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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Other / Not Listed
- Published: 12/06/2023
The Scents of Life
Born 2009, F, from Nuevo Leon, MexicoWaking up in the morning is an experience I share with every other living thing in this world, yet it still bores me every day. The first thing I hear when I wake up is the screams and prayers from humans asking the Almighty for favors. I get up and look around my room as I wait for my eyes to settle. My room is relatively vast, and mostly everything in it is white, white as most things are in heaven. I placed a hand over my eyes.
‘It’s too early for this,’ I think. I withdraw my hands from my eyes and blink a couple of times. I walk over to the window and draw back the white no sorry, ivory-colored curtains. I take a good look around heaven as if I don’t already know exactly what it looks like. Towering buildings push their way through the clouds. Cars and angels that fly past look like little ants. The angels that flew by varied, from the weeping angels; to pure balls of light. To some more like myself, a human-like figure and large wings sprouting from their backs, eyes, oh so many eyes adorn the stubs of their necks. The stars float above all of us in heaven, quite literally hanging on strings, and above that is God’s palace, where only he and the archangel live.
Comfortable at that, not that everyone else lives uncomfortably. It is only that the archangel is a ‘favorite’, the Almighty’s favorite to be exact. His bed is made for him every morning. He only has the finest soaps for his wings, and he acts as though he is the Heavenly King’s lap dog. I assure you I will not act as such. The archangel represents a position I have wanted to gain for a while now. To be able to live in peace only having to deal with a couple of significant events (For example, the extinction of the dinosaurs. Which was a mistake on my friend's part.) The ranking of the archangel is determined by good deeds. I merely need to complete 13 more good deeds to be able to rank as an archangel, and then the current archangel and I will undergo a trial. One held by our Seraphim, the highest ranking of angels. Those one-eyed beings will determine how my life will play out until the end day. The winner of the trial gets eternal peace. They are already setting up the trial now. The archangel is only allowed to change even 2 centuries, then everyone's score resets, It's already been two and a half since the previous one. I was so close that time as well.
Knowing that I barely have thirteen good deeds left to complete I rush myself to get ready. I take a look at the list in my hands, wondering what act will get me the most points. That’s when I spot a determination, my eyes light up, those count for five good deeds! I put on my cloak and paint my hair, rushing out the door. I ran for about two blocks before remembering I possessed wings and flew the next five. I ran so fast I almost flew past the spinning entrance, I rushed inside and struck my hand down on the selector.
The selector is essentially what we use to perform our jobs, it’s an earth-shaped button and when we press it shows us all the missions that were posted up on the big screen outside. Then all we have to do is select our mission and we have the next thirty-two hours to complete it. I don’t even look at the description of the missions before accepting it. A card slides out from the deposit machine and I seize it,
“Don’t forget to clock in!” my friend and coworker, Samuel, shouted at me as I ran towards the globe.
The globe is exactly what it sounds like, it’s a giant globe of all of Earth. You look at the location on your card and you insert your ticket and then you are teleported to your task. I take one look down at my card, California. I insert it into the machine and take a deep breath. No matter how many times I do this the sensation, never gets old. The molecules that make up my body get broken down, and I get the sudden urge to puke.
Waking up in California in a unique body, after being rearranged and sent through the cosmos is, sadly, something that I have experienced before. My eyes take a minute to adjust; it is nice to not be surrounded by blinding white twenty-four-seven. I stretch out my hands in front of me. I have dark olive-colored skin, and I seem to be wearing a black and maroon striped shirt with a grey jacket. I pull the hood over my head and look around before realizing I don’t even know any of the case details yet. Some people, like Samuel, will devote hours before they accept a case to probe and come up with a plan to resolve the situation. I ordinarily don’t but I would at least take a spare glance at what I’m trying to fix.
Glancing down at the paper I can feel my throat close up. The case details read as follows:
NAME: Arthur Jackson Pikani
AGE: 14
HAIR: Dark Brown
EYES: Blue
CASE DETAILS: In an alley at exactly 10:32 pm, a group of four boys will stay out past their curfew. The oldest (Rodrigo) pulls out a cigarette and offers it to Arthur, but Arthur refuses. The boys will shout some obscenities at Arthur and they will be disturbed by a hissing in the corner. Rodrigo will go to see what it is when they discover a black cat. Rodrigo will pick it up and thrust it in front of Arthur. He will bring Arthur a rock and tell him to hit the cat. The angel in charge of this mission will try to deter Arthur from the pressure of his peers, for this will represent the event that determines the rest of Arthur's life for good and for evil.
