April 2013

22to22:

The wind snarls her blonde hair miles above the Arizona desert and she figures there’s no real point of contention here: Rachel was an angel, not just a voice, this was really happening.

“Okay, you make a good argument,” she says, “but I still don’t understand what you want me for. I’m just a clerk, I never even finished my degree—”

<You are not ‘just’ anything,> Rachel replies, and xyr voice is weathered leather and the deep boom of cannonfire and it leaves the taste of burnt sugar in the back of her mouth. <You are meant for greater things.> 

“Yeah, sure,” she snorts, “and I’m the Chosen One, destined to bring balance to the Force, right?”

<No,> the answer startles her. <I am no longer bound by destiny, and neither are you. But you do have a choice: you can go home to your little apartment, or you can come with me to Heaven and see things no other mortal eye has seen while we change the course of history.>

She’s silent for a moment.

“Yeah, alright, what the hell,” she says, “Let’s do it.”