My Boss is a Crackhead and the Angel of Death

It takes all sorts of people to make the Underworld.

I myself was quite familiar with this quote. I would know- I worked in the Underworld. I filed the papers for soul residency. Each soul that arrived to the afterlife passed through my division. We scanned t.o.d. papers and verified that the souls were here for a permanent stay. Then we printed out documents, an i.d., a map, and sent them on their way.

Our job was the easy and boring one. The souls that came through us had already passed through admissions and all or most of their questions were answered. I’ve covered a shift in admissions a few times since my boss manages both admissions and filling divisions. But I’m not good at answering questions from the recently deceased. I’d rather stay where the questions were already answered and only needed printing. Everything moved like clockwork there and not much ever changed.

Well…that must have been the understatement of the century.

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            The sun began to rise over the still Underworld. Waterfalls roared over the edge of the world, turning golden as the sun climbed up the horizon. Souls could be seen- lovely creatures all clad in white, flowing clothes. They moved in and around the rustling trees greeting each other warmly and offering cups of some sort of cool drink as they watched the sunrise.

            Katherine stood at her window watching the same spectacle. It never got old or boring, every morning as you watched the world bask in the golden light, it felt as if it were the first time you had ever seen something so majestic. For a moment, she stood with her face upturned like the rest of the souls. Then she turned and hurried down the spiral staircase. Espresso was one of the things she enjoyed most about the afterlife. No one needed caffeine, but the coffee you could get in the Underworld was smooth and rich. It had the most perfect crema on top and felt warm and slightly spiced as it went down your throat.

            Katherine hurried about, although there was no need to, she wasn’t late. She went about her daily routine and pulled her long red hair into a bun. One more espresso and she was out the door on her way to the office.

            The office was like an ivory tower. There were 47 pristine floors and the elevator was gilded. The outside connected to the entry into the Underworld where the souls would wander through upon death. There were two other entryways standing on either side of the bridge to the afterlife, but Katherine didn’t know much about them. The Underworld was the sort of in-between place where people who were good and kind but didn’t believe went. It was logical that one of the entries was for wicked people and the other may well be to heaven, but Katherine didn’t think about it often.

            She made her way through the lobby and pressed the 42nd floor. As she made her way to her desk, she frowned. Something was off. The office wasn’t perfectly organized and clean- instead, there were papers littered on the floor, coffee was splattered on the walls, chairs were knocked over and someone’s desk had been cracked in half right down the middle. Katherine’s eyes widened as she took in the scene. Then came a wail from the offices next door. Katherine’s brief-case dropped to the floor and she sprinted towards the sound. It was coming from admissions.

            She flung open the door and gasped. Mr. Azrael, Katherine’s boss and the resident angel of death, appeared to be interviewing a soul. The soul belonged to a scrawny kid with mud smeared on his face.

            “I don’t understand,” he faltered, “I was just going to get our ball. It landed in the neighbor’s yard across the street…”

            Mr. Azrael leaned forward, “didn’t your mother ever teach you to look both ways before you cross the street?” he slurred, “ya got hit by a car kiddo.”

            The kid’s face scrunched up into an odd sort of expression and tears dripped down his face, “my mom,” he choked out brokenly.

            Mr. Azrael turned to Katherine, who stood frozen at the door, staring in disbelief.

            “Kate, the kids leaking,” he complained, reeling where he sat on a desk, “you gotta help me.”

            Katherine grabbed a tissue box off the desk and knelt in front of the boy.

            “Hey, it’s ok,” she soothed, wiping some of the grime and tears from his face, “look it wasn’t your fault, and your mom will be ok, she’ll be here soon enough.”

            The kid looked up, “where exactly is here?” he hiccupped sullenly.

            Katherine smiled, “why don’t I show you?” she asked. She grabbed his hand, without waiting for a response and guided him to the door to her office. She threw open the window, letting the soft breeze and the distant sound of the waterfall drift in.

            The kid gasped and stared out the window, enamored.

            Katherine left him there and hurried back to Mr. Azrael’s office. A crowd of shocked admissions workers was gathered around where he lay passed out and drooling on the floor.

            Katherine shook her head, still unsure what exactly happened.

            “Well,” she addressed the crowd of gawking employees, “I suppose it really is possible to get drunk when you’re dead.”

            Someone started clapping.

The end.