Let me just begin this tale by saying I am an angel. Not like a good person or anything (although I suppose I would have to be to be an angel) or good looking.
Actually, that was a lie. I am gorgeous. I am fantastically good looking. I actually had a modeling contract of sorts before I died.
Yup. I died. Finito, gone, passed away, deceased. Don’t worry though I’m over it. No unfinished business for this guy, no sir. I died without a care in the world.
So, about me being an angel. You’re probably like “Whoa, this guy is a serious Froot Loop!” But I’m not lying. I do have wings and occasionally wear a white robe thingy. The halos though…pft! Totally bogus. A ring floating around dead peoples heads…what crazed priest thought that one up?
I suppose that I should begin with my story before anything. I was born in the 18th century in London to Mr. and Mrs. David Angelus. Prophetic last name, yeah, I know. I was their first boy in a family with seven daughters, so there was a fair bit of excitement. See, Darling Daddy had amassed quite a large fortune over the years, him coming from respectable family lines and businesses and all. I believe he might have had a title of some sorts, but I don’t entirely remember. Anyways, when the joy of having an heir wore off, he realized that I must be treated, as any future fortune holder should be, carefully and allowed full reign. By the age of two I had had exactly 15 nannies, having cried and howled my way to their banishment, one after the other. By the age of 5, I was a terror, disrespectful and cruel. Yet I was always careful to be sweet and loving to my Doting Parents. I knew, from even that age, that they would be kinder and more relenting to a boy who was, in their eyes, the perfect son.
And so I grew, my rages growing more terrible and my soul more stained with every passing year. By the time I was 16 I was a monster. It helped tremendously that I was of noble birth and good looking. People, including my victims, were more inclined to see me a kind and gentle person. Then, when I was 17, my world of cruelty stopped, froze. My baby sister was born.
From the day she was born, she was my world. I remember looking down at her while she slept, bored out of my mind, until she yawned and opened her eyes. She looked directly at me and small smile grew on her face until she gurgled happily and held her hands out to me, chubby legs kicking the air. Her eyes, a radiant blue much like my own, were filled with happiness and love and joy. Her rose petal cheeks flushed and her tufts of downy black hair on her head floated dreamily in the warm air. I had never seen a more beautiful creature before and I was completely in love.
From then on, I was always there. When she said her first word (Duck) I cheered and tossed her into the air. When she took her first step, I wouldn’t stop screaming until the whole family had gathered to watch her take the next one. I saw every single first thing she did, and it was more exciting then when I had done it myself. I was a constant presence in her life and I became closer to her than our own mother.
Around this time, I had become kinder and more considerate. I found a dog, badly injured, in an alleyway and took it home to be cared for. It became my close companion, the brother I never had. I treated my sisters with more caring and consideration than usual. I helped the poor people of London by giving a beggar a couple of pounds or a poor family extra food.
Don’t get me wrong though, I was still a trickster. It would be extremely dull to suddenly become Mr. Perfect after a sister was born. I loved fighting and often came home with my clothes ripped and blood pouring from a cut above my eye. I became, instead a terrible rich boy, a lovable rogue and the people would had cowered in fear of me, now smiled indulgently as I raced from our house. My sister just prevented me from hitting that last punch when you’ve already won and kicking the homeless person aside. I wanted her to grow up in a kinder world then she had been born in.
Then I died. I was killed at the age of 19 by a knife hidden in the folds of a mugger’s coat. I had been walking jauntily home one night, whistling. I remember it, clear as day. The streetlights were obscured by mist as the fog was rolling in. The cobblestones were uneven and filthy, rats skittering out in front of you only to squeak and rush back to the comforting shadows. I was drunk, a rousing night at the local tavern and was playing with my watch. It had been my grandfathers and was made of very old gold. I was tossing it up, high into the air only to just catch it by my fingertips every time. A man stepped out in front of me, his face masked by a hat. He looked poor and dirty, dressed in a shabby coat and no shoes.
“Give me the watch,” he rasped harshly.
I glared drunkenly at him. “Sod off, you filthy bum.” I slurred.
He stepped out from the alley, throwing his ugly face in definition as the muted light hit him. He wasn’t much taller than me, around 6”1 or 2. I stood at an even 6 feet and was young and strong. It’s a wonder that he threatened me actually. He must have been very desperate. He puffed his chest out, trying to look threatening. “Give it to me, you bastard,” he growled.
“Try and get it mate,” I teased.
Wrong thing to say.
His knife flashed twice in the streetlight and I felt two pains, one in my chest and one in my arm. The watch clattered to the cobblestones, blood flecked on it but no one reached for it. We both stood still, shocked. He looked close to tears. I was just in shock, frozen.
