Death and Human Resources

By Mark Andrew Swan

You may know Azrael as the most fearsome Angel in Heaven.

From Creation through to the modern day and beyond, the Angel of Death has regarded the world of the mythical and fantastic as little more than an office drone who just wants to clock off and call it a day.

When he learns the underworldly plot of a Heavenly hostile takeover, Azrael must navigate the corporate landscape of officious Angels and downtrodden Demons in a conspiracy that could lead to the end of the universe!

Mark Andrew Swan's debut novel, Death and Human Resources, is an eternity-spanning comedy/fantasy adventure that explores the mystical and the mundane with equal regard. To the forces of nature, death is only as dramatic as the paperwork required to make it official. As the metaphysical world tries to keep up with the demands of modern bureaucracy, will Azrael be able to handle the pressure?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781387647767

Book preview

Mark Andrew Swan

Death and Human Resources

First published by Mark Andrew Swan 2021

Copyright © 2021 by Mark Andrew Swan

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Mark Andrew Swan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-387-64776-7

Cover art by Justin Gray, burntobuild.com

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

This story is dedicated to Michelle, who I can count on to be a sprig of green in my mopey black.

To my mother, Carol, for absolutely everything.

To I, T, and N. Thank you for teaching me, through brute force, that the corporate world was not for me.

To Brian Swan, Wayne Bailey, John Moore, Robert and Charlotte Anderson, Buddy and Janice Swan, the list goes on and on…

Come on, baby (don’t fear the reaper!)

Blue Oyster Cult

Contents

Preface

PROLOGUE

1. RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT

2. ADMINISTRATIVE AND CLERICAL

3. OBJECTIVES AND EXPECTATIONS

4. TRAINING AND MANAGEMENT

5. SOFT LAUNCHES AND MISSION STATEMENTS

6. CUSTOMER SERVICE AND SUPPORT

7. SETBACKS AND SERVICE FAILURE

8. THE CHAIN OF COMMAND AND CUTBACKS

9. CRISIS MANAGEMENT AND DISCIPLINARY MEASURES

10. GRAND OPENINGS AND CHANGES IN POLICY

11. PROMOTIONS AND CUSTOMER RETENTION

12. COMMITTEES AND INSUBORDINATION

13. DEATH AND HUMAN RESOURCES

14. CORRECTIVE ACTION AND CUSTOMER TURNOVER

15. RECRUITMENT AND INVESTMENTS

16. BURNOUT AND HOSTILE TAKEOVERS

17. LAPSES IN LEADERSHIP, CHANGES IN WORKFLOW

18. TIME OFF AND PRODUCTIVITY

19. RESIGNATION AND UNEMPLOYMENT

20. ANALYSIS AND ACTION PLANS

21. PLAN BS AND PLAN CS

22. INCIDENT REPORTS AND WORKPLACE VIOLENCE

23. BRANDING AND REBRANDING

24. RETIREMENT

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Mark Andrew Swan

Preface

All depictions of mythical and supernatural entities made within this story were made with the utmost honor and respect to the spiritual and religious canons from whence they originated.

PROLOGUE

I tapped my pen against the bone of my cheek and stared across my office to the clock hanging above the door. It was 4:24 CHT (Central Heaven Time) on Saturday afternoon and I had reached a point of such anticipatory boredom, that I simply could not work a minute more. Sunday was my day off and the weekend was approaching one abysmally long second at a time. Of course, I was never not working (after all, the two constants in this existence are taxes and me) but the idea of stepping away from the endless paperwork before me for even an iota of time filled me with such a Heavenly power. I checked the clock again. 4:25. I was almost there.

The truth was, I was burnt out. No one had told me at the beginning of Creation that there would be so much admin involved. Who would have thought that I’d look back fondly on the old days? My bones used to ache from heaving that scythe around. My job had been on site instead of in a stuffy office and I’d be sent to all manner of detestable locale to pick off some plague victim or starving child. Still, there was always that certain nostalgia for the things I used to have.

That was the time before the Psychopomps, before my duties became managerial and administrative. Before Heaven went corporate to keep up with the new laws of man. The management up top had always admired humanity’s imaginative ways to self-govern. Now they worshiped efficiency, bureaucracy, and the almightiest of almighties: the Dollar.

