down at Chad’s feet. The angel kneeled and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder. Those halo jockeys always love a good grovel.

     “What is your name my son?” Chad was trying to pass himself off as a deity rather than an errand boy.

     “Christoph. My name is Cristoph.” Chad’s face soured and he stood back up.

     “Well Christoph, you’re not on my list. So I suggest you go stand over there.” He pointed in our direction and the priest’s eyes rolled back in his head, finding himself once again wrapped in profound grief. What can I say? The process of death is harder on some than it is on others.

     “3.”

     “Alright old man. Have it your way,” said, Chad, reaching deftly behind his back and unsheathing a sword that was bigger than it had any right to be. Barker responded in kind, unleashing a clap from his trusted companion, and spraying white feathers all over the already bloodied concrete. There was a brief moment of silence, and then the scene descended into war.

     The requisition agents began firing to no effect as the other angels grabbed their swords and charged in. Chad stared at Barker angrily, and I took the moment to align a shot right at his head. In a moment of bravery I pulled the trigger and watched in slow motion as my bullet hit the mark. A small hole appeared in Chad’s head, stunning him momentarily as if he had been slapped in the face. White dust shot out the back of his head, but by the time it had hit the ground he was moving again.

     Oh Jesus, was all I had time to think before he was wheeling through the air at me, hand outstretched, and sword pointed downward. I managed to squeeze off two more shots, but couldn’t be sure if they had been anywhere near on target. The angel didn’t so much as flinch. He swept down from the sky with furious anger, and there was a heavy pinch as his sword slid through my forehead and out the back.

     The pain was blinding. Or, the sword had severed my optic nerve. For the most part there were only flashes of light where I assumed the battle was taking place. In a vague part of my awareness I could hear Barker yelling, and the loud pop of his shotgun, but even this was muffled in time. Once again I found myself floating in inky blackness. Oh no not again, flashed across my vision in neon letters, and then the darkness blotted out everything.

4. Training Day

     As I floated through unconsciousness, I found myself thinking back to the training I had received that very morning. A young man in a suit had come to take me away, leaving my bloodied corpse behind on the bathroom floor, and after a few waivers had been signed, I was sitting in what appeared to be a classroom. A woman stood at the front in a medieval tunic that gave her the appearance of an archaic librarian. Her voice was dusty like the books she had presumably cared for, and time had not been kind to the few scraps of hair still plastered to her long decomposed skull.

     “Requisition Agent,” she droned, writing the words on a black board with white chalk. It was like a nightmare I had in grade school, only one I had to live through. “This is the term appointed to those who uphold the position of Death. No longer will you ride a pale horse, or even careen in a ghostly black car. Instead you will be transported to the home of the living through a process which will be explained in your handbook.”

     I remembered thinking that I should have paid more attention to it, but the thought must have fallen away somewhere within the realization that I was facing death. “Your duty is to ferry the souls of the living back up to the gates of judgement, where they will be tried and subsequently placed. I trust you’re all familiar with the locations for these placements.” A young woman in the back with a purple face laughed at this and the teacher stiffened. “Heaven and Hell are no laughing matter miss. Without them, the balance of the world would cease to exist, and all would descend to chaos.”

     None of it had seemed very important at the time. Apparently there used to be a grieving period for new recruits, where the corporation would give a few days for the recently deceased to come to terms with their demise before starting work. This mostly consisted of locking them in a grey room and telling them to get over it, and in the end was thought to just be a waste of time. In the end, everyone is going to get over it, and if they don’t, they wash out and face eternal judgment. The threat of that is usually enough to slap people into action.

     As the old woman continued to talk, I tried to piece together exactly what had happened. The whole event was kind of a blur. I remembered going over old case notes, and then getting what I could only assume to be blackout drunk. This cycle of self-loathing was nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly no cause for alarm, which is what made it so odd when I woke up dead. I’m not sure how else to describe it. One-minute I was wallowing on the couch, looking through blurry photographs, and the next, the world was grey, and I was passing on.

     “I trust that you are paying attention?” asked the librarian in the snippy tone, which only those who are best friends with leather-bound rantings can muster.

     “Of course,” I said, in a more absent-minded tone than I would have liked. As I sat in the classroom, a throbbing developed in the center of my forehead. It started as a mild headache, but rapidly progressed into a splitting migraine. I could no longer pay attention to anything that was being said. The only available feeling was pain, and it consumed all else. I gained the terrible sensation that something had gone horribly wrong, and the memory began to flicker.

     In between mundane facts about the origins of death, and cavemen attempting to think, I could see flashes of corpses and hospital beds. Somewhere, as if in a distant world that was not so far from my own, I could hear screaming. A nurses face came into focus before mine. She was saying something, but I couldn’t quite make it out. There was a slight pinch in my right arm, that barely registered amidst the other feelings. Vaguely I made out the words “Take him to the infirmary.”

     I tried to scream “No!” but instead managed “Nyunghhhh.” There was the sickening sensation of movement, and once again everything turned to black.