Its all Dripping away

"Hmm, let me think," the silver-haired man says, rubbing his chin. "I'll explain this in terms you can understand. You can think of me as an angel. I work for the Big G-man up top." He points at the popcorn ceiling. Then, with a flap, wings sprout from his back — sprawling wings with pristine white feathers.

Osric takes a step back, raising an arm in front of his face as loose feathers drift toward him.

"I maintain this realm for G-man — the world you currently live in. Along with the devil. If my job is to create and maintain souls, his is to process them after death and send them back up to me. But the devil is quite a handful."

His welcoming expression vanishes; the corners of his mouth fall and his eyebrows droop. He strides over and plops down on his chair.

"One day he must have gotten bored. He decided to come to the surface and create his own race: the demons. That is a big no-no, so I had to get involved. I came to the surface as well, pretending to be a human baby. I gave humans the ability to use magic and helped them fight back against the demons and defeat the devil. When the devil was—"

"Hold on." Osric cuts in, his heart sinking into his stomach at the realization. "You're the Grand Sage?"

"That's what they called me."

"What about the prophecy? That a new sage will be born — am I that sage?" Osric steps forward, frantic.

"Ew, back up." The man shoos Osric away. "I never said anything about prophecies or legends. They made that part up on their own."

Drip.
The bird dips its beak.

Osric falls to his knees. "So I'm not the sage?"

"No. There never were any sages."

He lets himself flop onto his side. I pretended to be the sage like an idiot — for no reason. I'm being held captive for no reason… Deciphering the tome, then being rewarded with gold and beautiful women, was a pipe dream too.

"What about that voice I heard in my head when I was meeting the king?" Osric croaks out.

"That was me." The angel leans over his desk. "You were putting on quite the show; I wanted to see where your 'Grand Sage' charade would go." He chuckles.

"Why am I here — why did I get reincarnated?" Osric mumbles into the carpet.

"You didn't let me finish my story. Where was I…? The devil can't really be 'killed,' so I broke his soul apart — into his sins. The sins then took on physical forms, searching for someone who harbors them. The fact that you can hear the book means you can reactivate that piece of his soul. I can't let that happen. You'd be creating a lot more work for me. You get it now?"

Osric lets himself go cross-eyed, staring at the carpet, not answering.

"Right then… I'll answer your second question. Since my realm no longer has a devil, I have to do his job too. Meaning, I sometimes can't process souls in time before I need new ones. So I snatch some from other realms."

Drip.

"Huh?!" Osric lifts his head.

"Yeah. I ask my buddy who's in charge of Earth. He gives me souls sometimes."

"What about my red eyes? The same color as the sage?" Osric asks, his voice crackling.

"Basically, that's a glitch — to use your lingo. Souls aren't meant to travel between realms. And when I pretended to be human, my eyes were red as well, since my soul wasn't of that world either."

"Why do I have memories from my old life?"

"Probably a mistake. The Earth devil is sloppy."

Osric’s head sinks into the carpet. So I was brought here for the angel’s convenience… red eyes are a glitch… nothing makes sense. "Send me back to Earth," he mutters.

"I can't do that. Sorry."

"Send me back! I don’t wanna be here anymore."

Drip.

"Not happening. When I snap my fingers, you’ll be back in the material world. But remember — don’t touch that book."

Before the angel can snap, Osric leaps to his feet. "Fuck you!" he shouts, grabbing the angel's hand. "Why bring me here? I didn’t want this! I didn’t want to be reincarnated!" He pulls the angel forward and cocks his fist.

With a flap of wings, Osric is hurled backward, slamming into the door. He expects pain, but none comes as he slides down the wall.

"Please don't touch me. Your soul is gross." The angel shakes the hand he touched.

"What does that mean?"

"It’s gross! Your soul smells… bad."

"That doesn’t make any sense." Osric pulls himself up on the doorknob, sniffing his armpits.

"Your soul is rotting."

Drip.

"It was funny watching you flounder down there. But now that you’re here, and I can smell you… you disgust me. Two good lives, utterly wasted on you."

"What the hell do you mean 'a good life'? I’m stuck in a jail cell, tortured, knee broken!" Osric stomps forward, but the angel’s wings curl, stopping him.

The angel scoffs, claps twice, and a two-tiered black metal cart appears: VHS player below, CRT TV above. It looks like the carts from Osric’s elementary school.

The screen flickers to life. He sees himself — his new self, the kid with blonde hair — kneeling over a dying Catalina.

"Don't show me this!" He averts his eyes.

"She really cared about you. You couldn't have asked for a better mother. You could have saved her, too."

"What do you mean 'could have'? I can still save her."

"Nope. You're too late… Don't look away."

An invisible force snaps Osric's head back to the TV. It pries his eyelids open.

The screen now showing a bird's-eye view of a cobblestone street. There, in the middle, are Randolf and Elayne. Blood pools around Randolf's body. The camera zooms in on Randolf's face, "Please be safe, Osric," he mutters.

"No! Not him too!" Osric strains, but he can't look away.

"Yes. His last word was your name." The angel wags a finger, clicking his tongue.

"Why the hell are you showing me this?"

"You asked... Still don’t get it? How about more?" He flicks the drinking bird, whose bobbing was slowing.

Drip.

The TV blinds Osric with the whiteness of a hospital room. On the bed is Osric — dried blood on his face, deep road rash along his arms, a breathing mask over his mouth. A monitor beside him shows a flat line.

The feed cuts to the hospital hallway. Running down it are his parents. His father barrels down the corridor, beer belly wobbling, heavy breaths flipping up the corners of his mustache, still wearing a high-vis vest and hard hat. His mother follows, in a white tank top, pajama bottoms, and slippers, her brown hair tied in a messy bun.

"How is he!?" his mother screams.

The doctor shakes his head. "There's nothing we could do. He was dead on arrival."

His mother gasps.

They burst into the room and stand over their bloodied and sickly looking son.

Both fall to their knees, sobbing.

"I'm sorry, son. I didn't want it to end like this." His father wails, throwing his head.

Clink!
The CRT flickers off.

No... Did they really care? Osric thinks, he covers his eyes as he slowly backs up. Bumping into the wall, he slides down it.

"There. Do you get it now?" The angel claps his hands twice. The cart disappears.

Osric's head slams to the carpet. He feels the fibers tickling the inside of his ear.

Drip.

"How about I throw in a warning for you, free of charge?" The angel snaps his fingers.