Forgive me; I blaspheme.

I moved the pen from my cheek to the nameplate at the front of my desk. The tapping produced a far more satisfying sound on solid gold than it did on bare bone. I hoped to drown out the baseless sentiment, at least until the clock struck 5. My gaze wandered to my stacks of workflow. Two ivory boxes lay at the desk’s edge: one labeled with a gold-speckled IN and the other with an ink-black OUT. The stacks of paper piled in each were nearly equal in height, though the stack for OUT was a slight bit taller.

This was acceptable. Soon Cassiel would stop by and remove the contents of the OUT box before filing the work away in the corner of some room where it would never be referenced again. When Monday rolled around, the IN stack was higher but would shrink throughout the following week. No one questioned my progress as my work was constant.

Monday, I thought to myself and the anxiety of a fleeting weekend that hadn’t even begun wriggled its way into my head. The tapping grew harsher and more frequent and my nameplate tumbled backwards onto the desk with a thud, startling me.

Peering, I read the words scrawled in Angelic font:

AZRAEL

Chief Angel of Death

The name sounded almost foreign in my mind. It was rare for anyone to call me by my given name during business hours; most referred to me by my title and my purpose.

My phone rang, startling me for a second time. I peered at the clock again. It read 4:36 and I sighed in relief, knowing that the monotony would soon come to its temporary close. I straightened my back into my chair and, in an attempt to rediscover my composure, adjusted my summer sky-blue tie and smoothed the lapel of my void-black suit coat. My mind wandered back into sentiment for just a moment as I considered its dark sheen. Once upon a time, it wasn’t a coat but a cloak. Before that, it had been something else.

The phone continued to ring with a drawl I had come to loathe. I hoped one day to bring an end to that infernal device . Instead, I put an end to its ring. I grabbed the receiver and placed it to the side of my skull.

This is Death, I spoke wryly into the mouthpiece. At first, there was no response. Then, I sensed a coldness down my spine that invoked a fear I had not felt in millennia.

Hello? I repeated, Hello, this is Death!

It sure is, a voice as harsh and frightful as a forest fire hissed through the earpiece.

I’m sorry? I said , my voice cracking, despite the lack of a throat.

I said, ‘it sure is’, Azzy boy, the voice was quick to respond.

May I ask who’s speaking?

You may, it said with equal quickness, but I think you know exactly who this is.

I do, I admitted. My bones began to rattle against my desk. A call like this was highly irregular. I’m not sure you’re supposed to be using this line.

I just wanted to catch up, old friend. How have you been? I’ve heard some great things about you! Hear you get busier and busier every day!

That was the truth. Work had steadily increased in the convening years. The assurance from the voice on the other line brought me no comfort.

I’m afraid, I interjected, that I can’t tie up this line with casual conversation. This number is for official death and dying inquiries only. I am available for appointment if—

None of that matters much anymore, old friend, the hiss interrupted with a tone that was anything but friendly, I wanted to call and let you know that we’re deciding to move forward with the acquisition and your services are going to be highly sought after in the near future.

I’m sorry? I said again. I’m not sure I—

The big one! I hope you’re polished up on your horse riding! I heard a hoarse, muffled laughter in the background.

There was a knock at my door and Cassiel stepped into the office. She regarded me with indifference as she approached the stack of IN papers, lifted them with two hands, and made back towards the door. She eyed the tall stack in the OUT box momentarily and met my gaze with a look that said ‘You’re really going to leave all of that unfinished?’.

Fortunately, I do not have a face, otherwise my returned look might have said something like, ‘I do not presently care about my current workload because I am stricken with existential horror!’ Instead, I pointed to my phone to signal that I was too busy for such chiding. Cassiel rolled her eyes and left with a smile.

Are you still there? the hiss returned.

Surely, this is some sort of prank, I said when I was sure Cassiel was out of earshot. The Plan is working so well! Without a hitch, I’d say!

Without a hitch? it replied. Always the naive one, little Azrael. Always so dutiful too. People are dying so things are going without a hitch, huh?

Of course! I answered, after managing to muster an ounce of confidence. Acquisitions are up on both sides! I figured you would be happy with the numbers! Things are…

I hesitated.

Things are equitable!

We don’t really care much about any of that now.

But, a takeover? I spluttered, Really?

