A Date with Death

When most people think of Angels, a specific image comes to mind. Something along the lines of long, flowing, white robes, and large, feathered wings to match, complete with a golden, ethereal glow. They think of Guardian Angels, of celestial protectors. They don’t think of me. No halo, no wings, and clad in all black. They don’t think of death. But that’s what I am, an Angel of Death. An angel in all rights and respects as the aforementioned beings, but not held in the same regard, at least not by humans.

When most people think of Death, the associations are more related to feelings and emotions than an image or a being. They think of pain, loss, fear, sorrow, and grief. If any image does come to mind it’s generally that of a skeletal figure in a dark, hooded robe carrying a scythe. Not exactly an accurate or fair comparison if you ask me - but then again, I suppose I don’t exist to make friends.

The prejudice against Angels of Death doesn’t just come from humans. The other Angels, the Guardians, seem to have a similar opinion as their earthly charges. Though the Guardians’ prejudice is less rooted in fear, and more so in superiority. The Guardian Angels - or at least each one that I’ve interacted with - view Angels of Death as lesser beings. They see us as beings who were punished for how they lived or behaved on Earth, and once our earthly lives had ended we were charged with collecting the departing souls of those left on the planet. I don’t have an opinion on the matter, or rather I don’t waste my unlimited supply of time thinking about it.

In truth, I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about much of anything. I’m more of the observation type than the sit-and-stew-on-thoughts type. From my observations, I’ve discovered that people have varying ideas on how they think ‘death’ actually works. Some people believe that you’re born with your life entirely planned out, every moment from birth to death preconstructed on the timeline of your life. Others think everything is a game of chance, that nothing is predetermined and things just happen by pure luck or lack thereof. Neither line of thinking id necessarily correct but neither is exactly incorrect either.

Death is more like a skills test for Angels. There are hundreds to thousands of opportunities for any given human to die any given day. Whether they live or not depends mostly on the skill of their Guardian Angel or Angels and the skill of the nearby Angels of Death.

Unlike Guardian Angels, Angels of Death aren’t assigned charges. We don’t have humans that we stick with for the duration of their lives. Being that our sole purpose is to transition a soul from the world of the living to the afterlife, it doesn’t quite make sense that we just hang around someone for their whole life, waiting for just the right moment to cross them over.

Angels of Death are assigned regions. Areas that we wander, waiting to feel the pull of death. We aren’t made aware of who is going to die or when, but as the moment grows nearer, there’s a sort of energetic pull. A sense that somewhere nearby the opportunity for death, for us to do our job, is going to present itself.

Today I feel the pull. It’s what brought me here to the bustling sidewalks of downtown Boston. Someone’s going to die - or at least someone has an opportunity for death quickly approaching. The streets and sidewalks alike are filled with busy commuters. There’s no way to tell who exactly the pull is coming from - or if they’re even in the area quite yet - but I’ve been doing the job long enough to feel even the faintest energetic pulls from a death spot and this stretch of sidewalk is pulsing with the call of the afterlife.

Most Angels of Death hate patrolling public spaces, especially in big cities. Generally speaking, people tend to have at least one of their Guardians following them at all times. It’s something the humans can’t see, but we Angels can see each other whether we’re a Guardian or Death. It’s been my experience that Guardians are too competitive to directly aid each other. Rather, they enjoy doing so by indirect means, hindering the efforts of Angels of Death while allowing a person’s Guardian to pull in whatever resources necessary to save their charge. It’s their way of showing their superiority over us Reapers.

My eyes are scanning the crowd, searching for any situation with the potential to escalate to death - a mugging, an absent-minded pedestrian crossing the street, a car driving erratically, or even a stray animal wandering too close to the road, but nothing grabs my attention. Then I feel it, the pull. It’s intensified now from a dull, minor inkling to a full pulsing, throbbing heartbeat. It’s strong. Whoever the prospective dying soul is, they’re nearing their time. My gaze lands on a middle-aged man just as his hand clutches his chest and he falls to his knees, stopping the zombie herd of pedestrians who had been walking around him before collapsing to the cement.

There are gasps, shouts, and screams for a doctor, for someone to call 911. in the eyes of the humans, it’s hectic, chaotic, adrenaline pumping. For me, everything slows. It’s as if time is standing still and the countdown clock has begun. Eyes shift around, searching for the man’s Guardian, but it appears he has none and without a Guardian of his own, the others standing about won’t bother trying to stop me from crossing him over.

I make my way across the street, knowing I have more than enough time and there’s no need to rush. With no possible interference to worry about and rush hour traffic in full swing, there’s no way an ambulance will get to this man in time. Several people have knelt on the ground beside the man, one starting chest compressions and another, a woman with auburn curls is holding his hand, whispering comforting words in his ear. I step onto the sidewalk, her head lifts and I freeze. She’s looking straight at me. For a moment, I think she can see me, but no, that’s not possible. Humans can’t see Angels. Sense our presence? Sure. But see us? Actually, physically see us? Not possible.

Her head tips downward as she returns to calm whispers to the man who is caught between life and death. I crouch down near his head. The pulsing beat of the pull is weakening with the man’s weakening will to live. It won’t be long now, less than a minute. All I need to do is touch him and his spirit will leave his body, following me along to the other side. I reach out my arm, hand hovering over his forehead.

“Don’t.”

The word is hushed, barely more than a whisper, but it’s stern. My brows knit together, eyes shifting to the red-haired woman once again. Her gaze still trained on the man lying on the ground. Was she talking to him? She was speaking too faintly for any other bystanders to hear her. I shake my head slightly, brushing her off before returning to my task, my hand inching closer to the man’s forehead.

“Don’t touch him.”

I freeze again. This time when I look up, the woman’s emerald green eyes are burning holes into me. She’s speaking to me. She can see me. But how? How in the hell is that possible?

“Leave him alone.”

Had I mistaken a Guardian for a human? No, no that wasn’t possible. She’s holding his hand, physically holding his hand and the other humans are aware of her. But how? Before I can wrap my mind around what is happening, the pulsing stops, the pull is gone. I follow the woman’s gaze to an ambulance pulled up along the sidewalk and the EMTs rushing to the man’s aid. The window has closed, the opportunity gone. He’s going to live.

I turn back toward the woman, but she’s not there. I rise to my feet, frantically searching the crowd for her but all I manage to catch is a glimpse of her thick curls cascading around her shoulders as she rounds a corner out of sight. I glance around and realize every Guardian around is staring after her and likely wondering the same thing I am. Who - or what - was that and what the hell just happened?