The Diner (a fictional short story)
TW/CW: Brief mention of gun violence, domestic violence, and sexual assault.
The summer rain came down in sheets across the cool glass, the condensation beading in fat droplets. Gabriel ran a long, unbothered finger across the smooth surface, collecting the cold drops before shaking them off.
"Anything else for you, hun?" The waitress swayed on her feet, her eyes sunken with dark circles playing tag beneath them.
"No, thank you," he smiled widely. "Coffee is just fine."
As the words left his mouth, a sharp jingle of the bell over the door sounded, and Gabriel tore his eyes from the black abyss that was his coffee. "You're late," he said casually as Michael slid into the booth across from him, the bench sticking to his clothes from years of spilled drinks and a lack of concern for cleanliness.
His lip curled as he waved the waitress away when she placed his coffee before him. When she was out of earshot, he allowed his body to relax into the cushioned booth.
"Time is irrelevant to immortal beings, Gabriel. You know this, yet you continue to say the same boring thing to me every time we meet." He pulled the hot mug towards him, emptying several small containers of creamer and sugar packets into the swirling black liquid. "Why do you insist on pretending that this," he gestured casually, "is all normal?"
Gabriel leaned back against the booth and sighed, shaking his head as he often did when he was with Michael. "What is abnormal about this? We're doing our job, are we not?" The warm coffee passed over his lips, soothing the roughness of the conversation. It, too, was the same every time they met.
"We monitor and report. I know you find it boring and meaningless. Still, our role ensures that those deserving of punishment are indeed being punished. Why do you fight it all?"
Michael scanned the faces in the small, cramped diner before pulling a cigarette from his pocket. The match sparked to life, momentarily illuminating his youthful face. Devoid of blemishes, wrinkles, and other signs of aging, his skin was flawless and his face handsome. He breathed in the thick smoke from his cigarette, exhaling in such a way that surrounded Gabriel in a cloud, forcing the other to cough. Immortal beings need not even breathe, he thought. Let alone cough. Still, he enjoyed the sensation. Pretending to use the lungs he didn’t have.
"You want to know why I fight this," Michael stated plainly, his voice devoid of emotion.
Gabriel coughed again, waving his hand through the air. Another pointless gesture. Michael hadn't changed in the millennia they had both existed. In thousands of years, he was still more like a boy than a man with little to no concern for the souls they both looked after. That attitude was why Gabriel was tasked with assisting Michael in monitoring this hellscape.
"Yes.” Gabriel took another sip of coffee, the temperature now cooled and less pleasant. "I want to know why you rebel against our Father."
Michael stared at him for a long moment, flicking the ash of his cigarette onto the dirty carpet. "Answer me this, Gabriel." He paused, taking a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke building around him before rising gracefully to the heavens. "I am the Archangel of War. It somewhat makes sense that I am assigned to oversee the personal suffering of souls. Don't you agree?"
"I do, but that doesn't answer my question."
Michael waved him off with annoyance and continued. "Why did Father assign you, his Voice, to assist me? Wouldn't our brother Azrael, the Angel of Death, be of more use?"
Gabriel smiled gently at his brother with the calm patience most beings lack. "It is not our place to question Father. You know this."
"Answer the question," Michael shouted as he violently stomped out the cigarette butt before angrily tossing it to the floor. "Wouldn't you agree that Azrael would be of more use in this mission than you?"
Gabriel brushed his light hair from his face with a smile. He’d need to mention this to Azrael. "Let's continue this conversation later, brother. It's almost time." Straightening his back, he quietly watched the diner's front door, waiting for the moment this hellscape truly began.
Michael rolled his eyes, but he, too, turned to look at the front door with interest. Despite witnessing what was about to unfold many times, he always felt himself eagerly anticipating it. Humans spend their short lives hurting each other, rendering their moments on earth pointless. It was, in many ways, all too comical. Lighting another cigarette, he counted down…3…2…1…
The door to the diner banged open with such force that the little bell resting above it flew from its place and landed on the floor with a clang. Drenched from the heavy rain, a young woman stumbled in, her knees scraped and bloody and her hair a knotted mess. She swayed as she walked up to the counter and sat on one of the squishy stools.
