John Jackson - The 9th Fortress

"Uh-huh! My only regret is that you only had that short time. They do say the good die young, but it would have been nice to see you with a mane of distinguished grey hair and a crooked old walking stick. You would've aged well!"

Making flying look completely effortless, Missy perched herself on the edge of my stone, her birdlike wings ceasing their constant fluttering. As I stood, I realized that the top of her curly head barely reached my shoulders.

Keeping my distance from her, I removed my shabby jacket, leaving me in a rumpled shirt, torn jeans, and worn-out sneakers. I searched my back pocket for my wallet and phone, but couldn't find either.

"Some belongings arrive with you here." she said. "Sentimental items, mostly, but you're a long way from home, and most get lost in transit."

My keys were missing, too, and I was briefly upset at the hassle ahead of me — cancelling credit cards, getting new locks fitted, and so on. Then I remembered where I was, and looked at the angel before me as if for the first time. Could this truly be happening to me? What actually is happening to me?

"Is this a coma?" I asked the girl. "Am I on drugs? Did some bastard slip something in my drink? Tell me!"

"It would have to be a very deep sleep," she remarked, pinching my arm.

"Hey!"

"The pinch is softer than the slap, but just as effective!" she giggled. "No, this is not a coma, Daniel, or drug and alcohol induced delirium. Your pupils are not dilated, and you don't reek of alcohol. This is the situation, this is the reality."

"Impossible!" I said, agitated. "Angels don't exist. That's the reality I come from! You're a bullshit cliché found in fairytales, shit TV shows and psychedelic drug trips like this one. Listen, I'm truly sorry my mind dragged you into this mess. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, but if you let me wake up I promise to have a good word with myself and the nearest affordable shrink. Deal?"

I waited for her to agree, to nod, to laugh even. She didn't. Instead, she lectured me on my language, and then held my large hands in her little ones. "Daniel," she began, "I am as real and as hackneyed as you see. All myths have some basis in fact. Truth is, some folks have to see the cliché at first; like an old pair of slippers, it makes them feel right at home! Today you see an angel before you, not the decades of development it took me to get here. Progress, that's all I am."

Suspicious still, I reclaimed my hands from her.

"I'm what's called a life support," she added, exhaling. "I had one myself. Everyone does, all the races, on all the planets, in all the galaxies, in all the dimensions, in all of the universes. We share a link, you and I, a profound bond. Since the moment of your conception, your life has been my responsibility."

Her sincere manner made this all seem so simple and straightforward. I didn't dare believe, but her honest face and earnest demeanor were damn convincing.

"You," I scoffed, "have been looking after me? From where? Your comfy cloud in the sky? You're just a little kid, for Christ's sake! What do you know about me, what do you know about anything?"

"Don't you dare condescend to me!” she hit back. "Just last week was my birthday, my one hundred eighty-ninth, making you the little kid here!"

Just the memory of that birthday sent this angel/girl pirouetting off excitedly several times. "Everyone came," she said. "All but my Daniel, of course. I told my me-maw all about you, and how determined you are, and how you've always been so serious! Even as a boy, you wouldn't play hunt the leprechaun because you thought it was silly."

"Well, it is!" I protested. "I mean, there's no such thing as leprechauns! Is there? And how do you always know what I'm thinking…?" I trailed off.

"I hear your every thought, Daniel," she said, "and you can hear mine if I choose. Though now that you're here, the signal will start to fade from both our heads. I am no longer necessary; you see, my job is over. And I admit that it's difficult for me to accept. I've gotten so used to you."

Her anguished sigh almost broke my heart; she really did appear to care deeply for me.

"I suppose we'll both have to get used to new roles," she continued. "I'll find a way to cope and so will you, for although rare, there are cases of souls losing their sanity here. The shock can cause the mind to collapse in upon itself, you know. When that happens…There is no hope for recovery. Any time you feel overwhelmed by this place just try to concentrate on something other than those feelings."

"Such as?" I asked, worried.

"Well, let's see," she considered. "Do you like my dress? Made it specially! Took me nine months and four days of sowing! I'm getting quite good."

My ham-fisted and unimpressed reply did not satisfy the little angel. I couldn't help it, to me, the gown looked like everything else here, as monotonously boring as a white bread with mayo sandwich. However, just to please her, I re-examined the gown more closely and was startled to see my own face reflected in the material. I was impressed, and Missy was satisfied.

"Ah-ha!" I exclaimed, stirred by a sudden point. "Why ask my opinion about the dress, if you already know what I'm thinking? Ha! I knew this was a dream!"

She paused, smiling at my triumphant pose. "I asked, Daniel, 'cause after all of my effort, I wanted to hear you say you liked it! That's all!"

"Of course you did," I said, smirking. "Tell me then, what am I thinking now, angel girl?"

This time, she did not hesitate. "You're thinking a thousand thoughts. Your mind is a runaway train packed full of puzzled passengers. How did I know her name? Where and when will I wake up? Do leprechauns exist? And does she really know what I'm thinking?"

Missy didn't need to read my mind for confirmation that she was right; my defeated expression told her everything she needed to know. Something she'd said earlier was beginning to make a whole lot of sense now: Being dead was going to take some getting used to.

Missy watched me inquisitively for the longest time. I didn't say much, but when I did, I asked her a question I wasn't ready for. "Is there…a God?"

Excited to be asked anything at all, the little angel was very enthusiastic in her reply. "Of course there's a God! But not the bearded old man you expect. In fact, the God we trust has no physical form whatsoever. No one true identity."

"So, what is he?" I inquired.

"He or she…is mystery! The question is bigger than all of us, Daniel, and probably incomprehensible to your mushy brain right now! That'll improve over time."

"Please," I insisted. "I'd prefer to know everything, even if I can't get a handle on it."

After a conceding nod, she began to ponder the ultimate question, and then gave me her simplest explanation. "How can I describe it? Imagine a cloud, Daniel, a great, crackling storm cloud. Can you see?"

I closed my eyes to concentrate. "I think so. Yeah, sure."

"Now, imagine that cloud has every planet, every star, every galaxy, every dimension, and every atom of every possible universe within it. Everything! God is physics, Daniel; God is that cloud!"

"A living cloud?" I muttered. "Honestly?"

"More a cosmic consciousness," she explained. "The spark of creation, I suppose. We cannot grasp the will of this mind, we cannot explain why it wants certain things to happen a certain way, or how it shapes destinies and why; but we do not stop trying. The secrets of the universe and the ultimate truth are there to be uncovered, and we all are discovering them together."

With a hasty duck, I only just avoided her wings. "So…" I said, "you're in the dark here, too?"

"We are in the light." she corrected. "God is the science, and our greatest minds collectively study it. We are all angels essentially, each with our different rank and ranks with different jobs to do, but all of us sharing one common goal, to understand God and his meaning for life. It's a very fulfilling existence!"