Then I crumpled to my knees, gasping. The pain was unlike anything I have ever felt before. I could feel acid inside my lungs as the street turned red around me. The man, my assassin, turned to flee but with a grip strengthened by death, I caught his arm. I whispered to him desperately,” My name is Jason Angelus. I have a family. Tell my baby sister, she’s the littlest one, that I’m sorry and that I love her. Tell my parents too. Give her the watch, let them know it’s from me to her.” He nodded, sobbing. My grip tightened, I had only seconds left. I could hear my death rattle in my chest as I spoke and felt the blackness begin to claim me. I gasped in pain, and felt my lungs fill with my own blood. The blackness closed around me and I managed three more words,” I forgive you.”

Yes, I am a great person. I forgave him for killing me. Yay, yay. Lets have a parade. I was pretty upset about the whole dying thing. I watched that man from Heaven. He went to my family, as I asked him to. He told them that he came across me in the street, bleeding. I told him my name and to tell my family that I was sorry and that I loved them. I don’t really blame him for lying about how he found me. You can hardly go up to a dead persons family and say,” Hi, I killed your son, but he forgave me so it’s all alright, right?” He gave them the watch, now clean, and a handkerchief with a red stain on it. My blood. He told them what I had told him, that I wanted it bequeathed to my baby sister so she would remember me and to tell her I loved her. He was polite and sorrowful to them. They thanked him heartily after he was done and my father drew him into the next room. In gruff voice tinged with unspeakable pain, he asked the man one thing,” Was he brave?”
The man looked at him and replied simply,” I will never know one braver.”
That was the first time I had ever seen my father cry.

So now you know my background story. Now I am a 208-year-old angel. I still look the same as I did when I died, which is to say, gorgeous. Oh, Jesus Christ (he’s real, by the way. Kind of a celebrity up here.) I forgot to tell you what I look like! I bet you’ve been dying to know. OK, here we go.
I have black, longish hair that waves a bit ‘round the ends. I have large blue eyes, the only one in our family who had them besides my little sister. I have a “charming” British accent. I am six feet tall, a light tan, well muscled and fit and possibly the handsomest angel around. Oh, and I have these awesome black wings. All the other angels have white ones, symbolizes how pure of heart they are or some kind of crap, but I have black ones. God’s idea of a joke or something, reminding me every day that I barely got into Heaven. I don’t really care; I look better with black. It’s slimming. And plus I look like a fallen angel, and girls love those so much better. Or I think so anyway. I haven’t really been down to Earth in a while to check it out.
Hopefully, that’s about to change though. I have been called to appear before the Angelic Guardians. Which is to say, the Supreme Court of Guardian Angels and Soul Collectors.

I stepped into the Great Hall in front of the members of the Angelic Guardians. There’s a chair, but I don’t sit. I have heard that they like to test you to see if you’ll be a good guardian in the Hall. Sitting down is a way of saying “I’m relaxed, all is well,” and that is really not true with me.
Instead I stand cockily in front of them. Show no weakness, that’s my motto. I flash a smile to them. I hear a few feminine sighs somewhere and my grin widens, displaying more of my perfectly straight and white teeth.
The spidery looking man at the end of the table clears his throat. “Jason,” he begins in a thin, wobbly voice.
I cut in with another smile,” That’s me sir.”
The man looks startled and peers over his glasses at me. He doesn’t need them; when you die you are granted perfect senses. He harrumphs a bit angrily and begins again, his nose firmly in the air,” Jason Angelus, you are 208 years old. Act like it,” I look down, seemingly subdued as I think, “Old crank! Who asked ME to come here, huh?”
The man continues, going on with a long winded background of my life, my death, my relatives, my sins, my good in the world, how old I am, how old I was when I died, etc. I’m relieved from my acute boredom when a woman cuts him off.
Smothering a yawn, she says,” All right Harold, lets get on with it.” She’s stocky, with brown hair pulled back and flashing violet eyes. She looks tough and capable. My kind of girl. Too bad she looks to be around 50.
Harold harrumphs again then addresses me,” Now son-“
I interrupt automatically,” Don’t call me son.”
Harold and the rest of the board look at me with shock at my rude outburst. Remembering where I am, I duck my head. “My Dad…he used to call me that. I want it to be saved for him.”
They nod understandingly and continue.
Harold grumbles a little, then hastily carries on when the lady with the violet eyes looks at him, “ Yes, yes, apologies all around then? Right… so Mr. Angelus, if I may call you that, yes? Yes…hmmm… we…as a council have decided to send you down to Earth on a mission. Some did suggest others, more experienced, but it was an almost unanimous decision…”
I muttered underneath my breath,” Yeah, I wonder who was against me…?”
