Young Writers Society

“Have we got a whopper for us today, girls.”

Zachary looked about the post office, his black, toothpaste-shaped, glossy hair glistening off the sunlight piercing through the open blinders. Callie and Cassie both rushed from their spots at the desks, standing by to hear the news he had to share. The redheaded one of the sisters, Callie, jumped over the stamping table, sitting cross-legged in her blue uniform. The dark haired one pulled up a chair, sitting with the back of it in front of her chest, both feet straddling it like a horse.

Gordon groaned, struggling into the office from the sorting room. He’d considered it his bedroom since he couldn’t find an apartment working in the big city, and when Ithuriel began sending him messages through mail his tendency to lounge around there didn’t get any better. Something about the attempted murder of a powerful Mediator—the ‘Elijah of the 21st century’. The perpetrators mistook another man with the same name and description for him, probably a relative of some sort. Ithuriel, that magnificent bastard, he knew this was exactly what Gordon would’ve eaten up if it weren’t for him being banned from the HOLY Enforcers. He was ‘too violent’, ironically. After the incident when he accidentally caused an earthquake that shook the supports of Japan, he was transferred into the Messengers branch of HOLY, his character to valuable to be sent back to heaven.

Which is why he was stuck here, doing the paperwork while Camiel and his crew are lifting weights.

“Oh, hey Gordon. Almost forgot about you.” Zachary pulled out a note from his uniform, smiling that licorice grin of his. “Take up a seat, I think you’ll like what this one says.”

“If it involves another filling of love letters, tell the Court I’ll be here sending post cards to human relatives.” The Messenger branch, unlike most branches of HOLY, dealt with all the human affairs on Earth. As such, the head of the branch, Brother Zachariah, runs a post office in New York City. It was proclaimed the sunniest spot in the whole borough of Brooklyn when the office was built.

“Oh, I wish,” Zach said, cheerily. “But never mind that. No, it has more to do with your favorite word.” He clenched his fists at the side of his face, opening them up magically when he uttered the word: “Suffering.”

Callie scowled a bit, attempting to cry. Gordon smirked. “In my defense, my favorite words are actually ‘Food’ and ‘Firearms’.” He claimed. “Though ‘Suffering’ isn’t a bad word. Continue, please.”

Zachary laughed that high pitched laugh of his, the one that sounded of dying cats. “Fine, fine.” He started. “Anyway, an Asian man in Chicago recently died of tripping on his wooden floorboards. His son is in mourning, currently, and his mother hasn’t been very helpful. The son, who was homeschooled, has now been forced into public school and is having such a horrible time there.”

“Poor little guy.” Callie pouted. She turned to Cassie, tilting her head with her doe eyed pose. “We should go and cheer him up, don’t you think, Cassie? Maybe send a bouquet on his door. Or bake some cookies!”

“That’d be nice, Callie,” Cassie said, leaning forward in her chair. She looked to Gordon, grinning. The woman had that awful twinkle in her twisted blue eyes, something he didn’t like about her. “But you heard Zackie—this might be a job for a big, strong man.”

“Doesn’t sound like it, to me.” Callie crossed her arms, huffing and puffing.

Zachary chuckled. “Well, it isn’t that big of a job. But I really think Gordon would like to take this on.”

“Why?” Callie asked, in vague interest.

“The boys’ name is Nei Li.”

Gordon lit up almost immediately, turning back to Zachary. “Nei Li?” he asked, almost charging at the other angel. “The Mediator? I thought you said he was just a boy--”

“He is just a boy,” Zach said. “A very bright, lovely boy, and also a Mediator. One of the youngest in history, if I’m correct.”

“And one of the most powerful links to the Father since the days of the Bible,” Gordon half-laughed, half-spoke, unsure what to make of the matter. He walked to Zachary, snatching the note from his hand. “How did you get this? The Court couldn’t possibly ask for something like this, they would’ve given the task to the Enforcers--”

“They didn’t.”

He stopped, pulling his attention away from the note. He stared at Zachary, the smile on the smaller mans’ face widening consistently. “No,” Gordon shook his head in disbelief. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I found the letters Brother Ithuriel have been sending you, and researched a bit about the case.” Zachary shrugged, modestly. “I knew you wanted to participate in the matter somehow, and felt poor for the boy. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone, so I went ahead and asked the Court for a favor.”

Gordon held his jaw with his right hand, trying his hardest not to smile like an imbecile. “Bless you,” He managed to utter, between giggles. “Bless your bright, cheery, irritatingly sunny soul, Brother Zachariah.”

“Don’t think I’m sending you off alone. Since I asked for it, I’m in charge of supervising the task.” The postmaster said, for a brief moment sounding as serious as he could get. He smiled. “But you’re welcome.”

He turned to the other two, who were looking a bit dumbfounded, at this point. “As for you two cute little scamps,” He said, hands on his waist. “You both are in charge of sending a message to a priest in, and here’s the fun part, Rome.”

Callie nearly cried out in joy, jumping into her sisters arms. The two of them came bawling out of the poor chair, dissolving in laughter. Zachary chuckled a bit, turning to Gordon for a moment. “Meet me up at my place tonight. I have something else to show you.” He turned away before Gordon could ask for anything else, walking to the girls. “Now, see, this is a matter of utter importance…”

Gordon stared at the note in his hands. He couldn’t help but brighten a bit at it.

