This story was contributed by Carolyn_Hill


This may come as a bit of a shock, but Heaven is a business.

Yes, that Heaven.

The pearly gates? That's our reception desk. The angels? They're our customer service reps. And Saint Peter? Well, he isn't a damn saint—I can tell ya that. But more about him later.

Then there's God. Capital G, right on. You know your grammar. But do you know what it stands for?

Goddard Jenkins, the worst boss in the history of the multiverse.

If you think he loves you, you're right. You make him more money than some entire galaxies, man. But if you think he listens to you or knows you by name, well...ha! You've got another thing coming.

Only angels listen to humans. To be honest, we don't do our jobs very well either. Most of us are rushed off our feet with all the daily prayers. Some of us are downright lazy. Others just plain suck.

And me? Well, I've ripped a hole in their entire system. A terrorist act, according to Heaven. One that would make investors think twice before betting on a tiny globe.

A crisis from which I hope Heaven will never recover.

The date was November 29, 2019. Black Friday.

Truth be told, working in Heaven was no more fun than working at a call center on Earth. Every time a human said even the shortest prayer, I had to listen to them without responding and write up a file note that would get archived, never to be seen again.

Time and time again, I heard the same old crap.

"Please let it be in stock on Amazon!"
"Help me make my word count for NaNoWriMo!"
"Please, God, let him call me!"
"Can you make my kids shut up?"

Trust me, if I had precognition or a magic spell for silencing children, d'ya really think I'd be manning the prayer lines in Heaven? The company made me want to hurl. Soulless and heartless, row after row of weary angels listened to human pleas in a silent tomb of glaring white: white walls, white equipment, white uniforms, white hair, white shoes, white floors. A veneer of purity hiding all of Heaven's dirty little secrets. Like a fresh coat of paint on a rickety old fence.

Day after day, I waited for a brave soul to bring Heaven to its knees. But it never happened. And I was just one angel who never had the opportunity to change the Master Plan of Goddard Jenkins.

Unless I chose to be brave. Unless I took a stand. Unless I decided to stick it to the man.

What if prayer wasn't a one-way street?
What if we answered them?
What if they knew the truth?

After the ten thousandth call on that momentous Black Friday, I was done. I thought, Screw it! What's the worst that can happen? A reprimand. Some docked pay. Who gives a crap?

Big. Freaking. Mistake.

Trill. Trill. Trill.

"Heaven Hotline, how can I help?" I asked in a sweet whisper, my voice echoing in the silent hall.

My fellow angels turned to me with stunned expressions. Speaking was forbidden. No one had never heard my voice. Not in Heaven nor on Earth.

I gave them a wry smile and a nonchalant shrug.

"Holy shit!" came a gruff voice from the other end. "You mean... you can hear me up there?"

"Yes, loud and clear," I murmured with the broadest grin. "How can I help?"

"Oh my God, man!" The human male started to freak out, hyperventilating on the other end of the line. "Like, dude. I can't believe this! You hear my prayers?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"Damn! Okay! Uh..."

For a moment, he couldn't speak.

"Hey, yo!" he continued. "Wait a minute... you're a woman?"

Really? Are you serious?

Was he really going to waste his big chance by focusing on God's gender? I thought humans were past all that. Then again, I had to go easy on him. He knew nothing about Heaven's true purpose.

But I sure as hell couldn't tell him, or he might have killed himself right there.

"Uh, I'm Jim. I'm at the hospital and..." His next words came out in a desperate croak. "I'm dying. My organ donor didn't come through. They're giving me a couple of weeks at most."

My heart sank, but I didn't know what to say.

"Please... tell my wife," he said with a groan. "I mean... my ex-wife. I need to see my kids, man. Or I'm seriously gonna lose it."

"Can't you talk to her?" I asked, biting my lower lip. "I'm sure—"

"She doesn't answer the phone," he said in a desperate voice. "She doesn't know."