He glanced sharply at me, glasses winking coldly in the lights above,” AS I was saying, it was an almost unanimous decision because, while you are rather…immature, your considerable age and youthful appearance must be taken into account. You are the only angel who qualifies who is able to be taken as a high school student.”
My heart beats a little faster and my wings raise slightly in excitement,” High school? Really?” I grin, ecstatic. I never went to high school, but wanted to desperately. My favorite TV show, Degrassi, is a soap opera about high school. Some really hot chicks go there, and everybody is loud and obnoxious and cool. Unlike up here, where it’s like living in a library. No speaking above a whisper. That is a fun rule to break, let me tell you.
A man rises from the center of the table. Clad in the traditional white gown, palm sandals, he looks every inch a holy man. A trim, brown beard is on his chin and his eyes glint a steely gray in the light. His wings, the biggest I’ve ever seen, are pearly, like a doves feathers. Even I can tell he is no one to be messed around with.
“Jason Angelus,” he rumbles in deep, melodic tones. His voice is stern, kind and powerful all at the same time. It resonates deep in my soul and I can sense that this man will judge me for what I have done and that he can see what I will do. Suddenly, I am desperate not to disappoint this person in front of me.
A wind swirls around me gently as he speaks again,” Jason Angelus, you are a soul with much suffering. Pampered as child, you grew to be selfish and cruel to your fellow humans. You may think your sister is what pushed you to kindness, but looking at you now I see that she was only a nudge. Living, you were a gentle and loving soul at birth before outside forces changed your ways. You have a pure heart. I approve of the mission. Explain it to him and let it be done.”
And then my jaw drops even further to the ground. Because the guy in front of me literally dissolves to gold dust! My bugged out eyes watch in disbelief as it floats up higher into the sky and then kick my brain. Speech returns to me, as does the ability to breath. I point randomly at the sky and wait a few seconds for my tongue to untie itself.
After a few seconds of staring and pointing I manage a few words. “ Was-was that GOD!”
No one can ever say that I don’t get to the point quickly.
The council seems to be just as stunned as me. Finally a dark skinned woman rises to face me. Her tawny eyes lock onto me with a surprising amount of aptitude for a woman her age. She replies curtly,” Yes Jason, that was God. He seems to like you. That was a first in the Angelic Guardian’s history, one that may or may not happen again, and one that should definitely be recorded for future reference.”
The man of the same color and around the same age sitting next to her winks at me. That’s new, he mouths to me. The woman looks sharply down at him and he begins whistling innocently and looking around.
I just saw GOD, but I’m naturally curious. “ Are you guys married?” I blurt out.
The woman looks shocked but the man laughs heartily. “No man, she keeps saying no. But I keep trying anyway. I’m Tim and this lovely lady, this epitome of beauty, this goddess of my heart, this joy of all surrounding people’s life-“
“I’m Sara,” she says, biting back a smile as she glares down at Tim.
I nod, uncertain of their sanity. “So…mission details? Any takers? Big Guy in the Sky said to brief me…?”
A girl looking to be around twelve or eleven mutters,” Big Guy in the Sky?” disapprovingly, but she hasn’t hit puberty yet so I take no notice.
The lady with the violet eyes stands uncertainly,” Umm…yes. Mission details. Well, basically it’s this. A boy down on earth is destined to do great things for the world, to help millions. Unfortunately, he is being teased and bullied mercilessly at high school. He has begun to think about suicide and even has gone far enough as to pour out the pills into his hand. Thankfully, he chickened out. We need someone to go down to earth and befriend him, to show him back to his previous path of good. He cannot die now. You, Jason, are the only angel we have with both considerable age and training that looks to be around high school age.”
“Training?” I say, confused. I haven’t trained for anything in my life. Ever.
She sighs,” Yes, training. When you were alive you fought frequently. You learned how to defend yourself and how to attack, right? Well, most of the angels here are old codgers who don’t know a right hook from a block. We need someone able to defend the target.”
Huh. I hadn’t really thought of my fighting as training. I hadn’t really thought of my fighting as anything good for other people either. I’m learning a lot today.
“OK, so cliff notes version: go down to earth, help suicidal saint, set him on his destined path, fall madly in love with a sexy cheerleader named Tiffany-“
I get glares from all around except from Tim, who grins widely. The twelve-year-old girl gives me a disgusted glance and then sniffs pompously. I decide to stand against being treated like that. Pointing at her, I complain “ She’s looking at me weird!”
Almost everybody at the table shakes their heads, amused, but the girl looks mortified.