I am so tired of people asking me why my life is so
screwed up. I can't keep a real job for more than a
week, my last three girlfriends were convinced that I
was cheating on them, my mother doesn't understand why
I never visit anymore... in short, I come across as a
complete failure.
That's how it goes.
It's not easy serving them, you know. Angels, that
is. Even the smartest and most experienced of them
act as if there's a thin, clear piece of plastic
between them and the world ... that didn't come out
right. It's like they're never quite in tune with
everybody else ... no, that's not what I meant,
either. What do I mean?
OK. Got it. They're aliens. Not the big eyed grey
ones or that old ET movie: more like ... androids or
robots or something. I laughed my ass off whenever I
saw Data from Star Trek: he reminded me so much of a
Seraph I once knew. Pedantic, never used
contractions, always metaphorically humming the tune
just a shade off-key - if Data had just had the habit
of occasionally screaming in Urdu right before lopping
off a demon's head, he'd been a dead ringer.
Anyway, that's what angels are like: Data with an
usually-limited emotional repetoire. They can sort
of have a clue, depending: a Mercurian can fool you
for days on end that he or she's just like a human
being. But every so often, the mask will slip, and
you'll realize that he or she ... isn't. None of them
are, really.
That's what can make it hard. They know that we -
humans, that is - have our limitations and prejudices,
but they don't really know it, if you catch my
drift? (touches chest) They don't know it in here. To
them, it's easy to stand fast, easy to be unafraid of
death, easy to sacrifice themselves or others to a
cause. If they're not careful, they forget that none
of that is easy for us.
That's not to say that they can't be good people to
know. It will depend: some of them look at our
actions and disdain, some will pity and others will be
impressed. The weird thing is, they'll all be looking
at the same action. Angels tend to be good, after
all. Not always nice, but good.
Still, why do I do this?
Maybe it's because I want to make sure that I get to
Heaven. Maybe it's because I got sucked into this War
without notice or choice, and I'm making the best of
it. Maybe I'd like to make a difference, in the only
way that I can. Maybe it's even that I just really
like propping a shotgun barrel underneath a demon's
chin and pulling the trigger. Maybe it's a half dozen
reasons at once.
Maybe I don't have a reason at all. It isn't
important, anyway.
What's important is that I am here, and in the War
that is apparently raging to decide the future of my
species. As I understand it, my mere presence is a
potent argument against Hell's ideology.
Fine by me. I always enjoyed being a troublemaker.
Hmm. Maybe that's the reason...
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