TITLE: Heaven Sent
GENRE: Women's Fiction
Lemme tell you, heaven isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. When I was alive, I really did think heaven was nothing but lounging around on puffy clouds, dressed in sandals and glowing robes, sucking down nectar and ambrosia all day—whatever that stuff is. And everyone would have wings, just like the big fluffy ones the Victoria Secret models strut down the runway wearing. Oh, and golden halos—can’t forget those.
But heaven isn’t that way at all. Don’t get me wrong—it’s nice. I don’t ever feel hungry or thirsty. I don’t have a period anymore, and I don’t worry about whether my butt looks too wide, or whether I should buy some of those chicken-cutlet thingies to make my boobs look bigger. My pits don’t sweat, and my breath doesn’t stink. Those kinds of things just don’t matter anymore.
But heaven is work. Hard work. Angels—if that’s what you wanna call us—don’t just sit around on their duffs all day—we’ve gotta earn our keep. Heaven is a big place, and just like anywhere else, it takes a lot of upkeep. Keeping the trains running on time, as my dad always used to say, is vital to any business. And that’s exactly what heaven is. There aren’t any paychecks on Fridays or sick-leave or health benefits, but it’s still a business.
There are millions of people on earth who need protection. Or sometimes, they just need a little nudge in the right direction. There are angels who inspire artists, and angels who deliver messages. And there are angels who solve the mysteries that the living can’t seem to, which is what my job ended up being.
After I died, I had to solve the mystery of my own murder. Kind of a crappy job, considering—but you gotta roll with the punches. That one’s another tidbit of wisdom from my father, and it’s a good one.