Angel

by

James Oswald

 

She watches over you, your guardian angel, her sacred duty to protect your soul. It's a grubby thing really, tarnished by a life lived not quite as well as it should be. So she keeps you alive despite your best clumsy efforts at self-destruction.

But if your soul was bright, if it shone with redemption, what point would there be in saving you? What need?

 


 

Something I wrote for a competition. I can't remember what the competition was, only that I didn't win. That's the way these things roll.

It would be nice to think we all had a guardian angel. Someone keeping an eye on us, protecting us from harm, stopping us from doing wrong. But what would your guardian angel be more interested in saving, your body or your immortal soul?

 


 

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