Oh, why do you care, Azrael?

The hiss became a shout so fierce that I pulled the phone receiver away from my head.

Do you think I can’t feel the yearning in your bones, little Angel? What if I were to tell you that this takeover is part of The Plan and always has been? Then how would you respond? Would you remain the little office drone you are, hoping to buzz in Father’s ear? Or would you embrace the old ways?

The old ways? I absentmindedly regarded the clock again. Even as I stared, my mind refused to make note of the time.

One way or another, you have a lot of work ahead of you. Lots of names to write down!

The hiss at the end of the phone gave a final, coarse laugh before I heard a click and the endless tone of a disconnected call. I held the receiver upright for an uncomfortable time before returning it to its cradle. My sight focused on the clock face.

5 o’clock: the day’s end. Finally.

The old times, I said to myself.

1

RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT

Iremember having wings.

Back then, I spent a lot more time working with Father. Heck, back in those days, it seemed like Father tried to spare time for nearly anyone who asked for it. That was when we were all still developing The Plan. Father was so excited for The Plan and, since we were all a part of Father and a part of The Plan, we were excited alongside Him. We all had our purposes, assigned and appropriated before the beginning of time, and we flitted about with a jovial motivation that only the most wonderful of work environments could provide. This was, of course, before the concept of dissent and rebellion was established.

But I’ll get to that…

In the beginning, Father relied on His two hosts of spirits to work out His design for The Plan:

The Djinn, born of Father’s fire.

And the Angels, born of Father’s light.

The Djinn dug at the inner workings of the cosmos with their powerful flame, carving a vast and complicated universe from Father’s labyrinthine blueprints. As Father devised new chemical reactions and new forms of elemental fusion, the Djinn would test these experiments in the vast emptiness of space. They were beings of will and might; spending days upon days composing the largest structures and the smallest molecules with impossible patience. When something didn’t work- when what was supposed to be a dense crystal instead shattered upon the lightest touch, or when the molecular compound for water instead created marshmallows- they would bring their findings to Father. He would tweak His notes and send the Djinn back out into the field, where they would attempt His vision again. Though Father regarded them harshly, the Djinn worked their hardest to shape His universe.

The Angels were tasked with pondering the finer eccentricities of physical law and devising a world that did not require the workarounds that their magic had otherwise facilitated. They were philosophical and energetic beings; worried with the why more than the how. Angels were mostly good at pontificating and soapboxing, and their blustering arguments over ideas like age and love lead to decisions that made very little sense at all. Angels were bureaucrats before they had invented bureaucrats. More often than not, Father would step in on their heated debates to explain how He wanted His ideas to be expressed on a universal level. As the crowds dispersed, one could always hear the skulking grumblings of one Angel or another, expressing with no self-awareness that What Father just said was what I was trying to get at all along!

I am technically an Angel, though I’ve always been a bit different from my brothers and sisters.

When I had approached Father and asked how He wanted me to help, His reply was brief and cryptic:

We are in the creation stage of development. Your part comes a little while later.

He barely regarded me with a sideways glance. His nose was forever buried in His notes and He was always being pulled in every direction by some other, more assertive spirit. I shied away at His presumption and began to sulk towards a corner to wait for my turn in the universe. My pathetic display must have caught Father’s attention as He suddenly set His gaze upon me.

Little Azrael, Father cooed. Your task in all of this is of the utmost importance. As all things will come to be, so they must end. Once I find out exactly how they are supposed to end, I shall call on you. Until then…

He slowly extended an enormous closed fist towards me until I was in reach. He uncurled His fingers and produced a wisp of cloud that contorted into the form of a large book.

I would like for you to give every living thing that shall come to be in our Creation a name.

A name? I repeated.

Yes, a designation. Give every living plant and creature that we design a name and write it in the pages of this book. I need an inventory and I need it to be clear and concise.

I took the tome from Father’s gigantic palm. I was about to ask how I was meant to write the name of every living creature if I didn’t even know what the word write meant, when my head was instantaneously filled with the gift of language.

Father smiled at my bewildered realization and offered His other massive hand towards me. He pinched the air with His thumb and forefinger and produced a writing quill made from a feather of brilliant purple and gold (I would later learn that this feather came from one of His discarded designs.) I took the pen and my muscles twitched with the immediate knowledge of perfect penmanship.

