Author: Rachel Handley
“Shush, Terry, don’t go invoking hell willy nilly.”
“I’m neither being willy nor nilly, Martha. Did you not see the email?
“Oh, what email?”
Martha pressed the button on her wrist. A small hologram screen spread over her left hand.
Dear Angelic Members
Due to unforeseen circumstances, we will have to cut costs in the coming eon. We are sorry to say that this will mean certain roles will be made redundant, whilst others will be redeployed. He will be in touch shortly.
“What the fuck.” Said Martha. Three angels turned to look at her as she repeated every swear word she knew. Several thousand eyes followed her lips as she tried to keep her voice as low as possible.
“Exactly. Also, what the hell is Viv doing signing his letters? Is this real? Is it a Him-Damned prank?”
“Never mind that, what about ‘unforeseen circumstances’ – what the shit is that, Martha? Unforeseen? Have you ever heard God say such a thing, bloody no you haven’t, because he bloody sees everything. Jesus.”
“What will we do? You know what redundancy means? It means being recycled to the material plane. It’s way too fleshy down there. And humans only have two eyes you know, it’s weird as fuck.” Said Martha.
“Only two? I thought they had four?”
“Wow. How can they even see?” Said Terry.
“No clue. It’s a miracle, I bet. Some sort of wonky flesh magic He likes to fling out once every million years.”
Martha and Terry looked at an angel who, whilst shrieking about costs, tried to punch a nearby angel. They were grabbed by the fires of Down Below so swiftly the angel barely made a yelp as they were taken.
“Maybe they’ll send us to the Down Below instead?” Said Martha looking at the dwindling smoke.
“They might, it is a bit toasty down there. Fleshy too, I bet.”
“I bet.” Said Martha.
Swearing could be heard from all corners of the room, if it could be called a room. Imagine walls of mist. A place made of cloud. Sounds all damp doesn’t it, but angels seem to like it.
“I wonder if we can petition Him, see if He’ll change His mind?” said Martha.
“Not likely, when does he ever budge on stuff?”
“Rarely.” Said Martha.
“Rarely?” Said Terry.
“OK, never. Crap.”