"Ah, she's right on time," Gabriel said, diligently focusing on the young woman at the counter.
"Of course she is," Michael snapped. "The hellscape wouldn't allow her to be anything but on time." Putting out his cigarette and lighting another, he added, under his breath, "Idiot."
"Just keep watching, Michael."
The young woman cupped her heavy head in her small hands, clearly exhausted from whatever life she had been living. Tears rolled down her pained face, bruises and cuts marking up what would have been beautiful, or was. Once. Her loud sniffing could be heard in the back corner where Gabriel and Michael were sitting.
"What the hell are you doing here, Rachel?" The waitress bristled at the sight of the disheveled young woman at the counter. "I told you not to come here anymore," she whispered, her voice slashing like a knife, leaving any sense of gentleness far behind.
Michael took a sharp drag from his cigarette, watching everything with the eye of a critic. “This is so lame. I’d rather just shoot her myself.” He stamped out the cigarette and opted for a sip of coffee rather than lighting another.
Gabriel placed his elbows on the table, the years of grease built up smearing the long-sleeve shirt bunched at his elbows. Steepling his fingers, he sighed. "We can't involve ourselves in this. You know that. Just observe."
"Mom, I need you!" Rachel's face was as unkempt as the rest of her, a bruise purpling underneath her right eye, while another was yellowed under her left. An old mark from some unseen threat that was still very real for her. The depths of the darkness surrounding her were impossible to miss to anyone who cared enough to look. "I can't do this anymore," Rachel said hurriedly, her eyes darting around the small diner. "And if he notices I ran off, he'll kill me!"
The waitress' hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, and the wrinkles between her brows deepened, creating a bold V shape.
"You defiled your body with that man. You got pregnant and ran off. And you want my help?" The waitress' face boiled as she spoke, her voice just as uncaring as when she noticed Rachel at the counter. "You were perfect in the eyes of the Lord, and now look at you! Another whore to the man who defiled you! You make me sick."
Rachel's face had become an ocean, her hands the life vests as she attempted to stop the storm pouring from her eyes. "I didn't have a choice," she wailed. "He raped me! It's a miracle I was able to get away! Mama, please!"
Her pleas died in her throat with the feel of a sudden breeze as the door to the diner opened, her body going rigid as a large man walked in, heading straight for the counter.
"No…" Rachel whispered. "How did he find me so fast? How?" Her voice was a scream masked behind layers of survival instinct. The desperation turned to helplessness as her body suddenly slumped against the counter.
The man casually leaned around her, pressing his body firmly against her back, her face etched in a grimace. "Rachel, I thought we talked about you behaving yourself. But here you are, running back to Mama." His voice chilled her soul as his breath brushed against her ear.
Rachel shuddered at the sound of her name falling from the cold, violent lips of the man in front of her. The black and purple bruise forming under her eye twinged painfully at the memory of what those lips and hands could do. But her voice remained locked away.
A wide grin spread across the young man's face. "Thanks for calling me, Marie. You know how much my Rachel means to me and our son. What would we do without her?"
Rachel took a sharp breath as the realization of those words washed over her. Before another word could fill the air within her disturbed reality, her hand reached into her purse and pulled out death. The cold metal was at her temple in mere seconds, her finger on the trigger ready to bring forth the final darkness. Her mother's face had barely had a chance to morph from anger to fear before it was splattered with blood, the wet, sticky substance of life that now drained from Rachel’s frail form.
Michael's back straightened, his hand gripping his seat tightly as he watched the horrific scene unfold. His wide eyes drifted from the blood on the waitress' face to Gabriel lifting his coffee mug to his lips.
Gabriel took another sip of coffee before gently placing the mug on the table and rising to walk towards the bloody body of Rachel and the silent screaming of Marie, the waitress.
Michael followed reluctantly.
When Rachel pulled the trigger, the diner froze like a wax museum. The people looked real enough, but they were unmoving and devoid of any semblance of life.