Father was once so generous.

What happens when I’m done writing the name of every living creature that comes to be? I asked, my voice dry.

By that time, there will be another book, Father explained and His look turned from kind to pensive. When you are done writing all the names in the first, you will write them again in the second. When you are done writing all of the names down in the second book, there will be no need for either.

Before I had time to ask for some clarification, a fat Cherubim had impatiently approached. It began to pester Father about the nature of odor or some other pedantic detail of The Plan. I did my best to recapture Father’s attention but, back then, I was such a tiny Angel and so my efforts were in vain. Father turned and moved to His next task.

Instead of pressing further, I opened my new book and looked within. The pages were all blank (of course they were; it was the first book ever created.) I was filled with an overwhelming sense of purpose and I sat to consider the first living creature that I was supposed to name.

I sat in my spot for a long time. It felt as though my head was filled with that sense of purpose and not much else. I became frustrated and considered that I was a failure to Father’s plan, that perhaps He would consider my lack of progress and unmake me. I slammed the book closed.

Just as my insecurities began to get the better of me, my thoughts were interrupted by the bickering of two nearby angels. I could see that one was holding a malleable, cylindrical something that writhed and slithered in her hands. She held it away from the second Angel who grabbed at it greedily. When he decided that he couldn’t grab the something from the first, the second angel’s face grew red with fluster and he cursed.

Harut, you have created a horrid thing and Father will ridicule us for your lack of reason!

I think it’s cute, Marut, the first Angel stuck out her tongue, and I believe it will be a symbol of great importance when The Plan is ready.

We already have something like this in the designs! And unlike your foolish creation, it has legs!

This one doesn’t need legs!

A land creature that travels without legs? Marut hissed, Have you completely ignored the doctrine?

I think Father will like it.

Let me have it so I can destroy it and save us the embarrassment!

No!

The Angels walked past, the second still pawing furiously at the first. They did not seem to notice me at all, though the thing on Harut’s arm had crawled atop her shoulder and looked at me with wonder. As our eyes met, it popped a little forked tongue in my direction. Harut was right: it was cute.

Without any warning, a thought entered my head and did its best to escape through my mouth. The image of the wriggly creature had seemed to turn itself into newly-formed letters in my imagination. Before I knew what I was doing, I spoke.

Snek, I said to no one in particular.

Snek, I said again. The word felt good in my mouth. My fingertips that held the golden quill tingled as I repeated the word over and over.

I opened up my book and I began to write.

💀

My knack for nomenclature developed at an even keel alongside Father’s universe. News of my purpose spread throughout the Heavens. Before long, a line of Heavenly spirits had collected in front of me. Each Angel had with them a prototype of their creation for me to evaluate. Some Angels held their ideas in the palms of their hands while others led their monstrous musings by lengths of solid chain. I had not told these gatherers to organize in any fashion. They had decided by their own desire to form a perfunctory queue and wait patiently for my attention. Angels were always so orderly.

WHAT DO YOU THINK? a Seraphim shouted at me as it approached from its place in the queue. It outstretched one of its six crimson wings and, nestled gingerly in its plumage, there sat an amorphous mass. The blob looked like if a water droplet was having a rather depressing day. At its base, a cluster of hair-like appendages flopped with morose nonchalance.

Er, I regarded the hopeful-looking Seraphim with skepticism, this is supposed to be an animal?

INDEED! I’VE BEEN WORKING ALL DAY ON IT! The spirit opened its mouth and a blue flame erupted in tandem with its enthusiastic shout.

The Angels known as the Seraphim belonged to Father’s highest choir of Angels and were, by design, never subtle.

PRECAMBRIAN! it continued emphatically, ONE OF THE FIRST MULTICELLULAR ANIMALS! A BIG DEAL, RIGHT HERE! IT IS SUPPOSED TO MAINTAIN ITS FORM THROUGHOUT THE AGES WITHOUT MANY CHANGES TO ITS INITIAL DESIGN! It made sure to brag this detail to the line of Angels behind it.

You don’t say? I wondered aloud as I once again considered the absolute brainlessness of the supposed creature. Leave it to the Seraphim to only work in abstracts.

