An ordinary morning in the life of Heaven’s smoothest disaster.
8:03 AM – Celestial District, Floor 13, Guardian Lounge
The heavenly alarm bell tolls—soft chimes over the chorus of a thousand angelic voices.
Luciel is 23 minutes late.
Bursting through the lounge doors, he nearly slips on a cloud puddle and dramatically regains his balance mid-spin, landing with both arms outstretched as if entering a spotlight.
“Fear not, my tardiness is but a tragic footnote in the novel of my devotion!” He declares to absolutely no one.
His shirt is half-buttoned. His halo is backwards. He doesn't notice either.
8:12 AM – Mission Briefing Hall
He sits in the back row of the assembly, sipping loudly from a coffee/tea cup labeled “Do Not Touch. Belongs to Peter.”
As the Archangel of Assignments speaks, Luciel takes notes in the margins of a love poem he started earlier:
“Her soul was like butter on warm toast — golden, soft, and full of cholesterol…”
He nods seriously, as if writing scripture.
9:45 AM – Earthside Portal Room
“Mission today: protect mortal target 6-7-1-B, age 24, emotionally fragile, prone to spontaneous existential dread.”
Luciel salutes.
“Understood. I shall guard them like a whisper guards a secret in a rainstorm of longing.”
“…What?” Says the Portal Operator.
Luciel dives through the portal backward for dramatic effect.
9:48 AM – Earth, Target’s Apartment
Luciel crashes into a bookshelf.
Books collapse. A plant dies. A cat screams.
He rolls to his feet with a groan, fixes his halo (wrong again), and whispers:
“I have arrived, o mortal muse. Your guardian of grace, your wingéd shadow in the sun’s absence…”
The mortal screams and throws a slipper at him.
Luciel flees to the ceiling fan and perches like a weirdly sexy pigeon.
10:32 AM – Attempt #3 at Communication
“You’re safe now,” Luciel purrs, handing the mortal a breakfast croissant he stole from a bakery five blocks away. “This pastry...was forged in the fires of destiny.”
“...You stole this, didn’t you?”
“I would call it...divine redirection of carbohydrates.”
11:00 AM – Realization
Luciel finally checks the assignment scroll.
“Oh. Oh stars. This is the wrong mortal.”
Beat.
“...But they’re cute, so maybe fate had a hand in this after all?”
11:17 AM – Back at Headquarters
Luciel is dragged back through the portal by his supervisor mid-flirtation.
“I can explain!” he cries, croissant in hand, wing feathers everywhere.
“You always can,” the supervisor groans.
Luciel adjusts his halo one last time, grins, and says:
“Tell the Celestial Board I have successfully failed upward once again.”
And then he vanishes in a puff of glittering feathers and misplaced confidence.