Prophet

Sadie takes a sip of her tea, closing her eyes and sighing happily. Death watches her face, grateful she can’t see him staring. There’s a spot of blood above her lip, so he reaches across to wipe it away. She pauses, accepting the help, and smiles. “Thanks. Since I can’t, you know, tell if something’s on my face, my parents always had to help.”

“How did it happen, anyway?”
“The blindness?”
He nods, then, remembering, says, “Yes.”
“I was five. No family history of blindness, no accident, I just woke up one morning to darkness. The doctors couldn’t find a reason.” She shrugs. “I got used to it.” Death goes very still, hands hovering above the table. Her story sounds too familiar.

“Sadie, have you ever, ah, had odd dreams? Maybe they were extremely realistic and gave you headaches?” Her mouth opens in an O of surprise as she nods.
“Yeah, actually. I tried pills to make the headaches go away, but nothing seemed to help. I’d wake up and write them down.”

Her smile is pleasant and a little bemused. “Why would that matter, though?” Death’s hands are shaking. He grits his teeth, pushing the chair back as he stands. He disappears before Sadie can say another word.

Sadie can hear the whisper of voices again as he disappears. She’s confused, reaches across the table to find empty air. “Death...? That was odd.” Tucking the incident away in her mind, she goes back to her tea.

Death is before God once again, but he’s standing tall this time, fists clenched at his sides. The angels are watching, but he doesn’t care anymore.
“Were you ever going to tell me that Sadie is a prophet?” God sits up, long fingers laced together.
“It wasn’t necessary at the time...” Death holds his arms up with frustration.

“Wasn’t necessary? You’ve seen what some of them end up like, gibbering lunatics consumed by the future. I’d like to stop that from happening! And what kind of archangel lets their prophet die?”
Death knows the way prophets are often treated, like playthings. He will not let that happen to Sadie.

“She belongs to...Gabriel,” God admits, looking guilty. “You know how he is, and I suppose he thought it amusing to have the safest prophet of all time.”
“What do you mean?” God sighs, like Death’s being foolish.
“She’s frozen in time, protected by Death himself. Gabriel can play his pranks all he likes without having to worry.” Death leans closer to God, lowering his voice.

“I will not see her be hurt, old friend.”
God’s golden eyes hold his. “She won’t be.”
“Is that why you tried to stop me from keeping her? You knew?”
“I...yes.”
“I see.” Death turns to leave, but God stops him.
“You should not tell her of what we just spoke of.” Death gives a noncommittal smile and disappears.

Sadie’s waiting for him, still at the kitchen table holding her cold tea.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asks slowly.
“Not at all. I had to go somewhere.” She relaxes, trusting him, and Death can’t hide anything from her. “Sadie, you’re a prophet.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can see the future. That’s what those dreams you were having are. Blindness is sometimes a sign of it.”

Her mouth is round again, but she nods, believing him and Death wants to hold her soul close, see how bright it shines.
“Why?”
Her voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Hmm?”
She’s moved to sit primly on the couch, hands folded in her lap. “Why would I be a prophet? I’m not even useful here. No one can hear me.”

“You were chosen by an archangel to be a mouth piece for the fates. He doesn’t need you right now, which is why you’re allowed to stay with me. It’s...a very high honor.”
His lips narrow into a line, because that’s true, but Death has seen too many prophets go mad to consider it a gift.
“So, everything I’ve seen is real?”
“Yes.” She’s silent for a while.