In Memory of Shannen Doherty & Bella Brave

The two souls played together (having discovered each other in line) - one ran circles around the other, and both laughed with delight. “Well, of course it isn’t fair,” his brain chided silently, “but no one asked you. Task at hand, please.” Peter called them up, but they let a couple of the others go ahead of them, because they were chattering away about the weightlessness and how that was so incredibly nice after what had gone before. The one picked imaginary cloud flowers, and the other wove them into imaginary garlands and they admired each other, giving endless compliments for beauty that was as true and real as the decorations were false. “No one knows joy like one who’s fought pain and misery for what feels like forever,” said a voice beside him. “Everyone is so keen on resting in peace, but fighters deserve a ridiculous amount of fun.” “It’s a shitty deal,” Peter spat out irritably, checking them in (although they were still playing). “The gift of a mortal life or life eternal? Which one gives you indigestion?” came the reply. Peter turned to the Angel of Death and flipped it off, which sent everyone watching into hysterics. In return, the angel blew Peter a kiss and floated off. “You don’t have to like your job every day,” his brain started up. “No one else does.” But there was a piece of him that marveled about how the souls shone unaware and without trying, the envy of moons and stars, and how the end of suffering was a lesser miracle (believe or not) and only one of an infinite number.