chiaroscuro

1

They scan me using some futuristic-looking device that makes my brain hurt whenever I think about how it works. It beeps, then makes a weird humming sound. The angels eyebrow's are furrowed and they whisper "What the hell?" .

I'm at the gates of Heaven, which are two gold gates hovering in the air. I'm standing on nothing and there's nothing around me. I know. It's hard to imagine.

Two angels are in front of me, one with cloud-like light brown hair and freckles, the other with, uhhh.... All I can say is, it looks like their barber did not do a good job.

"Something wrong?" I ask, or I want to ask. Sometimes my brain does this thing where it wants to say something, but my mouth doesn't open. It happens all the time. Probably cuz I tend to overthink things.

"We did the scan and it looks like your soul is..." The cloud angel struggles to find the words.

"Complicated," the goofy angel finishes.

"Very complicated," the cloud angel adds.

I sigh, blowing the hair in front of my face. "So." I gulp. "I can't get into heaven?" It comes out really quiet.

"You can," the cloud angel says. "Technically."

"Since angels treat one another with respect," the goofy angel explains. "Also since it's only half of your–"

"That's quite enough," the cloud angel snaps, slapping their arm. "We don't know that for sure."

"Yes we do, the scanner says–"

"It's called a malfunction, you big idiot. We'll take it to The Higher Angels to get it fixed."

"Malfun–" They close their mouth and decide not to argue. "Yeah. Whatever."

The cloud angel smiles, tight-lipped. They turn to me and gesture at me to follow. The cloud angel proceeds to snap their fingers. The gate opens and a whole city appears in front of my eyes. An almost normal city. There are buildings everywhere, but less pollution; tree-like things sit on the side of the road, and everything's in a shade of pure white. Not to be racist.

Angels are everywhere, smiling and talking. If I didn't know better, I'd thought we were still on Earth. They look like normal people, except with wings and halos. Maybe that's why they stare and laugh at me. I must look like an outcast–I am an outcast.

We walk down the street, towards a large castle. Everytime I pass someone, they'd stare at me, then take a picture. Yes, they do have phones, but they look like thin sheets of glass enclosed with thin sheets of rubber.

When we arrive at the castle, two guards in front of the entrance inspect us, then open the doors. I expected the security to be tighter, though I don't think they'd expect anyone to break in. This is where angels live.

The inside of the castle's even whiter than the outside–it almost blinds me. There are portraits of angels hung up on the walls and flowers petals scattered about.

We walk; the hall is long, a white fluffy mat underneath us. It feels like someone is hugging my feet.

We come to a halt at two large wooden doors that look taller than the castle. Chiseled in the front is a halo with two wings underneath.

"I'll do the talking," cloud angel says, to me or goofy, I'm not sure.

"I'll do the talking," cloud angel mimics quietly as they push open the door and hold it open. "Screw you."

"I heard that," growls the goofy angel.

As we enter, I notice it's a lot like an empty room, only there are three thrones placed at the back; perched on the thrones are three angels. One has golden hair running past their shoulders; they sit in the middle. One is tall with a peaceful expression on their face; they sit on the left. One is plain, that's the only way to describe it; they sit on the right.