They don't call me the Angel of Death for nothing. It's a job that has little to no requirements, other than to kill those who need it, want it, or deserve it. It's not a hard job, though I do complain a lot to my new dead friends that I won't see any more once they reach the receptionist at the pearly gates. I will miss you, Janet. She was the only one who understood me, I think. She was the kind of girl that had a lot going for her. Popular cheerleader, grade A student, and sex enthusiast, Janet could have become a famous stripper if she wanted to, only if she hadn't met Jack. Geeky Jack. He changed her to become a stay at home mom with three ankle biters who don't give a damn about anyone else except themselves. She wasted away in that two-storied house, watching stupid reality TV shows and making sure dinner was ready by six o'clock. Poor Janet, I knew I was doing her a favor by giving her a sudden aneurysm while she was cleaning her small, dirty kitchen. She practically thanked me! I have never been thanked before let alone praised. She sure was different, that Janet.
Car accidents, sudden aneurysms, terminal cancer, and just plain old bad luck are my specialty. Though my colleagues believe that I am a stupid amateur- dirty deaths and whatnot- I am good at my job. You give me a healthy thirty year old that spends most of their time at the gym and I can end that sucker in a heartbeat, literally. I'm good at what I do, that's why people know my name and only my name.
The Angel of Death. If you see her, you better stop what you're doing because you aren't going anywhere. Most of my colleagues change into small pets or insects in order to get close with their potential dead clients. I, on the other hand, just turn into any kind of person I want to be that day. It's no secret that I am good at what I do. My clients don't struggle as nearly as bad as the others and I am doing them all a favor, I hope. Before I set the motion to their death, I like to first get to know the people I'm about to take. Taboo in our industry, but who says rules shouldn't be broken? No one, that's for sure. It's beautiful in my opinion because I get to look into their personal life story, before I take it away of course. I'm also doing them a personal favor, like what I did with poor Don.
Don, short for Donald, was drinking away at an old shabby bar in an old shabby lake town. His ex-wife took him to court to discuss about their young five year old daughter. The custody battle took two long years and thousands of dollars, but in the end his ex-wife took the distraught young girl away from her crying, broke father with no more than a one day yearly visit under strict supervision. It tore Don apart.
I changed into an overweight, potbellied truck driver and sat next to Don, bought him a beer, and struck up a conversation. He took a long swig of his beer and ate the nacho chips that I ordered.
"Fuck! I miss her man... not my ex, fuck that bitch." He muffled to me. I sat there quietly, staring at him from my peripheral vision.
"I know how you feel. Happened to me once, and only once. Bitches aren't meant to be trusted nowadays." I didn't quiet agree with my statement, but I needed him to open up a bit more. I wanted to know more about him... it was intriguing.
"Donna and Donald, the perfect couple. Perfect my ass. She was a lazy piece of shit that didn't do shit. She has my girl and I can't do shit. I wish I could fucking die!" He spat at his half full beer. I'm an optimist. I don't believe in half empty glasses.
"Come on Don, don't wish for something like that. Your girl needs ya."
"I can't do nothin'. The courts won't allow it. I didn't do nothin' to that poor sweet girl. That bitch faked it all."
"What'd she fake, Don? How bad was she?" I pried.
"Bitch told the courts that I hit my girl. Constantly hitting, bashing her head against the bed. The bed was soft! It didn't hurt her...I would never hurt my girl." He tried to convince himself of the crimes he did not commit. "She just...couldn't stop crying. I fucking hated it when she cried. My girl..."
"Don, I think you need to collect yourself. Your girl is in a good place. No need to worry."
"With that bitch? She lies. She lies to everybody! Telling them I'm a drunk retard who hits children. I don't drink that much anyway!" He then drank all of his remaining beer, stood up and said, "I'm going to the loo."
"Alrighty, Don. I'll save your seat for ya." I said as I pat him on the back.
The next day I was at a local coffee shop drinking cheap coffee while reading the daily newspaper. On page eight there was a small headline that said in bold letters "Man Falls And Dies At Naked Penguins Bar". Tsk tsk, Don. Your wish was my command.
I was in Southern Georgia, scouting around a small ruddy mall when I spotted my next client on my list. A 54 year old woman named Dianne who was head of a mom's only community club. I followed her to a country club where most of the meetings were held at. A rich, nice neighborhood surrounded the country club, with it's greener than green grass and bluer than blue swimming pools. Yapping children and adult chatter can be heard even before entering the pristine black gates of the country club. I knew I had to stir up some conversation so I decided to disguise myself as a sweet caramel looking woman with long black hair, red ruby lips, and eyes shaped like perfect almonds. Exotic features for an ever exotic body. This should be good. I can already feel the heavy gaze of envious adults who wished that they had features like mine.
I reached the receptionist, took off my too-big-for-my-head sunglasses, and said in a voice filled with sex and far off places, "Hello, I'm looking for Dianne Hall."
"Dianne Hall? She's not here yet. Can I have your name, Miss...?" The receptionist, a young female with short golden hair asked me warily.
"My name? Why, I don't like giving out my name to people I don't know. Just point me to the direction of the meeting and I'll be out of your way." I said with a smile. Frankly, I couldn't think of a name on the spot. I like to give unique names to the figures I create. It makes me proud.
"I'm sorry but I can't do that. It's a private meeting for members of the community. I believe you are not part of the community."
"I just moved here a few days ago on Rye Street. My two children attend Saint Michael's elementary school where I'm sure half of the kids here attend. I am part of the community. Now. Where is the meeting held?" I said in a clip voice. I liked making people uncomfortable in certain situations as this. Its fun to see them all riled up.
"It's in Hawaii Hall, straight down then turn right. I hope your day is as pleasant as you are."