I DO SAY! it replied. I JUST SAID IT A MOMENT AGO! WOULD YOU LIKE TO HOLD IT?

Ignoring my protest, the Seraphim reached its wing towards me and dropped the living snot puddle into my reluctant hands. The thing was cold and without physical reason. I did my best to feign a look to match the Seraphim’s obvious excitement. I was only made uncomfortable by the creature’s viscous form for a moment before I noticed a clamor near the end of the Angelic queue.

It appeared as though one of the Angels near the end had broken rank and was approaching, much to the chagrin of the other line-goers. Each Angel seemed to speak up protest as it was bypassed, but upon taking better notice of the offender in question, huddled back to its place in line without a further peep. The figure moved with authoritative diligence. As it neared the front of the queue, I could see it wore the shimmering, night-black robes of an Archangel. A nervous spike shot through my spine when I realized just who was approaching.

WELL!? the Seraphim said, pulling my attention once again, WHAT DO YOU SAY!? I BELIEVE THIS BEING INVOKES A POWERFUL NAME INDEED!

Do you think it could wait? I asked with a begging smile. Perhaps you would like more time to, er, muse on this one while I sit back and think of the perfect name for this little guy. I dropped the heap of wet cells back into the Seraphim’s cupping wing tip.

THE DESIGN IS QUITE COMPLETE! The Seraphim coddled its blob close. APPROVED BY FATHER! ALL IT NEEDS IS A NAME!

I looked past my guest’s shoulder at the queue behind. The Archangel was getting ever closer and I could see in his face that he meant business. I cursed under my breath and realized I needed to hasten my meeting to a close.

Approved by Father, you say? I turned back towards the eager Seraphim, In that case, the name for this poor creature has popped into my head as clear as day! I held my fingertips to my temple and released a grunt of faux-exertion. The display seemed to work as the Seraphim observed with a look of pure wonder. From henceforth, this being shall be known as a… Jellyfish!

The Seraphim furrowed its shining gold brow and wrinkled its nose as if it had tasted something sour.

JELLYFISH!? WHAT IN HEAVEN IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!? WHAT IS JELLY!?

I shrugged dismissively. "I dunno. I don’t make the words; I just use them. My will and my words are the same as Father’s. This name is His through me. Anyway, let’s move along. Lots of creatures to name and we can’t take all Creation to name them, can we?"

I attempted to shoo the stubborn Angel before shouting behind him, Next in line please!

NOW WAIT! the Seraphim protested, SURELY YOU CAN COME UP WITH SOMETHING BETTER THAN JELLYFISH. IT IS NOT EVEN A FISH!

They can’t all be winners, pal. At this point, I was hefting my entire weight against the persistent Seraphim but the spirit was a mass of eyeballs and feathers twice my size and it pushed adamantly back.

I SHALL NOT LEAVE UNTIL YOU HAVE GIVEN MY DESIGN A NAME WORTHY OF FATHER’S HONOR!

A voice emerged from behind the Seraphim that was as deep and calm as it was fearful and commanding. Qaspiel, it said, I hate to interrupt but I must have a discussion with the little Azrael.

Qaspiel’s face hunkered into a look of statuesque rage. Its flaming eyes tore from my gaze and its glittering cheeks blushed an angry heat. It craned its neck and spat towards the source of the offending voice.

NOW SEE HERE! IT IS MY TURN WITH HE WHO GIVES NAMES AND I—

Before it could even conceptualize another tempered word, its stony face dropped into a mask of intense dismay and regret. Its lips sputtered and its throat gurgled several primitive groans before a single word allowed itself to escape.

LUCIFER! it finally said.

💀

I feel as though I don’t need to explain who Lucifer is to you, humble reader. Even a mythologically-inept person could probably recognize the Angel who would eventually become the very first supervillain. That being said, I think it’s important to understand who Lucifer was pre-Fall From Grace. At the very least, the tale will help you understand my story.

Lucifer was Father’s first Angel and, as far as any of us could tell, Father’s first creation whatsoever. He was a being of immaculate light that shone in a impossible display of every color simultaneously. He was the strongest and most powerful Angel ever created and his mold was used to make every single Angel that followed. He held Father’s secrets and magic in his very core and, some say, he was almost as powerful as Father Himself.