…

He knocked on the door for what seemed to be the sixty ninth time, leaning against the doorframe when he was refused a response. He looked at his watch. It was ten thirty in the evening. He took another knock at the door, only to be stopped by a voice: “Just a second, dear.”

Dear? The door opened, revealing Zachary in a relaxed white V-neck, coupled with fitting skintight jeans (Gordon was always questioning his choice of attire, but it only took a few meetings to establish it as ordinary).

“Don’t call me dear,” Gordon insisted, almost instantly after the door opened.

Zachary laughed. “I’m glad to see you, too, Gordon.” He stepped aside. “Well, come in, then.”

The smaller man closed the door behind him, leading him into the main room. It was a comfortable place to live in, not at all tiny, but not overwhelmingly large either. The apartment had been fitted with lamps at the ceiling and at the sides, a television set sitting by the glass doors leading to the balcony, a three seated couch, and several other doors possibly leading to a bathroom or a bedroom. It was all covered in a surprisingly normal cream background, with wallpaper a tamed color of yellow and oak floorboards. Knowing Zachary, Gordon had been expecting something a little bit more…garish.

“What? Oh, don’t look at it like that, Gordon.” Zachary walked to the balcony, drawing the doors away. “I know it’s hideously drab, but the Court insisted on something a little more boring.” He shrugged, walking out of the room. He picked up an umbrella from somewhere on the balcony, pulling at something above him. Something dropped down with a metallic clang. “But they did purchase me a bit of ground I could have fun with.”

Gordon strode to the balcony, approaching the shining city below his feet. Zachary had gone, supposedly up the rusty old stairs he’d pulled down. Drawing a deep breath, Gordon climbed up those stairs, anticipating the madness he would witness next.

And really, it was rather mad. The closer he got to the top, the louder a certain sound got, the clearer the voice it became. When he got up on the final step, he realized it was a Johnny Cash song—someone he wasn’t too fond of listening to. He climbed out of the stairs, onto the roof of the building, finding the barren concrete converted into the exact opposite; a personal Eden.

I fell into a burning ring of fire,

I went down, down, down and the flames went higher…

A wooden roof of climbing vines and hanging pots stood above him, the ground he was standing on growing with fake grass and pot flowers. Beyond the garden was a small tent, opened up currently to reveal Zachary, twisting his legs over each other on a swinging couch. “So? What do you think?” He asked, gesturing to the entire scene.

“It’s—well, frankly, it’s all very…” He reached up onto the ceiling, plucking off a leaf. “Vegetarian.”

“You’re not going to eat it, silly.” Zachary stated, smiling. “You’re going to live in it.”

Gordon turned to the other angel. “Pardon me?”

“Well, I know you aren’t having any luck finding an apartment around here,” Zachary said, “So I decided to make use of this old piece of rock. And since I know you like everything destructive, I asked myself ‘What is the most destructive thing on the face of this planet other than Satan?’. And then, it hit me—Mother Nature!”

Gordon glanced at the flower pot beside him, sporting a very violent looking bush of jasmines. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

The taste of love is sweet,

When our hearts meet…

He didn’t know how to react with the ambience about him, the song giving off awful vibes to him. He wasn’t sure if it was on purpose, or Zachary just really liked his silly love songs.

Zachary patted the seat beside him, eagerly. “Well, come on. Sit.” Reluctantly, Gordon did, sitting cross legged and uncertain. Zachary buckled his hands together, a bundle of joy on his own. “I know you’ve had a rough time during your time in the Messengers,” He started, frankly. “I know that you’ve missed the Enforcers to no end, and I know I myself can’t do anything about it. But I’ve been miserable before. I know what it feels like to suffer. And honestly, I can’t stand seeing anyone else go through the same problems I did. So I may not be able to give you what you want, Gordon, but the least I could do is make what you have a bit more comfortable to live with.”

The smaller man offered his hand, joyfully. “I appreciate you, Brother Gordon of the Messengers,” He said, “And I hope our association is a long and lasting one.”

Gordon opened his mouth, unaware of the smile forming there. He reached for the other angels’ hand, shaking it gently. “I’m...I hope so too.”

…When I awoke, dear,

I was mistaken,

And I hung my head,

And I cried.

Just when he was about to draw away, Zachary jumped over him, burying him in a hug. “Oh god, I love this song!” He turned to Gordon, face popping with energy. “Don’t you love this song? Nobody can hate this song. You love this song, too, don’t you?”

“I’m not a very big fan of Johnny Cash.”

“Nonsense!” Zachary pulled him out of the couch, forcing him on his feet. “Everyone loves Johnny Cash, whether they like it or not. It’s like asking if you like water. Oh, I’m not a very big fan of water, it’s not my thing—well, then, my good sir, you’re either dead or suicidal, so I suggest you get some mental help.”

He swung the other mans’ arm around, putting them both in a position for dance. “Here, now. I’ll show you.” He drew both their bodies sideways to front, surprisingly strong for a man his size. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine--”

“Zachary,” Gordon spoke, nearly laughing.

“You make me happy, when skies are grey--”

“Zachary!”

“You’ll never know, dear--”

“Come, now--”

“How much I love you…”

Zachary’s voice echoed for an instant, melodic no matter how annoying it was, and whether he realized it or not Gordon had stopped complaining some time later—what neither knew was that, during that same time, Gordon began involuntarily singing as well.