Thursday, June 26, 2008
The angel stretched out his mighty wings and flexed his bare toes, digging them into the gravel of the formal garden. He put a companionable arm around Harold’s shoulder and stepped forward, forcing Harold to either walk with him or have his shoulder wrenched off. He chose to walk.
“There has to be a reckoning,” he said as they passed the first of a series of carefully trimmed yew topiaries.
Harold nodded. “There can be only one,” he said.
“What?” Azrael, the angel of death, was stumped. He paused and stared at Harold. “One what?”
Harold coloured. “Never mind,” he said. “It was a film reference. What sort of reckoning?”
“You have to pay for these extra years of life,” said the angel. “What are you going to pay for them with?”
Harold thought for a moment. “Mastercard?”