Lucifer stood at Father’s side as Chief Angel and guardian of the Heavens. Long before Creation was little more than a dreamy idea, Lucifer was granted a legion of Angels to train and command in the art of war. Back then, no one had the forethought to ask why Heaven needed to prepare for war. Back then, none of us were advanced enough to ask Father such things. For a time, Lucifer was the least likely to question Father’s methods. None of us were prepared to learn that Lucifer was training the army to one day fight him.

It was said that Father loved Lucifer more than any of His other creations—even more than The Plan. We other Angels were never jealous. It was unbecoming of our upbringing to feel such horrid emotions towards each other. Instead, we revered our Chief Angel with the same love and admiration that our Father felt. Lucifer loved Father as well, though he did not revere his fellow Angels in the same manner. Lucifer was proud of his love and proud of his standing in Heaven. Though he wouldn’t admit it at the time, he was most proud of how the others feared him.

If I were to describe Lucifer in one word, it would be pragmatic. The Archangel had little time for dilly-dallying. He believed every moment had a purpose and any moment without purpose was a moment wasted. He regarded The Plan as if it were his own and, rumor had it, he sometimes spoke as if it was.

💀

Azrael, come walk with me, Lucifer commanded with no hint of mercy in his voice. I looked past the Chief Angel, expecting to see frustration and dissent among the waiting queue. All of the Angels in line regarded Lucifer with the same look of intimidation that I felt on my own face. An Archangel visiting the lower Heavens was a big deal. The Archangel visiting the lower Heavens meant there was trouble.

Er, yes sir, I replied with reluctance. Of course, sir. I gave an apologetic shrug to the queue. The eyes of each waiting Angel followed me; annoyance peeking behind their fear. Lucifer ignored them and clasped his giant hand around my shoulder.

And bring your book, he bellowed.

We traveled past the gates of the Silver City out into the abstract Heavens. The roads of radiant silver transitioned into a soft and grassy cloud under our feet. The stars shone so much brighter out beyond our workways; the Djinn had done such lovely work on them. I ran to keep up with Lucifer’s haste. The gait of his step doubled mine. He had taken my book, with no protest from me, and he was pensively scanning the pages as he walked. He said nothing and I was too afraid to speak either. We reached a peak of cloud that looked into the dark. The black of absent space was dotted with massive expanding galaxies of different dazzling colors. I looked with wonder at Father’s creations while Lucifer flipped nonchalantly through my book. After a moment, he closed it with a snap.

This is all very good work, Azrael, he finally said.

Thank you, sir! I responded with an air of officiance in my throat. I was not one of Lucifer’s soldiers but guessed it was in my best interest to act as if I was.

You may relax, little Angel, his response was almost jovial, I did not bring you here to exact Father’s judgment. Such a statement should have put me at ease but I could not shake my tension.

You didn’t?

No. I’ve only come to audit your progress. You’ve become quite the popular spirit, haven’t you? As Lucifer said this, I felt a heat rise from my chest and into my face.

I s-suppose, I stumbled. The Angels find me and I give them what they require.

Compliance, Lucifer almost interrupted, is an admirable quality. You’ve done well in your book. Your names for Heaven’s designs are apt. Tell me, have you considered why we must provide a name for every living thing?

I regarded the question and did not have an answer for Lucifer. My silence prompted him to continue.

Father has instilled us with the means to build His Creation. As the Djinn create the constructs of this plan, the Angels create the concepts. It is not enough for a creation to exist. The explanation for why it exists is essential in it existing at all. Do you agree? He only gave me a moment to respond. I said nothing and he began again.

Furthermore, to explain a creation in specificity is to award it uniqueness. Therefore, a concept and its construct are not truly complete until it has a name to make it unique. Father’s plan is contingent on the uniqueness of each of his creations.

Though I was confused, Lucifer’s points made sense and it almost felt like Father Himself was explaining to me.

Once a being has been created, Lucifer started again, do you think it should exist forever?

It took a moment for me to realize that the Archangel expected an earnest answer to his question. He stared at me while I found the words.

I… I mumbled, I always assumed we were to devise and build Father’s plan to be admired forever.

To this, Lucifer’s great wings flexed and swayed with the Archangel’s pensive stance. His deep black feathers shimmered in the radiance from above that was Father’s light. His mouth opened and closed several times before he spoke again.

