14

The next soul arrived not in a flicker or a glow, but in stillness — as though the world itself held its breath. A woman emerged from the quiet. Her form was frail, draped in a simple, well-worn dress. Lines of age carved her face, but her eyes held a gentle warmth, tempered by acceptance. There was no fear in her gaze. Only peace.

The Angel of Death regarded her quietly before speaking. "Name?"

"Margaret Henslow," she answered softly. "But everyone called me Maggie."

The Angel glanced at the record. "Cause of death: natural. Heart failure. Age 92." He paused. "You lived a long life."

Maggie smiled, a faint curve of her lips. "Long enough, I think."

The Angel studied her. "Are you afraid?"

She chuckled softly, the sound light and airy. "No. I think… I stopped being afraid a long time ago. Death isn't cruel. It's just the next part of the journey, isn't it?"

The Angel's voice remained calm. "Many fight it. Some beg for more time. You accept it so easily."

Maggie's eyes softened. "I've lost enough to know there's no fighting it. My husband, my son, my friends. I watched them all go. Cried for them. Missed them every day. But I never hated death for taking them. I only wished they didn't have to go alone."

Her voice grew quieter, distant. "And now… it's my turn."

The Angel regarded her with a quiet reverence. "Do you feel you left anything unfinished?"

Maggie's eyes flickered with thought before she shook her head gently. "No. I loved and was loved in return. That's more than enough. I won't pretend I didn't make mistakes — I did. But I forgave myself, and I think they forgave me too."

The Angel tilted his head. "Many spend their lives fearing this moment. Why do you welcome it?"

Maggie looked at him, her voice calm, steady, and kind. "Because life isn't meant to last forever. It's precious because it ends. We hold on so tightly, afraid to let go — but if we never let go, how can we make room for what comes next?"

The Angel was quiet for a moment. "And what do you believe comes next, Maggie?"

Her smile returned, soft and wistful. "I don't know. But whatever it is… I think it'll be beautiful."

The Angel studied her one last time, then extended his hand. "It's time."

Maggie looked at his hand, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she took it without hesitation. Her touch was warm, steady — the hand of someone who had made peace with the world and with herself.

As the light began to envelop her, her voice came in a whisper, more to herself than to him.

"I hope they're waiting for me."

The Angel's voice was low and certain.

"They are."

---

The next soul appeared with a sudden, flickering hesitation — like it didn't belong there. A boy, no older than ten, stood before the Angel. His clothes were torn and dirty, his face smudged with soot. His wide eyes darted around, confused and scared, though he tried to hide it behind a brave, quivering frown.

"Name?" the Angel asked softly.

"Daniel," the boy muttered, his voice small. "Daniel Harper."

The Angel glanced at his record, his voice quieter than usual. "Cause of death: shrapnel wound. War zone." He looked up. "I'm sorry, Daniel."

Daniel's fists clenched at his sides. "It's not fair. I wasn't supposed to die." His voice trembled, but anger fought its way through his fear. "I was supposed to find my sister. I was supposed to bring her home."

The Angel's voice remained steady, gentle. "Your sister made it to safety, Daniel. She's alive."

The boy froze, his eyes widening. "She is?" His voice cracked with a flicker of hope, but it quickly faded. His gaze fell to the ground, his shoulders sagging. "Then… why couldn't I go too?"

The Angel stepped closer, his tone low and comforting. "Sometimes the world takes more than it should. It's not because you deserved it. It's not because you were weak. It's because life is unfair — cruel, even. Especially to those who still have so much to give."

Daniel swallowed hard. His voice was barely a whisper. "I just wanted to keep her safe. I promised Mom."

The Angel's expression softened, a rare sadness in his voice. "You did, Daniel. You saved her. She's alive because of you."

Tears welled in the boy's eyes, his voice shaking. "But I'm not… I didn't want to die. I'm not ready. I didn't even get to grow up."

The Angel knelt down, meeting Daniel's gaze. "You should have had more time. More laughter. More chances to be a child. The world took that from you — and I can't change that." He paused, his voice low and steady. "But your story isn't over, Daniel. Innocence lost doesn't mean kindness is gone. Even now, you're still brave. Still good."

Daniel sniffled, his voice barely holding on. "It still hurts."

The Angel nodded, his voice a whisper. "I know."

For a moment, Daniel didn't move. His lip trembled, his small hands shaking. Then, slowly, he stepped forward, his voice tiny and broken.

"Will it stop hurting?"

The Angel extended his hand, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

"One day, it will."

Daniel hesitated — then reached out. His small hand grasped the Angel's, trembling at first, then steadying. As the light began to rise around him, his voice came in a fragile whisper.

"Will my sister remember me?"

The Angel's voice was soft but unwavering.

"She will. Always."

And with that, Daniel disappeared into the light, leaving behind only the faint echo of a child's bravery.

---

The next soul stumbled into the void, not with grace or peace — but with frantic, desperate energy. A man, gaunt and hollow-eyed, his suit torn and disheveled, whipped his head around like a trapped animal. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hands twitching, as if still trying to grasp onto something.

The Angel of Death observed him quietly before speaking. "Name?"

"Eric. Eric Dawson," the man stammered, his voice shaking. His eyes darted around wildly, never resting in one place for too long. "Where am I? Who sent you? Is this… is this some kind of trick?"

The Angel's voice was calm. "No trick, Eric. Cause of death: heart attack. Brought on by severe stress and paranoia." He paused, tilting his head. "You were running from something. Weren't you?"

Eric flinched. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice low and hoarse. "They were after me. Watching me. Every day — at work, at home, even in my sleep. I couldn't escape them." His voice trembled harder with each word. "They tapped my phone. My computer. They knew everything about me."

The Angel watched him in silence for a moment before speaking softly. "Who's 'they,' Eric?"

Eric swallowed hard. "I... I don't know. But they were always there. Following me. Whispering about me. Every time I thought I was safe, they found me again. No matter what I did. No matter where I hid." His voice broke into a whisper. "I couldn't trust anyone. Not even myself."

The Angel's voice was low and steady. "No one was following you, Eric."

Eric froze. His breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

"There was no conspiracy. No surveillance. The fear came from inside you. It wasn't real."

Eric stared at him, his face twisted in disbelief. "No… that can't be true. It can't. They were there. I heard them. I saw them in the corners of my eyes. I wasn't imagining it!" His voice cracked, desperation clawing its way out. "I wasn't crazy!"

The Angel's voice remained gentle, but firm. "You weren't crazy. You were afraid. And fear, when left unchecked, can feel more real than anything else. It can devour everything — your peace, your trust, even your sense of self."

Eric staggered back, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… wasted my life. I pushed everyone away. My wife. My friends. I thought they were part of it. I was so sure..." His voice broke into a hollow, choked sound.

The Angel stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "Fear stole your life long before your heart gave out. But that doesn't mean you have to carry it with you anymore."

Eric's breathing hitched again. His hands shook violently — and then, slowly, they began to still. His shoulders sagged, the weight of his paranoia seeming to finally, slowly, lift. His voice was barely a whisper.

"I was so tired of being afraid."

The Angel nodded, his voice soft. "You don't have to be afraid anymore, Eric."

Eric looked at him, his haunted eyes searching for something — some kind of assurance that this wasn't another trick. Another lie. Slowly, a flicker of something else emerged in his expression. Not peace, not yet. But maybe the ghost of it.

He swallowed hard, voice trembling. "Is it over now?"

The Angel extended his hand. "Yes, Eric. It's over."

For a moment, Eric hesitated — then, with a shaky breath, he reached out. His hand met the Angel's. And the fear that had once wrapped around his soul like chains began to fade into the light.