Gabriel kneeled next to Rachel's body. "This young woman was in agony her whole life. Her father abused her, and her mother was coldhearted and cruel." He whispered a blessing before rising to his feet and wiping a few drops of blood on his pants. "Now that agony is over, and she's with God."
Michael's gaze remained locked on Rachel's face, her green eyes hidden behind heavy lids that would never open again. "We could save them,” he said coldly, nudging Rachel’s frozen hand with the toe of his boot.
A heavy hand rested on Michael's shoulder, gripping gently. "We can't involve ourselves in mortal affairs. And as difficult as it can be, this is what was meant to happen. And now, Marie, the waitress, will live with that guilt, eternally tormented by what happened here that day."
I never said it was difficult, Michael thought with a barely concealed smile. Humans were silly, stupid creatures.
As they exited the diner, the scene moved forward, and they watched from the window as the waitress grabbed the gun dropped at Rachel's side and turned it on herself.
"If you ask me, she should be suffering more. She should have had to live with the guilt for the rest of her life." Michael turned away from the diner and lit another cigarette. "This hellscape isn't enough. She should be writhing in agony while the demons of hell feast on her burnt flesh."
Gabriel smiled and pulled a sucker from his pocket, handing it to Michael. "You should really stop smoking, you know. It's bad for you."
"Like that matters to an immortal," Michael scoffed. " And I have things to do. I'll see you later."
When Michael had faded from where he stood, the summer rain abruptly ended, and Gabriel's smile fell from his lips. "You can come out now, brother. He's gone."
Azrael's form materialized, his gaze setting fire to Gabriel's body. "How did it go?"
"He talked about shooting the waitress again, as he always does." Gabriel sat heavily on a newly materialized bench, his long legs stretched before him and his weariness weighing heavily on his immortal soul. He glanced back at the diner where the Michael from the past was cutting down patrons and slicing Rachel's abuser in half. It was a grotesque scene. One that he had to look away from.
"I don't know how else I can make him understand that this is all God's will.”
Azrael sat down and wrapped an arm around Gabriel's shoulders. "He will learn with time, brother. Does he suspect anything?"
"Well, he mentioned you again, wondering why I am here, watching over the waitress' hellscape and not God's Angel of Death." Gabriel pulled another sucker from his pocket and unwrapped it. "He has a point. It doesn't make much sense to assign God's Voice to ensure one woman's suffering is adequate."
Azrael tightened his grip around Gabriel's shaking shoulders. "It must be hard on you, brother. I know the two of you worked side-by-side for eons. Seeing him fall couldn't have been easy."
The diner and everything around them had morphed into hills and valleys of nothing but fire. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh filled the air, along with distant screams that broke through Gabriel's peace. "I just want his hellscape to end so he can return to heaven," he whispered. "So we both can return to heaven."
Azrael stood, offering a hand to Gabriel and pulling him to his feet. "And it will, as soon as he learns that getting involved in mortal affairs is against Father’s will.”
Gabriel felt his composure slipping with a groan. "And what am I meant to learn, brother? I am stuck here with him! You know how stubborn he is. I will be stuck babysitting for eternity!"
"I have complete faith in your abilities, my dear Gabriel. You are God's Voice, and I know you will use it to shepherd our lost lamb back onto the moral and righteous path."
When Gabriel nodded sullenly and disappeared from view, Azrael let a sad smile dance on his lips. With a wave of his hand, the summer rain returned, and the diner blinked back into existence. For a brief moment, he watched the Gabriel from the past pull a bloody Michael from the diner, before they both disappeared. The diner reset, and the mortals in the diner resumed their eternal routine.
The two fallen angels didn't suspect a thing, which meant their hellscapes were functional, and Azrael was doing his job effectively. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "Almost time."
Hiding himself again, he watched Gabriel enter the diner and sit at the back booth. "He always chooses the same table," Azrael chuckled. "He's so predictable."
Before long, a grumpy-looking Michael entered and sat across from Gabriel. Azrael smiled and watched the scene unfold like it had for the last 100 years.
"One day, it will change," Azrael said to no one. "One day, they'll understand and return to us in Paradise."
Photo by Mike Beaumont on Unsplash