There was a photo pinned to the top of the document. A lanky boy gaunt face, pale, and lacking anything distinguishing really. I swallowed all the saliva that had accumulated in my mouth. And sure enough when I glanced at the floral-themed watch on my wrist, 10:30 pm. I glanced around shaking my head back and forth; a bypasser would’ve thought I had rabies or something. A raspy voice seized my attention.
“C’mon Pikani, take a drag.” a boy said from one ally. The greasy-haired boy was hunched over a wall, and a long white bud hung out of his mouth. He breathed in,
“It’ll make you feel all good and warm on the inside.” he chuckled as he blew out the smoke, I could hear the intoxication dripping from his voice. I walked over to them. I stood on the other side of the wall waiting for my cue. I heard hissing and the boys yelling about something, one of the boys, I’m guessing Rodrigo, spoke up.
“Oh don’t worry, ‘ust a cat.” I heard the phlegm splat on the ground when he spat.
“Oh,” he laughed, “You know what would be fun?” I turned the corner, glancing at them, they still hadn't detected me. I saw Rodrigo pick up a massive rock and hand it to Arthur. He looked exactly like what his photo suggested. Arthur looked panicked I could see the beads of sweat accumulating on his neck.
“I know how you can make up for ditching us at the movies last Friday Artty!” He said in a sing-song voice. He picked up the cat, “Kill it.” His voice was gruff, and Arthurs' eyes widened. Before anything else escalated I stepped forward.
“Hello,” I startled myself with how high my voice was. The boys turned to stare at me. I looked down at the small black cat that Rodrigo held by the scruff of its neck. “Oh! That’s my cat!” I shouted and ran forward, It was presumably not the most fashionable idea I’ll admit but I was in a hurry. Rodrigo stepped back,
“Ben, Max!” he shouted. The two other boys next to us grabbed hold of me. I had under no circumstances been in a situation where I had gotten injured during the determination. My heart beat faster.
“What are you doing with my cat?” I asked feigning incompetence. To them, I was only ten years old, I didn’t comprehend what was going on.
“Jus’ ignore ‘em.” said one of the boys with a roll of the eyes. Ben, I believe, is a lankier bulky boy, with straw hair and flushed cheeks. I could hear the effects of the cigarette in his voice already.
“What are you waiting for, Arthur? Show the little punk!” the other one, Max, mused.
“Huh? What are you doing to my cat?” It appeared as if realization just come to me. I began to run out of the boy’s arms, but that was the thing about being in a ten-year-old’s body. You’re weak.
Arthur began the lift up the rock,
“Wait! No, please stop!” I attempted one last attempt. My eyes started to water, I tried to make myself look as pathetic as possible. Arthur glanced back at me and for a second I thought I won.
“Arthur!” Rodrigo yelled, spit flying out of his mouth, the rock held above Arthur's head, fell.
The kids laughed, and Max swung an arm around Arthur as they walked away from the blood-stained ally. The smell of iron and guts mixed with the scent of all the good in that kid draining out of him. As soon as they had let me go, I dropped. I cradled the cat in my arms. Attempting to murmur words of kindness to it, I knew it wouldn’t understand. I noticed something that I hadn’t earlier. A collar. It was a pet. I pulled it off, Cleo, it read. I stuffed the red collar in my pocket and held Cleo closer to me. That cat died in my arms, guts covering the ally walls.
Back in heaven things hadn’t changed, my score hadn’t changed and the house was as pale as ever. I felt wretched. I rubbed my eyes and willed the dirt, grime, and blood on me to disappear.
A few days later I was taking a walk in the graveyard. Heaven has a graveyard full of names and headstones for everyone who has ever died in history. A photo of the person lay down in front of the headstone. It went on for miles. Walking there sullenly memories of the earlier day came back to me. I grimaced. I looked at one of the clear graves and got down on my knees. I ran my hand over the polished stone, and on it appeared an engravement.
Cleo
Beloved Cat
1998
On the ground in front of it, I placed the red collar. I got up, my white pants stained green from the grass. I put my hand on the top of the gravestone and said a prayer.
