Hark, The Herald Angels Tell It Like It Really Is
You think you’ve got it tough? Try being a Guardian Angel …
Angel Dabriel pulled off his halo and trudged through the door into the Guardian Angel’s Mess where he made a beeline for the refrigerator, praying that the Fallen Angels hadn’t drunk all the beer while he was out.
Dabriel found a tin of Pale Ale in the back corner of the refrigerator. Thank you God, he sighed in relief, holding the cold can against his burning head. Anyone who thought being a Guardian Angel was a good gig had no bloody idea. Dabriel pulled the ring from the can and took a long swig.
“Tough day then?”
Dabriel turned. Angel Maroth was perched at one of the tables sipping tea from a china cup and saucer. He’d already removed his wings and they sat primly on the seat beside him.
“You better believe it,” Dabriel said, dropping into a chair. “How come God gave me this asshole loser to look after for the term of his natural life? He’s a bigot and a racist, he’s cheated on all his wives, there’s rumours of fraud in his business dealings, and the silly twit is always putting his foot in his mouth on social media.”
Maroth sipped his tea smugly.
“It’s alright for you, Maroth … Joan of Arc, Princess Diana, and now Greta Thunberg. No wonder you’re always sitting in here drinking your endless blasted cups of tea without a care in the world!”
“You think you’ve got it tough,” piped Izrail, who was sprawled across the couch at other end of the room. “Jack the Ripper was no walk in the park, believe you me.”
“Maybe … but the next one you got was Gandhi. And now you’ve got Bill Gates,” Dabriel said bitterly, running his hand through his flowing, golden locks.
Muriel shook her head sympathetically. “You do seem to have got the short end of the flaming sword, Dabriel.” She’d already removed her angel robes and wings, and now sported a smart red suit with matching heels.
“Genghis Kahn must have been a shock for you, not to mention Adolf Hitler … and then Charlie Manson,” Muriel continued. “And I thought I had it bad with Queen Elizabeth the First. Archangel Michael never forgave me when Elizabeth beheaded Mary Queen of Scots. I got a black mark next to my name for letting it happen and altering the course of history.”
Dabriel shot Muriel a grateful smile. “You know what really stinks?” he asked. “Even when we see our charges heading towards a train wreck, we’re not allowed to intervene. I cannot understand why God gave these wretched humans free choice. Talk about making our jobs even harder! I’d have given my right wing to launch God’s thunderbolts into some of my charges. Then they might have thought twice about all that killing and raping and pillaging they got up to.”
The door to the mess swung open. Cassiel entered. He waved as he headed towards the wine rack.
Dabriel groaned. “And that lucky bastard got Angelina Jolie this time around!”
Cassiel reappeared carrying a bottle of Bordeaux’s finest. “Ah, but don’t forget I once copped Albert Fish … and Pol Pot, and I had to escort them to the Pearly Gates and argue their cases when they expired.” His halo jiggled as he shook his head. “Talk about stressful. I lost every last feather from my wings. It took forever to grow them back.”
Cassiel carefully folded his wings behind him, as he lowered himself into a chair. “And Angie was trouble to begin with when she married Billy Bob Thornton and got into that Satanic stuff. Lucky she pulled her finger out when she adopted all those kids and started with her charity work. She’s no trouble at all now.”
Cassiel poured himself a giant glass of wine and eyed Dabriel. “So, who are you bellyaching about?”
Maroth grinned. “Dabriel’s got Donald Chump.”
“Oh. Right. Bummer.”