You are not wrong, Azrael, he said with a hollow tone that struck me with a hidden sadness. Each element of Father’s plan will be admired forever. Though, in order for each creation to be admired to its fullest, it must not only be created but it must be subjected to change and, ultimately, it must be destroyed.

Destroyed? I gulped. I had never heard the word before.

Yes, he repeated, destroyed. It must reach a state of change so intense that it does not subsist. Thus, each creation will be appreciated in its fullest, even and especially when it no longer exists. Do you understand?

I had not understood the moment Lucifer had asked the question. But as I let the thought permeate in my mind, the idea became as clear as all of creation itself. As things must be created, they must too be destroyed to be whole.

Yes, I finally said, I understand.

As Lucifer spoke, peering into the vastness of the space beyond, I could hear a choke in his throat There is a burden to the facilitation of this process. This burden lies in your book. As you give each creation a name, and write that name into your pages, you acknowledge its existence and thus further acknowledge that it will one day be destroyed. Do you understand this as well?

Yes. I did not hesitate this time.

The sound of heaving wings echoed behind us in the cloudy bluff. I looked over my shoulder to see an Archangel in shimmering golden armor approach from a foreign angle in space. His wings were like painted flame; vibrant reds and yellows speckled the feathers. His skin was the color of thunderclouds, just like Lucifer’s. He approached with urgency and landed behind us with an immediate march towards the Chief Angel.

Aamon. Lucifer regarded the soldier without turning its way.

Sir, Aamon responded, his approach unflinching, I am sorry to interrupt—

And yet you persist. Lucifer cut the excuse short. He turned and a glance from his shocking blue eyes stopped the intruding angel in his tracks.

It’s the Djinn, Aamon insisted with a quivering in his voice that suggested he would much rather be anywhere else, they’re setting off neutron stars in the forty-fourth quadrant. They’re collapsing them just to see what happens.

Again!? Lucifer hissed and the whole Heavenly valley quaked. His stance turned from one of preparation to one of diligence. He curled his left hand into a fist and flexed every muscle up through his arm. A muted light grew from his grasp into the form of a horrible, radiant flame. In a matter of moments, he had materialized a blade of pure fire and clutched it adamantly. Though I did not yet understand the purpose for such a sword, its image filled me with terror.

Azrael, Lucifer’s gaze turned toward me, we will continue this conversation later. You’ve done excellent work so far.

He handed my book back to me before crouching into a launching posture. His wings lurched and propelled him into the sky. A surge of wind created a vacuum beneath the departing Archangel that briefly eliminated all sound around us before erupting in a sickening pop. There was a flash, and he was gone.

Aamon stood, astonished, before ascending himself and following close behind. I sat upon the cloudy cliff, alone, and further considered my purpose.

I must clarify, dear reader, that I cannot fully and accurately explain to you the nature of these past events. Your human brain currently lacks the capacity to process the reality that Angels like myself experience. Thus, I am prone to use what you humans call metaphor to describe in terms that you may understand. It may be easier for you if I depict a simple act of reality manipulation as magic or miracle instead of trying to explain the exact scientific processes that an Angel uses to bend the fabric of space and time. Your miracles are our mundane tasks, and your eons were how we once measured our days.

So please understand when I say that I spent all day contemplating what it meant to keep a record of every living thing’s eventual unbeing, that this was no small undertaking.

Father’s Heaven and His creations thus far had been devised under the pretense of permanence. From what we knew, Father had been around forever—even before there was a beginning. As we understood, we were permanent as well. Each Angel (and presumably each Djinn) was brought into being by Father, given a name, and assigned a purpose towards enacting The Plan. None of us ever asked what The Plan was or why it was so important. Instead, we went to work. We built the structure of the universe from the atom up. We concocted the idea of life, intelligence, and sentience to create beings that would propagate within the confines of The Plan. Father could and would occasionally unmake certain aspects of The Plan if they didn’t fit or were made in error, however, none of us considered that all of the things that we made had the potential to be destroyed on purpose.

I watched from the cloudy cliff face as a star trillions of miles from my little spot in Heaven vibrated against the dark backdrop of the universe. The yellow sparkle dipped and flashed into shades of dramatic purple and red as the intensity of its light ebbed into varying degrees of brilliance. It looked as though the little light had extinguished before blooming into a detonation of a new color I had yet to see and, for a moment, it reminded me of a concept devised by one of our top Angels.