May you rest in peace.
The Scents of Life(Stella Hernandez)
Waking up in the morning is an experience I share with every other living thing in this world, yet it still bores me every day. The first thing I hear when I wake up is the screams and prayers from humans asking the Almighty for favors. I get up and look around my room as I wait for my eyes to settle. My room is relatively vast, and mostly everything in it is white, white as most things are in heaven. I placed a hand over my eyes.
‘It’s too early for this,’ I think. I withdraw my hands from my eyes and blink a couple of times. I walk over to the window and draw back the white no sorry, ivory-colored curtains. I take a good look around heaven as if I don’t already know exactly what it looks like. Towering buildings push their way through the clouds. Cars and angels that fly past look like little ants. The angels that flew by varied, from the weeping angels; to pure balls of light. To some more like myself, a human-like figure and large wings sprouting from their backs, eyes, oh so many eyes adorn the stubs of their necks. The stars float above all of us in heaven, quite literally hanging on strings, and above that is God’s palace, where only he and the archangel live.
Comfortable at that, not that everyone else lives uncomfortably. It is only that the archangel is a ‘favorite’, the Almighty’s favorite to be exact. His bed is made for him every morning. He only has the finest soaps for his wings, and he acts as though he is the Heavenly King’s lap dog. I assure you I will not act as such. The archangel represents a position I have wanted to gain for a while now. To be able to live in peace only having to deal with a couple of significant events (For example, the extinction of the dinosaurs. Which was a mistake on my friend's part.) The ranking of the archangel is determined by good deeds. I merely need to complete 13 more good deeds to be able to rank as an archangel, and then the current archangel and I will undergo a trial. One held by our Seraphim, the highest ranking of angels. Those one-eyed beings will determine how my life will play out until the end day. The winner of the trial gets eternal peace. They are already setting up the trial now. The archangel is only allowed to change even 2 centuries, then everyone's score resets, It's already been two and a half since the previous one. I was so close that time as well.
Knowing that I barely have thirteen good deeds left to complete I rush myself to get ready. I take a look at the list in my hands, wondering what act will get me the most points. That’s when I spot a determination, my eyes light up, those count for five good deeds! I put on my cloak and paint my hair, rushing out the door. I ran for about two blocks before remembering I possessed wings and flew the next five. I ran so fast I almost flew past the spinning entrance, I rushed inside and struck my hand down on the selector.
The selector is essentially what we use to perform our jobs, it’s an earth-shaped button and when we press it shows us all the missions that were posted up on the big screen outside. Then all we have to do is select our mission and we have the next thirty-two hours to complete it. I don’t even look at the description of the missions before accepting it. A card slides out from the deposit machine and I seize it,
“Don’t forget to clock in!” my friend and coworker, Samuel, shouted at me as I ran towards the globe.
The globe is exactly what it sounds like, it’s a giant globe of all of Earth. You look at the location on your card and you insert your ticket and then you are teleported to your task. I take one look down at my card, California. I insert it into the machine and take a deep breath. No matter how many times I do this the sensation, never gets old. The molecules that make up my body get broken down, and I get the sudden urge to puke.
Waking up in California in a unique body, after being rearranged and sent through the cosmos is, sadly, something that I have experienced before. My eyes take a minute to adjust; it is nice to not be surrounded by blinding white twenty-four-seven. I stretch out my hands in front of me. I have dark olive-colored skin, and I seem to be wearing a black and maroon striped shirt with a grey jacket. I pull the hood over my head and look around before realizing I don’t even know any of the case details yet. Some people, like Samuel, will devote hours before they accept a case to probe and come up with a plan to resolve the situation. I ordinarily don’t but I would at least take a spare glance at what I’m trying to fix.
Glancing down at the paper I can feel my throat close up. The case details read as follows:
NAME: Arthur Jackson Pikani
AGE: 14
HAIR: Dark Brown
EYES: Blue
CASE DETAILS: In an alley at exactly 10:32 pm, a group of four boys will stay out past their curfew. The oldest (Rodrigo) pulls out a cigarette and offers it to Arthur, but Arthur refuses. The boys will shout some obscenities at Arthur and they will be disturbed by a hissing in the corner. Rodrigo will go to see what it is when they discover a black cat. Rodrigo will pick it up and thrust it in front of Arthur. He will bring Arthur a rock and tell him to hit the cat. The angel in charge of this mission will try to deter Arthur from the pressure of his peers, for this will represent the event that determines the rest of Arthur's life for good and for evil.
