Possessed by an Angel

She needed a drink and a good fuck.

“Please don’t.”

The disapproving sigh in her head was immediate and loud. She ordered him to be silent. The protest faded but continued to pulse in the back of her skull. Satisfied that it was quiet enough to ignore with the right amount of alcohol, she continued walking to her favourite bar.

When she had first heard the voice four years ago, it hadn’t been in her head yet.

“You can be saved!” reverberated off the brick walls of the disgusting alley she was stumbling down. Anyone walking by would have heard it, but the mugger who had just stabbed her had timed his attack perfectly. She hadn’t thought the voice was real, so she ignored it and laid down to find a comfortable position for dying. While blackness replaced pain, she became annoyed thinking about the one-minute news segment that would cover her death, delicately balancing the sadness of her loss with other minor details such as she had been walking alone, at night, in heels that would definitely imply that this was her own fault. Then she used what she thought would be her last exhale to laugh at the predictability of privileged assholes.

His explanation had been quick. There was a war between angels and demons on earth. He needed a human vessel to fight. The vessel would likely die. She was already dying.

Why not?

Because when the smiting is over and the oblivious humans have been saved, you're stuck with an uptight, toplofty angel in your head judging everything you do and if he leaves to go back to Heaven, your body will fall apart.

“Alcohol won’t solve your problems.”

She wanted to punch him with her mind.