They had designed a means for certain plants to reproduce once they had reached maturity. I could not fathom the science involved at the time, but the result was a burst of vibrant petals and curling stamen. Once The Plan was enacted, that shape would become a most important symbol .

As soon as the bloom of the exploded star reached its dramatic peak, shooting detritus and innumerable amounts of dissipating energy into the vacuous space, the light from the event faded until only blackness remained. It was almost as if the star had never been there in the first place.

A thought unfolded in my mind; much like the star and much like the design for the plant.

Some things must be unmade to make more things; whether they be stars or sneks or jellyfish. The Plan wasn’t about the permanence of creation, but the further creation yielded by change. In that way, the unbeing of something was as beautiful and significant as its being in the first place.

It felt cold in my little spot and I realized how alone I was outside the major Heavens. I reached behind my back and pulled my oversized black wings closer to my body. Father had formed me a bit smaller than many of the other Angels but, for some reason, He designed my wingspan as big and boisterous and black as vast space. I curled those wings around my body until the tips touched at the top of my head. I felt warmer and more comfortable.

I began my walk back towards the inner Heavens.

2

ADMINISTRATIVE AND CLERICAL

As the pages of my book filled, progress on The Plan reached a fever pitch. Father’s groundwork was impressive when it was only sketches and doodles but the first draft of all Creation turned out to be more wondrous than any of us could imagine. The Djinn’s constructs were massive in their execution and the Angels’ philosophical designs imbued every structural cell with Father’s purpose. Each day, I grew busier, processing the requests for names from every Angel working in the Living Things department. As the work grew more complex, with weirder and more diverse ideas arriving for my designation every day, I became more confident in my abilities. Before long, news of my efficiency reached the Upper Angelarium: the office tower of Heaven, where the Archangels gathered.

Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for this? I asked the Cherub called Ornias as he held his creation towards me. This one seems like plagiarism to me.

I’m not sure what you mean, Ornias replied, though I couldn’t help but hear a chiding in his voice.

I mean you stole this design from other Angels. I think I’ve seen this tail before. I’ve definitely seen this bill…

The fat Angel’s snorting face puckered into a look of disingenuous offense.

I may have taken inspiration from a few of my fellow spirits but this design is an original.

It looks like you just mashed five other animals together!

I grabbed the design by its webbed flippers. The thing turned its duckish, rattish head towards me and stared with curiosity. I placed it on the ground where it scurried behind Ornias’ rounded form.

Is this a joke? I asked apprehensively.

A joke? Ornias spat, Does Creation seem funny to you? In truth, neither of us knew if Creation sounded funny because neither of us fully understood the concept yet.

Is it mammal or bird? I probed, attempting to refocus the conversation.

Yes, Ornias replied with so much indifference, that I wanted to wreak wrath upon the Angel’s stupid face.

I’m truly at a loss, Ornias. Perhaps you have a suggestion?

Well, I was sort of thinking we could call it a— he choked as if stifling a laugh—a Platypus?

Oh, come on!

Alright, alright! Ornias relented. He reached forward and clipped me on my back with his palm, Look, I somehow got this one past the Approval Department and all I need is a name to make it official. Wouldn’t it be the best if this thing ended up crawling around with all the other animals?

Well, I considered, I don’t know… In truth, looking at the creature made me understand comedy a little bit more. And it was cute.

What do you say, old pal? Ornias thrust his right hand forward in a gesture that all Angels agreed meant mutuality.

We’ve never met before today, Ornias. I abstained from returning the gesture.

Think about it. The Cherub plucked his weird design up from the ground and turned to leave. As they flew away, the creature wriggled in Ornias’ grasp to look at me again. I smiled and it shook, startled, before burrowing into the Angel’s arms.

Erm, next! I called to my constantly growing queue.

I had set up my operations in a vacant, cube-like building near the lower Angelarium. When I found the room, it invoked a feeling as though it had been meant for me all along. Inside the cube was a chair for me to sit on and a desk for me to place my book. From the room, I allowed one Angel at a time to enter and present their creation to name. As always, the Angels queued naturally and rarely made a fuss.

The next in line entered at my call