My Name is Tod

My name is Tod: T-o-d. One “D”, not two as with the common mortal name. Tod. From old Germanic, which translates to death. Oh, I know what you’re thinking: A book written by Him: The Grim Reaper; brother to Lucifer; destroyer of love, life, and happiness…blah, blah, blah…But nope, that’s not me. First of all, it’s him; small H. Only The Boss gets the big letters. And the chilling black, hooded robe; the eight-foot-long sickle? Horrible That’s not me; definitely not. If you must know I prefer jeans. Of all the garments ever designed on your world I think jeans are the best. Trust me; they are going to be around for a long, long time. In fact, as I scan the pages of the Daily Future, I can’t find a time when they won’t be. Unfortunately I don’t get a lot of opportunities to wear jeans, at least not at Home. Back Home, some of my friends really get into the robe thing—you know, long white or brown, tied at the waist with a cord. Males especially claim they are really comfortable. Personally I hate the feel of a celestial breeze blowing up my backside. And there’s the whole wing-thing. Wings are kind of an optional asset-they work like donning a hat; take it or leave it. The only rule with wings is that you can’t have them until you’ve grown up and passed all of your Angel classes. Young angels have wing buds, young adults have small wings, and the senior-most have the really big ones. You kind of have to grow into them. Personally, I think they’re cumbersome, so I do without, thank-you. When I’m here (I mean Earth, which is much of the time), I’m expected to wear what’s called the Opaque. Picture a pair of really loose-fitting khakis and a linen shirt—except they blend in with every environment possible. So you can’t see me. Well, not until then. I’m sorry. Am I losing you here? If your eyes are glazing over, I apologize. But I need to give you some background before I can begin telling her story. Well, my story really. That’s the whole purpose of this book. It’s about a Guardian Angel. A very reluctant Guardian Angel if I’m being totally honest. And that Angel-of-Death-turned-Guardian would be me. So allow me to explain. Guardians are angels specifically assigned to look out for spirits while they’re in mortal form. Guardians keep mortals from destructing too soon and try to intervene with some of my brother Lucifer’s minions. That usually happens when Lucifer is determined to get his claws on someone before the proper end-of-mortal-life-review is completed, or if he’s just determined to be a pain in the backside. Most mortals are never aware their Guardians exist. Others depend on them too much, and some--well, some drive them away. That usually happens when Lucifer succeeds in interfering in a human life. Long ago, when the job of Angel of Death became available, I jumped at it. Father and Mother were a bit reluctant about my taking it on, but I persevered. Finally they gave in and were willing to give me a trial run. Well, I loved it from the start and never looked back. So yes, I have a Mother and Father and yes, Lucifer, a.k.a. Satan or Beelzebub, is my older brother. Hey, we can’t choose our relatives, and the term relative in heaven is relative anyway. Basically Father and Mother are father and mother to us all. Some spirits want to be parents too, so they consult with Father, and off they go to some other world to populate or overpopulate, as the case may be. You know, the Adam and Eve types. Spirits can choose to be parents if they want, but most don’t. The only one who can’t is Lucifer. Father made very sure of that when Lucifer fell into darkness Well, he didn’t really fall—it was a jump. But there’s long been a rumor around Heaven that he managed to spawn offspring, some uber-evil demons usually in the form of politicians, but Father just says, “Doesn’t he wish.” Father made sure there would be no little Beelzebubs running around any universe, ever. It really pissed Lucifer off, but he has little voice against Father. Still, it goes to show you that there are rumors in Heaven just as there are on Earth. Amen. (Couldn’t resist. Truly, I couldn’t). But I digress. Lucifer hates the name Beelzebub; and technically it doesn’t apply to him as it refers to any dark under-lord, so of course, that’s what I call him; Beezel or Beel for short. I’m not sure what he hates worse—the name, of the fact that with it I’m calling him a secondary under-lord. In any event, I’m pleased that he hates it and rub his nose in it whenever I can. Hey, who said death was a diplomat? Anyway, we chose two different paths, Beel and I. He claims my job is no different than his and also that I’m his servant. He can think what he wants, but he’s wrong. I serve the Light, also known as Father and the Fabulous Four. And of course, there is our little bro. He’s known by lots of names, the most common being Jesus. But this book isn’t about him. It’s about me and Beezel and a girl. A woman, actually, but a girl at Home. A young spirit, an energetic spirit. She’s flawed, just as all of us are when we’re first escorted to the mortal world. Those flaws are necessary for growth. Each mortal gets to choose human flaws, and each mortal gets to choose their abilities. This girl chose healing, and with it she chose to have me around her far more than most. She didn’t realize it at the time, but she saw my face and heard my voice on occasion, and the roll I played in her life, well…maybe it didn’t go quite as it should have. Her name was Ayla. Let me tell you her story.