I exhaled a heavy sigh. "Well, the thing is... Heaven can't actually change things on Earth. We can't force people to act."

"Please, I'm beggin' ya, man! I'm... I'm not gonna make it till Christmas," said Jim. "I gotta see them one last time. Can't you do somethin'?"

"I wish I could. I really do." My heart clenched with pity. "We just... like... monitor how things are going on Earth from up here."

"Can't you make an exception?"

"We don't act. We just make reports for our investors," I blurted with instant regret.

Oh, crap! You're in trouble now.

"The hell, man!" Jim shouted so loudly that I had to take off my headset. Even then I could hear him. "The hell is the point of praying if no one can help?"

"Well..." I racked my brain for a satisfactory answer. "I can listen. Maybe it'll help you feel better."

"Listen?"

A horrible clanging sound echoed in the headset, like metal against metal, almost blasting my eardrums.

What the Hell?

As I brought up the visual image onto the screen, an emaciated man squeezed his eyes shut to stifle tears, his face bright red. Again, he slammed his hand on the metal bar of his hospital bed.

His wedding ring... He's still wearing it.

"Okay, listen to me, you corporate douche," he shouted at the ceiling. "Fuck you, fuck God, and fuck the horse you rode in on."

Nurses rushed to his aid and gave him a sedative. Silence fell.

My heart pounded in my ears. Oh, damn. This is bad.

"No talking to callers, Ms. Star," a dull voice droned into my earpiece. "You know that. 1,000 credits docked pay. Don't let it happen again."

'Saint' Peter, my ass.

Peter Dasher stood far above me, staring down from the observation chamber. A row of soundproof glass panes separated the wheat from the chaff. He was the real corporate douche that Jim should have yelled at, a portly middle-aged man standing with his arms crossed. A state-of-the-art headset covered his entire face like a mask, rendering his voice like a mechanical drone.

"Go on ready," he said in a dull monotone.

"Yes, sir," I said, my heart still racing. "I just need to write up the file note."

"Go on ready."

"But I—"

"Go on ready."

Shaking my head, I pressed the ready button to receive the next prayer. The file note would have to wait, which meant it would never get done. If Jim's wife didn't take his call, he didn't have a shot in hell of seeing his kids.

Hell cared even less than we did.

Trill. Trill. Trill.

"Heaven Hotline, how can I help?" I asked with fake enthusiasm.

"Oh, God!" came a female scream. "My kids! We're gonna die!"

Holy crap! A real emergency!

My heart leaped into my throat as I pressed the pause button on my keyboard. Time stopped. Everything on Earth froze in place, awaiting my command.

I suppressed a scream of delight. My whole career I'd waited for this one shot.

After ten years, it's finally happening!

Switching into my satellite software, I homed in on the caller's coordinates with a flurry of key presses. Sure enough, a drunk driver was barrelling towards a crosswalk at 50 MPH. A pregnant woman stood, frozen in shock with two small children in tow, her loot from the Black Friday deals tumbling onto the street.

If I didn't do something, they'd all die.

This is your chance, my inner voice exclaimed with glee. You can make a difference for once.

Peter droned in my ear, tapping his chest to the beat of a silent drum. "The prime directive states that Heaven can never interfere with—"

Screw you!

I didn't have much time. If I disobeyed a direct order, they'd remove me from my station and the innocent family would die.

My fingers flew over the keys as I scripted a program that would push them out of the way. But it had to be fast. No, instantaneous. It couldn't involve another human. That wouldn't solve anything.

They needed to fly like the wind.

"That's it! Wings for speed," I muttered under my breath as I typed frantically. "Human body, kinda. But made of light so that they wouldn't be hurt by the impact of momentum."

"Andrea Star, stop that program at once!" said Peter with an anger I didn't know he had.

I'm done listening to you, asshole. You want me out? Drag me out!

