tagNonHumanA Day in the Life of an Angel

A Day in the Life of an Angel

bySamuelx©

The time is 2009. The place is the city of Boston, Massachusetts. The protagonist is none other than yours truly, of course. My name is Hazel. I'm a fallen Archangel and one of the most powerful ones out there. Like all of my fallen brethren, I have had to adapt to life on the planet Earth. Angels fall from Grace for different reasons. The First Wave of the Fallen were the followers of Lucifer Morningstar who left the Kingdom of Heaven of their own free will. Since then, many have left Heaven. Some no longer wanted a life of servitude. It happens. Me? I left Heaven because of a philosophical disagreement with the Lord. Nothing more, and nothing less.

You see, the Lord doesn't take disagreement too well. Seriously. He's like that. I landed on Earth, and made a life for myself here. A lot of you might wonder why an archangel would voluntarily leave the Kingdom of Heaven and come to Earth. Well, Heaven isn't all it's cracked up to be. And there are no people there. Only angels and God. When a human dies, his or her soul goes to a pocket reality to await judgment. They are judged by a numerous host of high-ranking angels presided over by my former colleagues, the Archangels Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. They are the Big Three where I come from. The Voices of the Lord. The Hands of Heaven. The Princes of Might. The souls of good men and good women don't go to Heaven. They go to Paradise, a place which is an exact replica of the planet Earth, except it's inhabited by good people. It's a blissful place.

The souls of evil men and evil women go to what humans in their limited understanding call Hell. Hell is a place. It's as real as you and me. But it's not what you think. In Hell, a wicked person gets to relive the worst events of his or her life, over and over again. It's not all fire and brimstone. It's different for everyone. There are no angels in Hell. No faithful angels or fallen angels. There are only the souls of wicked people, and the Demons who delight in tormenting them. It's not a fun place to be. I hope you never end up there. Treasure your time on earth, folks. Seriously.

I really like it down here. Over the course of millennia, I've had to reinvent myself time and again. I've been a warrior, a healer, a messenger, and a wanderer. Always a wanderer. Eternity can feel quite lonely when you're all by yourself. Scholars from many religions imagine fallen angels as dwelling in some fiery pit deep below the earth. That is so inaccurate. We're right here with you. We look like ordinary people. Most of the time. We can make ourselves look like anyone, male or female, black or white. Angels are spirits. We have no gender, or ethnicity. In our natural state, we exist as pure energy made sentient. Our shape-shifting abilities are second to none.

Take me, for example. These days, I'm a patrol officer with the Boston Police Department. A six-foot-three, broad-shouldered and muscular, burly man in his mid-thirties with dark brown skin, short black hair and hazel eyes. I go by the name of Jackson Albright. I live in a nice little apartment in the South End. I pay taxes. I own a bright red Hummer. 2005 model. Yeah, I made a fairly decent life for myself in Bean Town. I like my life now. It's okay. It's the first time in ages that I've been black or male. And a policeman to boot. Wow. In my last incarnation, I was a white female reporter in Northern Ireland. It was fun while it lasted but I had to move on eventually.

The city of Boston is my new home. And it's under my protection. Fallen angels aren't the only supernatural entities on the planet Earth. There are Demons here too. A lot of people make the mistake of assuming that fallen angels are Demons. We aren't. Demons are something else entirely. Angels, whether faithful or fallen, are beings of pure energy and pure thought. Demons are essentially rage and malice given form. We are spirit. They are flesh. Demons have many powers. They can read minds. They can shape-shift at will. They can teleport, and turn invisible. They can manipulate matter and energy in ways that would astound you. Like my fellow angels and myself, Demons are immortal. But they're limited in power and knowledge just like angels are limited in power and knowledge. Sorry for the theology lesson, I just wanted you to understand certain things.

The city of Boston is infested with Demons. They're everywhere. They can look like anyone. They're not ugly, horned creatures with glowing red eyes and spiked tails. They look like people. Often, people you trust. Your husband or wife, brother or sister, father or mother, son or daughter, uncle or aunt, cousin, nephew or nice, grandfather or grandmother. They can be that cute guy at work you like, the hot chick who works at your favorite restaurant, or your favorite professor. They can be the quiet, friendly librarian in your hometown, the grim cop in the squad car, or the stern judge on the bench. Demons are everywhere. And they can be anyone. Their shape-shifting abilities are second only to those of angels. And ordinary humanity is hapless against them. Humans have forgotten all knowledge of magic. They've forgotten just about everything from the old ways. That's such a shame. In a world that doesn't believe they exist, Demons are having a field day.

