Line

Mel met the angels for breakfast. "Morning people," he chided them. "Gawd." They flinched (he apologized) and folded their wings to fit into the booth at the diner and hear about the things he'd done; Mel had brought a list. "So that's a good start," he said, and the angles agreed, pulling out their favorite bits (dog rescue, helping a friend pay their utility bills, signing up for the organ donor program, and practicing compassion). "Well done," the angels said (in unison, for they were always completely aligned). Mel met the demons for a bump at closing time. "Night people," he chided them. "Gawd." They flinched (he apologized) and folded their wings to fit into the booth at the dive bar and hear about the things he'd done; Mel had brought a list. "So that's a solid showing," he said, and the demons agreed, pulling out their favorite bits (ignoring the needs of a stray, telling a friend to quit whining and get a damn job, refusing his monthly blood donation, and practicing backstabbing). "Well done," the demons said (in unison, for they were always completely aligned). Walking home, Mel breathed deeply and shook off the stress of the day. He was fine; everything felt balanced. "It'll all go south at some point," he whispered to himself. "The 'double agent' thing is gonna bite me in the ass, but ... still could work ..." He'd cross the line eventually and get himself outed big time, but Mel felt confident that he'd done just enough for both sides that no one would want to claim him when he fell. "I might still live forever," he thought to himself, whistling on his way.