Salvation

She seemed happy. She laughed, and joked with her friends. No one could sense that she wasn’t.

“Thanatos, what are you doing?” a light voice asked me, causing my head to turn towards the voice. He glided towards me, his angelic wings shimmering slightly as they moved. The young teenager was an angel; he was her guardian angel.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Why should I? The angel huffed as he sat next to me, and continued, as he joined me in gazing at her. “She doesn’t go for another couple of months. I don’t understand why you keep coming here. I mean—”

“Wait.” I cut him off. My voice was guttural from lack of use, which startled the young boy. He started to utter a protest, and I raised a hand, which effectively cut him off again. “I’m different from you boy. I was older when I took my own life, and I was a sinner, kid. I wasn’t some teen trying to escape my troubles. I don’t answer to you, and I barely follow the rules as it is.”

“How do you not—”

“So just shut the fuck up and leave me be,” I finished, earning an unintelligible mutter from him. I returned my hardened stare to the young girl, and felt the tension in my jaw and eyebrow soften slightly as I watched her.

“Doesn’t it ever get bother you? Judging and killing people?”

“Did you even comprehend a word I said?” I asked coolly. I stood up from the chair as my blonde haired beauty left the lunch room with her friends. “Lance, was it?”

“Chance,” he replied quite annoyed.

“Right, like the dog,” I remembered. I heard a slight growl from behind me.

“Thanatos, could you just leave? I can do my job. I don’t need you here. Having the Angel of Death here doesn’t exactly make it easier to keep her from death you know.”

“I don’t see your logic,” I replied stubbornly, and in a sense I didn’t. If I was the one to protect her, then how could she be reaped? But I wasn’t her protector. A dog inhabiting a human-angel body was. I laughed at my private joke making Chance raise an eyebrow at me.

“I’ll leave,” I said. I turned around and raised my arms. Large tendrils of black smoke began oozing from my hands and enveloping me, swirling around me. I turned back towards him, and locked my obsidian eyes onto his, “But when she dies prematurely, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“How old do you think he is?”

I felt my eyes snap open and I took in a large breath of air. Small shadows danced above me, casted by the numerous plants the older woman had hanging throughout her living room.

“He’s at least 24, or 25 maybe?” I heard Dahlia ponder as I slowly rolled onto my side. I was in a short sleeved shirt, which made me freeze. My arms were exposed, showcasing the rough carvings called scars that adorned them. It also showed my tattoo.

Gerald sat across from me, watching me. The lines in his face more pronounced than the night before causing his face to visually match his age. He had large bags under his eyes suggesting lack of sleep. His hazel eyes were trained on me, reminding me of a large bird of prey.

“Oh dear, his name is Thanatos,” Evett said laughing at her lightly, “Why didn’t I think of this sooner? Thanatos is...well...he’s kind of like the angel of death. Or more like the God of death,” I smiled slightly, “He appeared to humans to carry them off to the underworld when the time given to them by the Fates expired.”

I rolled my eyes. The Fates don’t exist. Shaking my head slightly I leaned back onto my elbows, propping myself up giving myself the ability to see into the kitchen. I couldn’t see Evett, but Dahlia sat in the chair I inhabited the night before. She half faced away from me, her green eyes wide with wonder.

“He’s got to at least be as old as humans are, at least,” Evett added as an afterthought.

“Wow,” Dahlia breathed. She sensed movement, making her eyes flick over to me and a large grin spread across her delicate lips as she saw me. I found myself smiling at her.

Her gaze was quickly drawn back to Evett at something she said, making me frown slightly. I swung my legs over the edge of the couch, preparing to head into the kitchen.

“How did ye get it?” Gerald’s rough accent was thicker today, after last night.

“A tattoo parlor,” I knew that wasn’t his topic of conversation. I absently ran my hand over the symbol of my Allegiance to Him, my tattoo, before feeling some of the numerous scars that ran along that arm. I didn’t answer him.

He stared at me a moment, and said nothing, before I decided to continue to get up.

“Your scar lad.”

“Which ones?” I asked bitterly. I got up, and instead of walking into the kitchen, I rounded the small red couch advancing towards the door and out into the afternoon daylight, slamming the door behind me.