Many people think that fallen angels associate with Demons. Some of us do. Hey, there are misguided fools in every group, alright? Most of us don't care to mix with Demons. And there is a good reason why. Demons are pure evil. They have no conscience, no empathy and feel no remorse. They get pleasure from only one thing, the destruction of others. Fallen angels are sensate beings, capable of both good and evil. Just like people. Demons are bad news, folks. And it so happens that Geraldine O'Shea, the Chief of Police in Boston, is a high-ranking Succubus. The Succubus is a powerful type of female demon. You see, Demons are matriarchal. A powerful Succubus called the Matriarch rules over the Legion, as Demon units are called. The Matriarch's second-in-command is the Alpha, the strongest male Demon in the Legion, and that's the Incubus.

As far as I know, there are perhaps three hundred fallen angels in the city of Boston. And tens of thousands of Demons. We tend to avoid each other, for obvious reasons. Demons go about their business. Essentially, they enjoy making the world worse. They ensure that innocent men go to jail and guilty people walk free. They ensure that people snap for no apparent reason and commit terrible deeds. They encourage ordinary men and women to destroy their workplaces, relationships and families. Not that every human being in the city needs a Demon to do the terrible things that men and women are capable of. Oh, no. It's just that quite often Demons give you that extra burst of encouragement you need to do something really messed up. They can't make you commit murder. But they're more than happy to tell you where there's a gun or knife handy if you feel like ending someone's life. They can't push you to commit suicide. But they'll happily provide you with the rope to hang yourself and tell you where there's a bridge if you feel like jumping. Do you get what I'm trying to say?

Let's focus on other matters, for the moment. Right now, I'm in my car waiting for my partner to come back from a doughnut run. My partner at the Boston Police Department is a bumbling cop named Arnold O'Neil. I call him A.C. for short. A.C. is a stocky, red-haired Irishman who's a fourth-generation Boston policeman. When we first met, I wasn't thrilled with him. Arnold was loud, opinionated and quite politically incorrect. He flirted with female cops and female suspects. He loved to drink his Irish whiskey and lived for amateur boxing. A real gung-ho kind of guy. No one could have predicted we'd become the best of friends.

A.C. comes back into the car with coffee and donuts in his hands. He offers me some. I decline. I don't eat or drink. I also don't piss, fart, or shit. I'm not made of flesh and blood. I'm a spirit. A.C. shrugs, and proceeds to stuff himself full of donuts while I drive away. We're in the Back Bay and according to the dispatcher, something is happening at a community bank on Mass Ave. We're on it. Arnold wonders aloud why stuff always happens on his shift. Most cops are bored out of their minds on the shifts. Arnold and I seem to often get some excitement. We're often on duty when some guy shoots his co-workers, some woman goes nuts and kills her lover, or some shit like that. We never seem to get the normal stuff.

I punch up the speed and we head to the bank. There are two squad cars there, and I can see a news van pulling up. Apparently, there's a hostage situation in the bank. Two people, a man and a woman wearing ski masks, went in guns blazing. In this recession, lots of folk are turning to crime. I am not surprised. Just another day on the job for me and Arnold, folks. There is a patrol supervisor at the scene. A tall, blonde-haired woman built like an Olympic athlete. Officer Jennifer Clyde. Daughter of precinct sergeant John Clyde III. Upon seeing us, she welcomes us to the fray by asking us to get the civilians to step back. Her partner is a tall white guy with blond hair. Officer Robert Wayne. The resident Demon. The moment I see him, I know what he is. And he knows what I am. Arnold and I comply with the supervisor's order. We were barely out of earshot when Arnold made a remark about Officer Jennifer Clyde having the nicest ass he's seen all day. I shake my head. Same old Arnie. We take our positions after making sure the civilians are out of harm's way. From inside the bank, shots are fired. The supervisor requests for a hostage negotiator on the scene even as the news van comes along. Yeah, just another day on the job for this fallen angel turned cop. I'll let you know how it worked out.

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