There was a photo pinned to the top of the document. A lanky boy gaunt face, pale, and lacking anything distinguishing really. I swallowed all the saliva that had accumulated in my mouth. And sure enough when I glanced at the floral-themed watch on my wrist, 10:30 pm. I glanced around shaking my head back and forth; a bypasser would’ve thought I had rabies or something. A raspy voice seized my attention.
“C’mon Pikani, take a drag.” a boy said from one ally. The greasy-haired boy was hunched over a wall, and a long white bud hung out of his mouth. He breathed in,
“It’ll make you feel all good and warm on the inside.” he chuckled as he blew out the smoke, I could hear the intoxication dripping from his voice. I walked over to them. I stood on the other side of the wall waiting for my cue. I heard hissing and the boys yelling about something, one of the boys, I’m guessing Rodrigo, spoke up.
“Oh don’t worry, ‘ust a cat.” I heard the phlegm splat on the ground when he spat.
“Oh,” he laughed, “You know what would be fun?” I turned the corner, glancing at them, they still hadn't detected me. I saw Rodrigo pick up a massive rock and hand it to Arthur. He looked exactly like what his photo suggested. Arthur looked panicked I could see the beads of sweat accumulating on his neck.
“I know how you can make up for ditching us at the movies last Friday Artty!” He said in a sing-song voice. He picked up the cat, “Kill it.” His voice was gruff, and Arthurs' eyes widened. Before anything else escalated I stepped forward.
“Hello,” I startled myself with how high my voice was. The boys turned to stare at me. I looked down at the small black cat that Rodrigo held by the scruff of its neck. “Oh! That’s my cat!” I shouted and ran forward, It was presumably not the most fashionable idea I’ll admit but I was in a hurry. Rodrigo stepped back,
“Ben, Max!” he shouted. The two other boys next to us grabbed hold of me. I had under no circumstances been in a situation where I had gotten injured during the determination. My heart beat faster.
“What are you doing with my cat?” I asked feigning incompetence. To them, I was only ten years old, I didn’t comprehend what was going on.
“Jus’ ignore ‘em.” said one of the boys with a roll of the eyes. Ben, I believe, is a lankier bulky boy, with straw hair and flushed cheeks. I could hear the effects of the cigarette in his voice already.
“What are you waiting for, Arthur? Show the little punk!” the other one, Max, mused.
“Huh? What are you doing to my cat?” It appeared as if realization just come to me. I began to run out of the boy’s arms, but that was the thing about being in a ten-year-old’s body. You’re weak.
Arthur began the lift up the rock,
“Wait! No, please stop!” I attempted one last attempt. My eyes started to water, I tried to make myself look as pathetic as possible. Arthur glanced back at me and for a second I thought I won.
“Arthur!” Rodrigo yelled, spit flying out of his mouth, the rock held above Arthur's head, fell.
The kids laughed, and Max swung an arm around Arthur as they walked away from the blood-stained ally. The smell of iron and guts mixed with the scent of all the good in that kid draining out of him. As soon as they had let me go, I dropped. I cradled the cat in my arms. Attempting to murmur words of kindness to it, I knew it wouldn’t understand. I noticed something that I hadn’t earlier. A collar. It was a pet. I pulled it off, Cleo, it read. I stuffed the red collar in my pocket and held Cleo closer to me. That cat died in my arms, guts covering the ally walls.
Back in heaven things hadn’t changed, my score hadn’t changed and the house was as pale as ever. I felt wretched. I rubbed my eyes and willed the dirt, grime, and blood on me to disappear.
A few days later I was taking a walk in the graveyard. Heaven has a graveyard full of names and headstones for everyone who has ever died in history. A photo of the person lay down in front of the headstone. It went on for miles. Walking there sullenly memories of the earlier day came back to me. I grimaced. I looked at one of the clear graves and got down on my knees. I ran my hand over the polished stone, and on it appeared an engravement.
Cleo
Beloved Cat
1998
On the ground in front of it, I placed the red collar. I got up, my white pants stained green from the grass. I put my hand on the top of the gravestone and said a prayer.
May you rest in peace.
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