Angel of Death
When I open my eyes, blurry from sleep and medication, a scrawny old man with a bald pate and scruffy fringe sits in the chair in my hospital room, wearing doctor’s green scrubs. “You’re no doctor,” I say. “What are you doing here?” I sit up and begin to untangle some of my tubes. “I’m your angel of death,” he says. “I’ve come to escort you to the next world.” He’s pale and short of breath and doesn’t look strong enough to even help me out of bed. “The angel of death is young and handsome and has beautiful white wings,” I say. “You’re only pretending to be an angel.” He waves his hand as if pushing away my words. “There are many angels of death and very few have wings,” he says. You should prepare yourself — it won’t be long.” Prepare myself, how? I wonder. I’m wired up in a hospital bed barely able to move. What more do I need to do? Now he turns ashen, wheezing and gulping breath. He presses his hands against his chest, then crumples as if something has kicked the life out of him. I press the red button strapped to the railing and within moments an angel in white rushes in and administers CPR, but her efforts are futile. When she runs out of the room to get help, the angel of death perks up, smiling at me: “It’s that easy,” he says. “Now you try it.”
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Reincarnation
The lion was cursed to be a human for killing a giraffe. The hippo was cursed to be a human for killing his caretaker, who had entered his cage to bathe and feed him. The elephant was cursed to be a human for falling to the ground with his rider and rolling over the rider, crushing him. The cat was cursed to be a human for killing too many squirrels, the raccoon for spreading rabies among the raccoons, the dog for a spree of woodchuck killings, their necks snapped. The spider was cursed to be a human for all the corpses found in its web. All the humans are cursed creatures in disguise. When they meet, they hug and kiss and sniff each other out.