Password To Pass

“You were supposed to be dead!”

A small frown creases the forehead of the sylphlike seraph at the foot of my bed.  She is plump, reminding me of a Rubenesque Tinker Bell, and it is her elfin voice that has wakened me from a dream-filled slumber.  

“I’m…I’m what?” I mumble, my voice sluggish, full of sleep.

“You were supposed to be dead,” she murmurs, sounding confused as she pulls a tiny device from the folds of her flowing robe.  She is enveloped in a translucent, golden aura, shimmering wetly through my squinting eyes.  Her gossamer wings, flitting rhythmically back and forth, allow her to hover in the darkened room.

“Well, I’m not,” I mutter, “so there’s been some mistake!”  My eyes focus on her tiny thumbs tapping feverishly on the device. 

“No, I’m never sent for someone unless they’re dead,” she replies distractedly.  I peer more closely as, from the tip of one petite finger, a small spark seems to leap to the screen she is perusing.  Her tight, golden curls bob up and down as she concentrates on her task.

“Well, you got it wrong this time,” I say, more animatedly now.  “I’m alive and kicking!”  To emphasize my point, I thrash my legs spasmodically under the covers.  “You obviously have the wrong guy!”

“We’ll see,” she says, looking up from the device, studying me intently.  “Are you Thomas?”

“I’m Tom,” I say, wondering how she would know that.

“And you have lived here for the past fifteen years?”

“About that, I guess.”

“And your wife was taken home ten years ago?”

“She died, if that’s what you mean!  Who are you, anyway?”

“Yes, that is what I mean,” the waiflike figure says, ignoring my question.

When she looks at her device this time, I notice that it, too, seems to pulse with a gilded glow, almost as if it were alive.  Like me.  Alive.

I glance around my bedroom, everything so familiar in the darkness illuminated only by the seraph’s aura and the faint-green numbers of my alarm clock.  I wonder why I have been wakened so rudely, so early. 

When I look back, she has moved closer, and I hear a faint hum now from the vibration of her wings.

“What are you doing?”  I say, shrinking back, pulling the covers higher under my chin.  “Stay away from me!”

“A little system maintenance,” she says, “as part of our harvesting-system control program.”  When she holds up the device in front of my face, I see RESET YOUR PASSWORD in minuscule letters on the screen. 

“What’s that mean?” I ask.

“It means I forgot to update,” she continues with a rueful laugh that tinkles in my ears, “and that explains the confusion.”

“Not for me!” I declare, a tad frightened now.

“I see from my records that you suffered a cardiac infarction three years ago,” the seraph says, after tapping something into the device.  “You were near death, and then you recovered, correct?”

“Right,” I reply.  “So what?  And what is that thing, anyway?”

“And you have experienced no further symptoms since then?”

“Nothing!  I’m fit as a fiddle!”

A small spark erupts from her finger again as she taps something else on the screen.  “And what about this morning?”

“What about it?” I say, a touch of annoyance creeping in.

“No symptoms?”  Another spark jumps from her finger to the screen.

“Nothing!  I told you, I’m fit as…”

The seraph smiles sweetly, almost sadly, when I pause, startled by a sudden tightness in my chest.  For a moment, I imagine I’m only imagining it, but then my arm begins to tingle.

“Don’t be alarmed, Thomas,” she says softly.  “You’ve been here before.  This is no different than last time.”  She hovers nearer now, so near I can smell her aura—a sweet, thick aroma of…of…

“Milk and honey,” she says, as if reading my mind.

I don’t understand how she knew what I was thinking.  “This time is different!” I protest, breathing raggedly.  “I didn’t see you last time!”

Her finger sparks again as she continues her tapping on the tiny device.  “That’s right, you didn’t,” she says with the same caring smile.  “It wasn’t your time.”

“It’s not my time now, either!” I object, my voice raspy now, gasping.

“Dear Thomas,” the seraph croons softly in my ear, “do not be fearing, do not be doubting.  It is written that everyone shall pass, but of the actual day and hour no one can know.”

“I know I’m alive!” I sputter.  “There has to be some mistake!  You’re here way too early!”

The seraph has risen closer to the ceiling now, directly over my head, and I feel myself drawn to her.  “Alas, you are right,” she sighs.  “Thanks to my carelessness with my password, I did arrive early.  But all is well now.  You may let go, Thomas, for you have been cleared to pass.  You are safe and saved.”

“It’s not fair,” I whimper with almost my last breath.  “I was alive!”

“Yes, Thomas, you were alive.”

I see myself on the bed now—as if looking from above, as if I am hovering beside the seraph—a gray, bewhiskered, peacefully-sleeping old man, sheets tucked to his chin, so thin he hardly makes a ripple in the covers.  And as everything fades at last to nothing, I hear the final words the seraph has for me.

“But you were supposed to be dead!”

_{© J. Bradley Burt 2023}