Sing O muses, of the unsung labors of Okitesh, herald of mighty Jevohah, misnamed Yahweh, king of kings. Sing of the archangel Gabriel, who bitchslapped Mercury and took his job, only to discover that the job description came with a total demotion, from god to angel, ie not even a demigod, in the new administration. Stripped of Hermes' mischievous backstory, blanched of all personality, Okitesh found himself trapped for aeons in a trumpet-tooting, eight foot tall floating version of himself, singing hosannas eternally ad nauseam to the Lord God in his holiest of hosts.
Christianity, Okitesh found, was on some next level ushnisha kamala shit. While he enjoyed being one among the billion points of light as much as the next angel, that whole worshipping Jehovah scene did get a little cult like after awhile. And the petty jealous rages Jehovah would get into, all the while passive-aggressively proclaiming he was not acting out of jealousy but patriarchal love, it all made Okitesh long for any assignment, even one as tedious as this one, that got him out of heaven for awhile.
So what happens now? Asked Wally, who had watched enough teevee to have some ideas. You're the angel who has come to tell me I ain't leaving the earth just yet, right? Because I got some unfinished business, some unpayed debts? Some motherfuckers I didn't do right by, but that I done clean forgot about up until now you come back here to remind me?
No this isn't one of your convenient modern day morality tale's, responded the angel. It's not going to resolve itself in some conveniently plausible way over the next ninety minutes, and neither are you the protagonist of your own story. It's more like a first person video game but, come to think of it, that's not a good metaphor because those haven't been invented for you yet. Sorry, I tend to forget sometimes you don't experience all moments in spacetime simultaneously.
You ... you do? Wally, a fan of Carl Sagan documentaries, was a little stunned.
I'm an angel, Okitesh shrugged. We don't have much in the way of omnipotence these days, short of going the old Lucifer route. But we are fairly omniscient. Our good father hasn't curtailed that just yet.
So how long do I got to be a god damn Boddisattva then? Wally pounced. How many lifetimes. If you can see all, then you can tell me. When do I get to ... he hesitated ... join the angelic choir?
Okitesh came down from his light beam, and put a glowing arm gently around Wally, gently chuckling.
Oh if I could tell you that, I would be helping you break your vows now wouldn't I? Look. You've just had a shock. A rude awakening, literally! We angels like to rib you forgetmenots, but we all know it's not easy and really, we are here to support.
To support ...?
Okitesh backed away suddenly, breaking arm contact. Now don't get me wrong no, Wally pal. Forget about all that "guardian angel" stuff you might have seen on greeting cards. I might as well as tell you, as a brother, a lot of that's just white rot."
But you're white ...
As you perceive me, given your condition. But you probably already suspect that race is a mental construct invented by depraved slavers and rapists. If you see me as white, that is a clear sign that the mental conditioning which told you white is right has not yet been burned away.
Oh snap! A mulatto angel! For the first time since his resurrection Wally permitted himself a laugh. He drew his bedsheet around him like a toga and, for the first time, considered that he was, once again, naked in his bed room with another man.
So if you ain't my guardian angel, mister light bright brown angel, Wally said, adopting what he hoped was his best bedroom voice, what is you to me?
