Angel of Mercy

owdy Readers,

It's me, your fearless writer! I don't have much to say, just finishing whining and crying a bit. That's no way to start a blog, but if I can't be witty I'll settle for being honest. I had to pull out of a party today that meant a lot to me, but you know, I got issues and shit. I don't have issues, I have volumes.

I'm sleepy. Dang. Pain medication has kicked in with a vengeance. Let me write a short dittie:

Claire didn't see the bad day coming, which was saying something since she was a certified psychic. On a typical morning she could throw a set of shells or pull her tarot cards and ge the gist of the day's goings on.

But this morning there was a ring at the doorbell and when she opened it, eyes blinking rapidly at the light, there was a man in a black uniform who held out a package and smiled with his mouth and threatened with his eyes.

Claire couldn't think of who would send her a package so she didn't feel his hand around her wrist as she reached out until it was too late. The man with the threatening eyes walked into her home, her sanctuary, and turned his head right, left, then center with deliberateness and malice.

She found her voice to ask what he wanted but the only reply was that smile. The smile that in any other environment would incline the witness to think "oh no, not the woodchipper!" But Claire didn't know of woodchippers so all she could think of was "oh no, not the Death Card!"

He met her eyes as her knees buckled. "Claire," said Death Card, "It would be better if you remained standing."

Claire took the high road and fainted...