The Angel’s First Child

I worked in censorship for a time, just around the corner from the reincarnation department where my request was denied. What a slap in the face! Everything was perfect, except for my legacy being spread too thin. No exception could be made in my case, since everything in my last life’s will was left to my little brother and to the animal shelter where I adopted our cat and rabbit. All because I would rather fund the betterment of animals than accidentally introduce a human child to the concept of death. Anyhow, it wasn’t so bad, since I got to start right away. The collar I had to wear looked funny, but who was going to see me? I picked up cases from the morals department in my spare time, so I learned how to railroad right and wrong into fresh new minds. It wasn’t a perfect process—I learned that it only worked if values were imparted the same way in the same amounts to everyone, but of course, that was never possible. Things began to go south when one of my cases was burdened with a wrong that he could not put right. He begged me to take back his knowledge of right and wrong, but I could not. I begged him to put the burden out of his mind, but he could not. The anger in him overflowed and I heard him crying out day and night, calls I was no longer allowed to answer. My damage had been done, He said, and in causing such damage, I was responsible for the choices made thereafter. He said it was part of the job of creation, to step back when it was time. For many nights my case and I cried together, until one night the cries stopped, and the next morning, unrelated, I was let go from the censorship department. Unsure of what to do, I sat in the garden with a cup of tea, letting the rain cool my cup down. Much later, someone came to remove me and dry me off. I barely heard as they told me my next life was beginning in a few hours. I walked dumbly to where my soul would pass on, swearing I would not feel nor cry again, but I had never stopped feeling, and cry I did as I emerged into the light, though I could not remember why.