Dead on time
- Dead On Time, Queen
Hoodie Guy? HOODIE GUY!? She's got a nerve! And to think, I just stopped her from being turned into scrambled eggs by the equivalent of a hormonal teenage bulldozer. Might as well have been a hormonal tea-cosy, for all the thanks I got.
I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t. Complete waste of time, if you ask me. But don’t tell that to Him Upstairs. He doesn’t take kindly to being told he’s wrong. Then again, do any of us? Nice little rhetorical question there. I’ll leave you to ponder that, while I get back to my narrative. Don’t ponder it for too long, though - I don’t want you to miss something important....
So anyway, I’m having to spend the rest of my day with Miss Angelica Morton glaring at me because I won’t do some stupid assignment. Hell, girl! What does she think I’m here for? Not to brush up on my character-building skills, that’s for sure.
Thankfully, the bell is due to ring in.... there! I’m free. Finally! I don’t know how you humans cope being cooped up in the equivalent of a giant cardboard box your whole lives, I really don’t. Well, I suppose it’s a downside of only having two miniscule legs and no wings. There speaks the higher race.
I’ve got to walk for a bit, at least until I’m out of sight of humans. It wouldn’t do to take off in the middle of a crowded street. You humans don’t notice much, but if one of your schoolmates suddenly grew wings, I think you would probably catch on that something wasn’t quite right. I’m lucky you’re all so dim - it makes my job a lot easier, I can tell you!
I can see Simon walking out alone, but all I can see of Angelica is a cloud of blonde hair amid a group of giggling girls. Agh, I want to slap them all, giggling idiots as they are, but I don’t think that would be very helpful right now.
Simon and Angelica are my two ‘charges’. I’m their guardian Angel. Lovely.
I can hear sirens up ahead. Simon and Angelica are still behind me - she’s shed the gigglers, but neither of them are attempting to speak to each other. Or to me. Jolly good.
I slow as we get to a crossroads. What’s that smell? It’s like... oh my God. It’s like a burning metal pancake. It’s like the burnt out pancake of a car.
Like the one in the road in front of me.
I don’t know what happened. All I can tell is that it’s sick. Some Angel really had a laugh here. Or maybe it was their Time. To die, I mean. Nice and morbid, eh?
It’s just a car crash. I say ‘just’. It’s sick. But nothing to do with me.
I keep walking, trying to avert my eyes from the body they’re retrieving. It’s barley recognisable as a body. It’s human jam. But there’s something about this human jam that I recognise...
I know who it is. I hear a gasp behind me, a shout. I know they’ve seen. I don’t like him, but I wish I could spare him this sight. The sight of a wrecked brother who’s never going to stand, going to laugh, going to cook lasagna again.
I hate sad endings.