(A short story about angels, demons, the rapture, and office work)
When people talk about the end of the world, they usually talk about armageddon, the rapture, ragnarok, some pre-concieved way it's going to go, an all out battle between good and evil, sinners damned and the righteous freed, something like that. Its not accurate. I think they know that, they just believe in something they want, something they're comfortable with. What's really hard to figure out, then, is how and why it actually went down the way it did. But I don't have the time to think about that, I have work to do.
7:00 AM. Clock in. Say hi to Azazel, leaning on the doorframe like usual. His cubicle is next to mine, so we chat a little during work hours. Not now though. Sit down. Boot up my pc. It's technically a laptop with some hardware enhancements, the company couldn't get high quality tech fast enough for new workers, given the big influx, so we just have to make do. Now I work, for about 5 hours, making sure to lean forwards towards my computer. It hurts my spine, but when I lean back, my scars press into the chair and it hurts more. The higher ups promised that they're working on getting chairs that'll be comfortable for us, but I think we can all tell they aren't, and just want us to ignore the pain.
Noontime. Lunch. I don't have enough time to go and get something, so I just stay here and eat something I bring from home, today a salad with grilled chicken. Azazel brought a sandwich, like he usually does. I swear, he could be in the mood for onion soup and he'd find a way to put it between two slices of white bread. Beelzebub brought... I can't tell, some kind of fish. I can smell it from here, and silently wish for him to get fired or transferred or something. He's obnoxious anyways, always trying to talk to me like we're friends whenever I need to copy something. It sucks.
6:00 PM. Clock out. I actually usually stay behind a little later, so I don't have to deal with everyone leaving all at once. None of us like this job, none of us wanted it. Most of us were supposed to retire a year or two back, but now we're stuck here, crammed in suits and cubicles, stripped of our true selves. You can feel it, in the tiny stumps where horns once rested, now covered up by hair and fishing hats. In the two scars on my back where wings once fluttered, and in the halo I keep in my safe at home because I need something, anything, to remind me who I am. To remind me of what I am.
Two years ago, the world ended. At least, it was scheduled to end. Like everyone wanted, Good vs Evil for all the marbles, the greatest chess game ever played. Except, someone else got there first. Took all the pieces, the pawns, knights, rooks, bishops, queens and kings. They moved them to a monopoly board and taught them to play, and now they just don't stop, stuck in the same dull cycle they were meant to break. In a war of good and evil, who would've guessed that beaurocracy would win? After all, at this point, mankind was strongest. What reason had they to listen to us? And they surmised: none.
I am the angel Samael. I used to be the angel of death, and guide souls to the afterlife. Now I work at Mullins Printing Co., and my job is to manage customers who ask why their printer needs an app or why it runs out of cyan so often or why they can't usb-connect it anymore. I work from 7 AM to 6 PM, with an hour break for lunch. Then I go to the bar with my friends and we gripe and joke and drink to numb... everything. I guess humanity got it right, all things considered. "This is how the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper."
