Angel Messenger

What happens on the other side? I can't tell you how many times a day I receive this question. I'm one of many angels. In order to tell you how I do my job, I have to tell you the stories of the many lost souls I see every day.


2. The Door to Afterlife


As long as I can remember I’ve had this job. It wasn’t assigned to me, and I never asked for it. But somehow I’m the only one I know of that deals with these scenarios. I’ve decided that because of my patience and empathy it only made me right for the job. Sometimes though I wish my daily visitors would be more willing to converse with me. But then I think about it and realize, if I had just died; would I want to talk to a total stranger and be given a task? The answer: No.

I sigh and walk into my workplace to receive today’s patrons. Around me the room erupts into color as it slowly forms itself. The clouds all around me and the people who work there are forming into items, things and spreading its colors all around it. Marilyn Monroe sits behind an already formed mahogany desk in a pencil skirt and white polka dot blouse. Her red glasses shine under the glow of the workplace. Her fingers dance up and down on a cloud that slowly forms into a keyboard.

Once her area is fully constructed I walk up to her and give her my badge.

“Morning, Marilyn.” I say with a normal tone. She looks up at me and smiles before holding up one finger and writing up the last of her paragraph.

“Morning, sweetheart. You‘ve got a busy day ahead of you today.” She says with her usual whispy tone.

“If it makes you feel any better I‘m up to my elbows in work today as well. The big man himself won‘t see anyone. I‘d hate to see what‘s going on in the world below us.” She continues, getting up from her computer chair and walking to a counter behind her. She returns with a thin pile of papers and searches through them once, before handing them to me.

Sighing, I nod and take them from her. 

“What would he do without your brilliance Marilyn?” I ask with a smile. She returns the answer with a wide smile that makes her mole pop out all the more. 

“I ask myself that question every day darling. Though I do wish you were around more to remind him.” She replies. Continuing with,

“Not to mention you‘re wonderful company to have around. It gets so lonely up here and all work and no play makes me so frazzled.” her smile falters slightly.

“But you handle things so gracefully. You know, when you were alive people didn‘t give you enough credit for your brains.” I remind her. Instantly her smile picks up again and as I start to walk away she thanks me and blows a kiss in my direction.

As the busy workplace finishes forming behind me I turn the corner and enter a doorway. Inside Elvis Presley awaits me in the elevator at the end of the room. His jet black mane of hair short and kempt. He wears a red satin shirt with gold fabric stitched in the collar. He’s wearing jeans today, I always loved him in those. Than again, what didn’t he look good in?

The entire elevator ride I’m quiet. Burning love is playing in the speakers and he hums along, the singer in him unable to resist the urge. I find myself stealing glances up at him and then back to the red carpeted floor of the elevator. The only sound emitting from me being a deep sigh or a clearing of the throat. I watch him sway his hips a bit and I almost faint in excitement as I hope he does his famous pelvic movements. He maintains himself and too soon my ride is over.

Once I step out I hear,

“Hey, little darlin‘?” I exhale slowly and close my eyes before turning around and looking.

“Yes?” I ask almost timidly. He smirks and with more of his southern accent he says,

“I don‘t bite ya know. Ya dropped something.” he holds a paper in his hand. I check my pile and realize I must’ve dropped it without realizing. 

“Thank you, Mr. Presley.” I reply, walking back and taking it from him. He chuckles softly saying,

“Please, call me Elvis. Mr. Presley is my father.” winking and leaving me speechless before the doors close.

When they do I face palm myself. I knew that! Why did I call him ‘Mr. Presley’? All the autobiographies I watched on him and interviews. I’m such a clod! He probably thinks I’m just a crushing fan and he’s only half right. What a great first impression. I groan in frustration and walk over to my podium. My workspace forms around me slowly as I settle myself in, I don’t even notice it.

Once my podium is fully constructed I look around at all the clouds. My workspace is the only area that I know of that doesn’t fully construct. I never get tired of looking at all the clouds surrounding me. Some are pink and light orange from the morning light, while other lay a dormant white with silver linings. Where’d you think the saying originated from?

I finally sort through my files and look to see who I have today. Mostly girls but I see a face or two of a gentleman. It’s not until I fully read into their backgrounds that I realize what Marilyn meant. Almost all my clients were taken too early or some unseen force got them on the wrong track. My most difficult case it seems is going to be the first one. As it turns out, she’s on her way.

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