"You don't know the grand plan," said Peter, panic rising in his voice. "You don't know what this woman's death will cause. Massive protests! Legislation against drunk driving. You have to—"

"I don't have to do Jack!" I said, slamming down the headset. "It's almost Christmas, for fuck's sake!"

With a satisfied sigh, I pressed enter and unfroze the world. A winged creature of light appeared out of nowhere, scooping up the mother and children and pushing them to the curb.

With a look of stunned awe, the drunk driver stared at the being of light, spun out of control, and crashed into a lamppost. The angel shielded the young family from the debris before vanishing.

The driver died on impact. His heartbeat flatlined on my monitor.

I did that.

Good! A crooked smile flitted across my face. Justice!

A flurry of images collided on my screen. The smashed truck. The shattered glass. The broken body. The blood. Screaming onlookers rushed to the family's aid while others took videos of the crash with their phones. Traffic halted as people started from their vehicles, rushed to help, or phoned 9-1-1.

The mother and children survived with nothing but scrapes and bruises, just as I had intended. The woman cried tears of relief as she hugged her children. "It's a Christmas miracle!"

"An angel saved us!" one of the children cried, burrowing her face into her mother's chest.

Tears welling in my eyes, I stared with wonder at what I'd done, my fingers flitting across the screen. Holy shit! Bad things don't have to happen! Take that, Goddard!

My relief was short-lived, however.

Half a dozen armed Guards of Hell marched in unison toward the rows of cubicles, their black uniforms standing in sharp relief to the pure white décor. They approached my desk without a word, pulling me away from the cubicle.

"It worked," I shouted to anyone who would listen. "I changed the plan! I saved them!"

Some of my co-workers stared at me with blank expressions while others shook their heads in disdain. "She's lost it," murmured one of the angels.

"Take a stand," I cried. Stiffening my body, I forced the armed guards to drag me away. "Goddard isn't all-powerful. You can change the course of human history. Just—"

"Enough!" shouted one of the guards.

A tall man with a stoic expression wrapped tape around my mouth that resembled angelic flesh. To my alarm, my mouth tingled as the skin crawled over my lips, smothering me so I could no longer speak.

Every attempt to talk became a muffled groan.

"We're taking you to God," he said, the glint in his eyes betraying the violence bubbling beneath his cool exterior. "Do you know what happens to fallen angels?"

Can't be worse than this.

"You'll be cast into that prison," he said, "and you'll never come out again." When I jutted my chin, he yanked me forward with a harsh tug. "You want some final words, do you?" he asked with a wry chuckle. "This ought to be good."

The guard rubbed my mouth with an astringent wipe that dissolved the tape and made my lips burn like fire. "Go to Hell!" I said, spitting in his face. "I'd choose Earth any day over this awful place."

"So be it." He shoved me away with a grunt, wiping the spittle from his cheek. "You won't remember this next bit, I'm afraid. No one can recall the face of God."

The guard tased me and blackness fell.

***

Staring at the sunrise, I stood on the edge of Eastern Point Beach. For the first time, I breathed in the fresh air, a combination of salt and rotting seaweed, as the wind played with my long, dark strands.

A wistful smile tugged at my lips as a nearby brass band played Christmas carols. "Joy to the World. / The Lord is come. / Let Earth receive her king."

Independence. Free will. Where I was meant to be.

Heaven called Earth a simulation cube, entertainment for the masses. They could watch me like creeps or bet on my actions the same way humans played with money on the stock exchange. And who could blame them? Goddard Jenkins had made humans in his image and likeness.

At least I'd never have to ignore human suffering ever again. I had the power to act.

"Thank you, God," I whispered at the brightening sky. "Merry Christmas."

I wondered if the angels would hear me.




Happy holidays, dear readers! ♥ Carolyn is a freelance textbook copy editor by day and a dark fantasy author by night. Born in the US, she moved to Europe after graduating with a B.A. in political science. Now she lives in the UK with her partner and their tuxedo cat. Read more from Carolyn here .