~          Chapter One

            So everything was back to normal, right. The fixed that gaping hole or whatever that had been created, and there was no longer a big heavenly party of death happening upstairs. That was a good thing, right? So why did he feel so empty?

            Maybe it was because Steve couldn't remember a thing. Couldn't remember eating the stupid burger and dying because Marty irresponsibly (or so the Big Head said) went back in time to stop himself from dying. Couldn't remember being an angel. (And a better one than, Marty, truth be told). Couldn't remember stopping Marty from eating the burger, even though he knew it would cause chaos across the universe, because he loved him . . . Steve loved him. Marty DePolo.

            And that was not the stick up his butt. He had always known that Steve loved him. They were best friends. Marty's life used to consist of getting Steve into trouble. And Steve never blew him off.

               Even in the face of overwhelming public opinion. . . If you ask me wherever Marty is now it's very hot and he's being poked by a pitch-fork. Or better yet, if Marty is in Heaven he's chained to a bunch of other guys picking up trash.

            Now, Marty's afterlife still pretty much consisted of getting Steve into trouble, except he had paranormal abilities at his command now. Which was pretty scary. Maybe Steve should have been the one to eat the burger, after all, he's make a real guardian angel.  Steve had always been the only one who could talk any sort of sense into him.

            "What's wrong, Marty?" Steve asked for the thousandth time. "The Big Head on your case, again?"

            "No." Marty said. The Big Head had been pretty quiet lately. Like he knew that the only reason Marty didn't skip off across the universe in his new "mortal" body was that it meant Steve would be dead. Like he knew that Steve was the only reason Marty was still around, and not hiding in a cereal box on a far away planet somewhere. (You'd be surprised at the accommodations available in cereal boxes).

             "Then what's wrong, buddy, I haven't seen you this down since Susan Greene tore out your heart and stomped on it."

            Marty shuddered. He really didn't need the image of beautiful, popular Susan dumping a bowl of punch on him and canning him stuck in his head. His . . . thighs had ached for days. And all he'd said was she had lovely . . . rear end. "Well, thank you very much for that pleasant reminder of the complete failure of my existence."

            "What?" Steve said softly. His big blue eyes held puzzlement.

            Shut up, shut up, and shut up!!! Marty told his brain. You are not thinking that Steve is cute. You are NOT thinking about his big blue eyes. You have all the romance of a dead toad. You CANNOT be getting all poetic at the sight of your best friend.

            But that blond hair is golden as the sun and as soft to touch as silk. He knew, he had ran his hand through those fine strands maybe once a day for what felt like a lifetime. . .

Well, it wasn't like it was the first time he'd ever had less than brotherly feelings about Steve. . . I couldn't bear to see my bud get hurt. Spoken like a true guardian angel.  To feel the pain of others is a sign of pure grace. So I agreed to go out with him on Friday night. . . Shut up, shut up, and shut up!!!

            "Marty, yoo–hoo, anybody home?"

            "What?"

            "That's my line." Steve said. "What's been eating you? You don't look so good. Even your wings look . . . crumpled." Steve reached out and nonchalantly smoothed the feathers.

            And it felt so good. . .

            "Remember when they got broken, huh, and we couldn't exactly find anyone to fix angel wings?" Marty asked. "And you went to your father for advice, said something about a pet chicken with a broken wing, and he said you should put it out of its misery?"

            "Yeah. We got that problem fixed, what about it?"

            "You should have put me out of my misery, man. It's my freaking' destiny to die and be the biggest joke of the afterlife, and your destiny to win the lottery eight times and date fabulous super models."

            "What?" said Steve.

            "The Big Head told me so. I'm going for a walk." And Marty tried a fancy exit, like the one Steve had demonstrated during his brief stint as an angel, but ended up just discorporating from the room.