the angels | w2s

tragic

"what on god's earth happened to you?"

i jumped violently, this terrified, blood curdling scream emptying my body for all it's worth. first noise i'd made in a while, but it certainly warmed up my vocals. "i— are you god?" i asked, my stomach wrenching so badly i could've sworn a claw had reached inside me and started twisting my organs. i paused when i got no reply. "why are you referring to yourself in third pers— we're not on earth, are we?"

if this was god, god was attractive. and very young? startling blue eyes, a little bit of scruffy stubble, just-got-out-of-bed dirty blonde hair and dressed fully in white. he was messy, but he pulled it off.

"no, we aren't on earth, you dimwit. and i'm not god either!"

"excuse me for thinking so?" i asked, literally terrified. if he wasn't god, was he satan?

"mhm," he murmured. "what happened to you?" he repeated.

i looked down at myself cautiously. i'd grown used to this new look. pale skin had been heavily brushed with soot, my clothes scorched and platinum hair frazzled. no burns though. afterlife perks, perhaps. "who are you?" i replied.

"answer my question."

"answer mine."

"you're rather brave for someone who has no clue who i am," he commented. "you don't know where you are, either, i could be about to torture you for all you know."

"so you're not?" i quickly confirmed, because yes — that definitely was on my mind, i'd considered it.

"i — what happened to you?" he demanded, frustrated.

i didn't want to tell him.

how do you tell someone you burnt yourself alive?

especially a stranger.

"fire," i mumbled defeatedly.

"and i'm harold," he smiled. toothy grins suited harold.

"are you — dead?"

"i'm just as dead as you," he answered.

"pretty fucking dead then, hey?"

harold didn't say anything more in regards to this whole death thing. he carried on the conversation as if our last topic had been as sweet and innocent as the weather. "what's your name?"

"meredith," i scrunched up my nose and sat down. stupid, old woman name if you asked me.

"what a pretty name," he complimented, slouching down next to me. "merry for short?"

merry? merry, really? how disgustingly ironic. "if you'd insist upon it, harry."

"nicknames already! i can tell this is going to be fun."

"why are you here?"

"why ever not?"

"don't tell me you're choosing to spend time with the loner girl who set her own house alight," i could've rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness.

"okay."

"what does okay mean?"

"it means i won't tell you that i'm choosing to spend time with the loner girl who set her own house alight."

we were silent for a couple of seconds.

"are you?"

"i might just never tell."