6 Feet Short of Sane.

Chapter 6: Aster

I never really liked hospitals.

They smell like death, look like the gates of hell, and it's pretty much an undercover nuthouse.

Honestly, the Docs and Nurse here are really trying, I can't even bare staying here for and hour.

Seeing that it would take Amit a while to find me I decided to explore a bit. Armpit can watch Anna.

I couldn't explain it, but as I hovered around each floor, I could feel the presence with me, somehow familiar.

Jesus is that you? Oh no, I haven't prayed like for like four years.

I'm so dead.

Ha. That's ironic.

Bracing myself for whatever may come, I stretched out my wings and shifted into a battle stance like I'd seen Amit to do.

Oddly it seemed natural to me.

As soon as the figure rounded the corner, I leaped out from wherever I was hiding pressed against the walls of the hospital and clocked them right in the face, hearing a satisfying crunch.

Now I don't know what possessed me - no pun intended - to do that and I couldn't help but feel guilty especially after I saw the face of the guy punched. Now bear with me I've been told, like a couple times, that I don't think with my brain, but I mean where's the fun in that? But sometimes I actually do know that I've gone overboard, an embarrassment even my filterless self can't deal with.

Like now.

"Holy mother of Jesus, you're as hot as hell!" Was the first thing that came out of my mouth.

And this my friends is how I died. Again.

Like come on, I was devastatingly aware of the terrible, not to mention potentially deadly irony that is putting Jesus and Hell the same sentence. First off, I totally just took God's name in vain that's totally against the law of the Beatitudes, or was it the message  to the churches? Whatever.

That and I totally just punched an obviously heavenly being and compard them to Hell, and I also left my assignment to be gawking at the Abercrombie and Fitch model before me.

I was so screwed.

Jesus take me now.

Yeah right, you just blasphemed you quarter brain.

Sometimes I hate my inner voice she could be such a bitch.

Well, the worst God could do is send me off to Hell and let Ole Luci and his gang of merry menaces torture me into submission, make me their slave or something, then deliberately turn up the heat so I can cook faster than Mr Krabs did in that sauna that one time, then resurrect me so they could do it all over again.

That ain't so bad, I'll just ask Jack Frost to pay me a visit and if he still hasn't gotten the numerous letters I've already mentally sent him I'll just bring an air conditioner.

#Yolo.

Wait, it should be Yodo, like you only die once except for me, I'm a crackhead, the second death means jack to me. Up bitches! Whooo!

I had realised all too late that I was staring to long and a puddle of drool was slowly forming at my feet. A deep chuckle sounded from in front of me and once again I observed the Angel before me.

With alluring green eyes that just made me want to sink into their depths, curly locks of golden hair that had me physically restraining myself from touching them, and a face so sculpted, detailed and carved that he was devastatingly beautiful, and he was smirking at me.