The Grandmaster
1. The Angel
Dawn was breaking over the medieval towers. The city held its breath before waking up and exhaling everyone into the cold streets. The only sound disturbing the dead silence was the rustling of wings. Was it even a sound? No living being was able to hear it anyway. The people below were grasping the last moments of precious sleep in their still-tired beds before they’d charge into the day head on.
He landed on the roof, almost knocking over an old spire, crouched over, wings shivering in the wind. Sitting like that, he looked more like a chimera than an angel.
A black square car pulled up to the entrance of the five-story building underneath. People in yellow robes climbed out and quietly went inside. One of them carried an orange steel case. The angel on the roof knew exactly what was in that case. Today one more will die, one more of those he was meant to guard will die, and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew exactly what the woman by the window felt watching the car on the street. Brie was pacing her apartment all night, trying to contain a growing emptiness inside. Her life was flashing in front of her eyes. How much more could she have done, if only she could start it all again? How much waste! If only she had a bit more time, If only it wasn’t the last morning of the last month of the last year she had on this Earth.
Not that long ago, she’d wished this day would come a bit earlier, a day when she could let it go and rest, she was so tired!
What if there is no mistake? What if these people, whoever they are, knew exactly when their life force would expire? When should they be disposed of, and finally rest? Does it mean they somehow glimpsed God’s mind, and His plans for us are an open book to them? Because if not, then how do they even dare to decide the day we should disappear?” She took a deep breath. These people in yellow robes will reach her door soon; the doorbell will cut through the silence. They’ll enter the corridor not caring at all if she feels like seeing them today; they’d walk around like this place is theirs, open their case and pull out a paper, the content of which everyone knew since they could remember. This paper would say exactly when she was born and the year she’d die. They’ll pull out a pill and a syringe and ask which one she’d prefer. They’ll assure her that both are absolutely painless and well tested. They’d offer it like they’d offer a cure to the terminally ill. She wondered if they looked into the eyes of the ones they asked to choose.