his angel

human butterfly

As quickly as that wink of moonlight appears, it fades away. It's chased away by the overwhelming darkness that settles into my room yet again. I'm blind to everything again.

"What the f**k are you? Oh my God, are you one of those freaks who gets surgery to look like the devil - or angel in this case?"

"I go by guardian angel professionally but I've heard fairy godfather and that works too, I guess i if you prefer that," his reply is so nonchalant, you'd hardly believe he just showed off a pair of wings that just sprouted out of his back.

But then I realize the real question at hand. "...you've actually been called fairy godfather?"

A few beats of silence pass as I try to shake the image from my mind, but I decide to play along with well, whatever you could label this situation with. "If you're my guardian angel, aren't you supposed to be omnipresent and not reveal yourself to me? You're not even following the clichés."

"It doesn't really work like that; it's more like when a person's at the lowest point of their life or need help, a guardian angel is sent their way to kind of provide comfort, set their life back on track, make sure they don't fall into a ditch or something. Typical stuff," after a moment, he adds, "I'm here to just listen your problems and help you. That's the point of the whole not-showing my face. It's to have that Freudian free association effect. And of course this isn't a cliché, it's real life."

"That's why you're not showing your face? I'm still getting some serious serial killer vibes though. Your Freudian excuse isn't really working too much for me."

"I'm not allowed to, as stated by Angel law and plus, my face is too amazing for human eyes."

I ignore his answer as I move on to my next question. "Also if you're an angel, why do you have a Greek accent?" I blurt aloud, and then it finally hits me what actually came out of my mouth.

I'll be now face-palming for the rest of my life. And wearing a hazmat suit for all the embarrassment that will follow me soon after.

"I don't know," he replies uninterestedly, taking a seat at my desk and putting his feet up to get comfortable.

"I don't know?? That's really your answer? How are you an angel by the way, Greek Salad?"

"By fate and the gods' will," he replies almost monotonously again like it's a mantra. "And, Greek Salad, really?"

"I decided Greek Salad sounds better. Suits you too," I say imitating his nonchalant tone and very matter-of-factly as I lie back against my headboard, feeling around for anything that could get me out of this.

Greek Salad chuckles and it sounds like chocolate melting and honey being poured. "I know you're looking for something to knock me out with, but you should know I already cleared your room out for any potential weapons. Not that any of them will affect me."

Even with all the bullshït coming out of his mouth, his voice could still impregnate an entire crowd of women.

"That's so- but- when did you even have the time to?"

I imagine he's shrugging like it's no big deal. Just took a sweep of my room and that's not creepy at all. f*****g great. "When I came in."

"Okay, where are the cameras? Did I just get pranked on national television? Show's over, you can start real life now. I actually prefer the shíttiness of real life." I'm desperate for some sign that this is one whole colossal joke or that I'm dreaming this disaster.

He sounds like he's telling me a hollow joke. "If the one who's playing the joke is the gods then sure, you're being 'pranked.'"

Even the gods know my life is a mess, apparently. They saw the loneliness I tried to hide by flooding my liver with alcohol and going to shitty parties? They saw the panic I was in from the mere prospect of the future? Of my life, my career? I was making myself anxious just thinking about all this.

"What a time to be alive," I mutter to myself. "What a fücking time to be alive."

Greek Salad doesn't hear because his next words are, "Before this Greek Salad name sticks permanently, my real name is Eros. You know, in case you decide to ditch Greek Salad."

"Like the god of love?" I say aloud like an afterthought.

His words are bright with a smirk. "Yes, like the god of love."

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