Scarlet’s Second Chance
I coughed as I inhaled my cigarette. I always coughed, though.
My eyes slowly went down to the bag of marijuana I had just bought. My hands twitched to start doing the marijuana right then and there, but I knew not to. I had
to wait until it was dark. Dark enough so that no one would see the kid doing drugs.
Yes, you heard me right: I’m only seventeen.
My name is Scarlet Donahue. I have dirty blonde hair, long enough to go past my waist; but I normally wore it in a ponytail. I have green eyes and freckles that
run across my nose. I hated how innocent I looked. Because I was not innocent.
I dropped out of high school and ran away from home. For money, I’m a prostitute. It’s not that enjoyable of a job, but it puts bread on the
Today, I’m hidden in the comforting darkness of an alleyway, smoking.
I decided to go see if Tiffany, a fellow prostitute I knew from work, would want to hang out. I exit the alley, check to see if it’s safe to walk, and make my
way down the street.
Unfortunately, some idiotic bastard wasn’t paying attention. I looked over in surprise and saw a car speeding toward me. I shut my eyes quickly and felt a
long moment of pain before it melted away with numbness.
I felt a soft breeze cross past my face. When I opened
my eyes, I saw a white gate in front of me.
Rich golden sunlight shimmered down from the sky, making the gate sparkle. I blinked, confused, and whipped
my head around. I saw with shock that I was standing on a cloud, my shoes sinking into the white fluff.
I looked up at the sound of my name. Standing in front of the gate was a man; he looked about a few years
older than me, with dark hair and glasses, looking down at a clipboard in his hands. He wore a blue suit and a red tie. He looked up at me. “Scarlet Marie Donahue, correct?” he repeated
I nodded shakily. “Yes. Where—?”
“You were hit by an oncoming car at 12:32 P.M. Died at 12:34
P.M. The driver was talking on the phone
and not paying attention. Now, let’s see where you will go.”
Hit by a car? Died? Was he serious?
“So I’m in . . . Heaven?” I choked
“What was your first clue: the clouds or the gate?” he answered, sounding annoyed.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“I’m Justin, the Heaven’s Gates advisor,” he replied casually. “I’m here to either welcome you into Heaven
My heart stopped. Well, not in the physical sense,
anyway; that happened all ready. But I knew exactly where I would go because of the life I had lived.
Justin made a tsk sound with his tongue. “Hmm, not looking that great for you, Ms. Donahue,” he
commented. “It says here in your file that you dropped out of high school in junior year, ran away from home, became a prostitute, live in a small apartment in a—ahem—bad neighborhood, and
sell and do drugs. Is that so?”
I bit my lip. “Yeah, what of it?”
“Those aren’t very good applications for a place in Heaven, if you catch my drift.” Justin looked me right
in the eye. “I’m afraid I have no choice . . .”
“No!” I gasped. “Not Hell! Please!”
He looked distraught. “Well, there is another option . . .”
“What?” I asked immediately. “What is it? I’ll do
anything. Just not Hell.”
He shrugged. “You could become a Guardian Angel for a loved one you truly care about.”
“I’ll do it,” I agreed without any hesitation. “And I know just who to watch over.”
Back in high school, I had an amazing friend named
Erica Saunders. She was beautiful, smart, popular, and when I ran away from home, I could sense she was heartbroken. Don’t ask how, but I just knew.
“And who is that?” Justin asked.
“My friend from high school, Erica Saunders,” I
Justin snapped his fingers, and a manila folder
appeared in his hands, with mine vanishing. He scanned through it quickly, adjusting his
glasses. “It says here she’s still alive, and lives in New York City as a journalist.”
Journalist? That figured. She had always wanted to
succeed in a career with writing.
“I’ll take it,” I said.
“Are you sure?” Justin said, his expression stern. “Once
you’re a Guardian Angel, you can’t just quit.”
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
He shrugged and took a pen out of his suit pocket. He
scribbled something down in another manila folder that appeared in his hand and snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, I felt warmth on my back. I turned my head to see a shining patch of light running down my back.
Then, two more lights sprouted out of the path and forming into wings.
“Of course.” Justin smiled. “How can you be an angel without wings?”
“Your client, Ms. Saunders, is currently in her apartment
in New York City,” Justin
instructed. He tossed me a bracelet with a diamond on the strap. “The diamond will start bleeping when you’re close to her. And when she’s in danger, the diamond will glow red. Understand?”
A circle opened up in front of me. I peered down and saw the open blue sky.
“Good luck,” Justin told me, winking.
I smiled, stretched my wings, and soared down into the hole and raced down to earth to find Erica and begin
my new job as a Guardian Angel.
And I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t miss my
After for what felt like hours, I arrived in New York.
The diamond began to bleep. Excited, I zipped around
everywhere until the bleeping started racing. Finally, when I was directly above a tall office building, the bleeping accelerated.
“This must be the place!” I whispered.
I zoomed down to the window where the bleeping got
faster. I glanced in and saw a tired woman with librarian-like glasses and short brown hair typing over a laptop.
“Erica!” I murmured, stunned.
I could hear what was going on inside. Erica’s phone
rang; her hand went to it instantly and it went to her ear.
“Hello?” she asked. The she sighed dreamily. “Damien! Oh, how are you? What? Are you sure? Oh, okay. Love
you too. Bye.” She slammed the phone down, taking angry breathes in before tears started swimming down her cheeks. “Why does he keep on canceling?” she asked.
I knew what had happened. Damien, her boyfriend, had
canceled on their fourth date. And it was Valentine’s Day.
Erica rose from her seat, slipped on a brown coat, and grabbed her suitcase before signing out and walking
down to the parking lot and pulling out and starting out onto the street. I watched from a good distance.
I noticed with anxiety that the roads were slick with
ice from the snow.
Suddenly, as Erica was driving, her car swerved at an intersection. I saw an oncoming car coming straight
for her. She was going to crash!
I flew down to her car, seconds before it slammed
into the other car, and pushed the front of Erica’s car back. It stopped instantly, inches away from the other car.
I had saved her from death.
I went to her car window, put my head threw the
window—which I can do, since I ‘m only there in spirit—and whispered softly into Erica’s ear, “Don’t resent me, Erica. And when you’re feeling empty, keep me in your memory. It’s me, a great old
friend of yours who is now your protector.”
Her eyes bugged open with shock. “Scarlet . . . ?” she whispered in awe.
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