By Ed Cox

“It doesn’t notice so much,” Deborah said kindly, and then winced under Angela’s baleful glare, reflected in the mirror.

“Maybe some lip gloss will attract the focus,” Angela mused, and pulled a make-up kit from her attaché case. “I can’t believe this is happening to me, not again.”

“Everyone gets spots occasionally,” Deborah soothed. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Deborah. I am a representative of the High Offices of Deciders. It is imperative all souls of purgatory respect my status. I don’t think that’s going to be easy with this comical beacon on the end of my nose, do you?”

Deborah stayed silent.

“It’s this place,” Angela moaned. “The atmosphere doesn’t agree with my skin. I spent a lot of time making myself this splendid. My hair took all morning, and talk about expensive shoes . . .” She looked pointedly at Deborah’s wiry, pony-tailed hair; her drab and brown, moth-eaten cardigan, and her faded jeans and cowboy boots. “Forget it,” she sniffed, and focussed on her reflection in the mirror once more. “You clearly wouldn’t understand.”

Deborah gritted her teeth and mentally counted to ten. “Bitch,” she finally uttered under her breath.

“What was that?” Angela asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. Touch of Indigestion.” Deborah then did her best to adopt a sympathetic expression.

Unconvinced, but willing to let the matter drop, Angela continued working on her face.

Watching as Angela stretched her lips and applied gloss to their already cherry-red colour, Deborah had to admit she was a vastly attractive Decider. She wore that black pinstriped trouser suit like it had been stitched on. And those blonde curls did look patiently designed to frame an intricately decorated face. Who said purgatory wasn’t for the glamorous?

Shame about that massive red spot, Deborah thought and couldn’t keep a grin stretching her face.

“What are you grinning about?” Angela demanded as she packed her make-up away.

“Oh!” Deborah flinched. “I was just thinking how you look like a porn star with a big spot on her nose.”

Angela scowled with incredulity. “What?”

Deborah covered her mouth with her hands. “I didn’t mean to say that,” She said apologetically and looked down in shame. “Man!” she blurted before she could stop herself. “They are one ugly pair of shoes!”

Angela pursed her lips and turned her head to one side. She stretched to her full height, towering over the purgatory office worker. Deborah felt dwarfed. 

In a slow, deliberate manner, Angela opened her attaché case and pulled out a thick dossier. She flipped through it with snappish, irritated flicks of her wrist.  

“Deborah Clarke,” she said prissily, and stopped at a certain page. “Ah, yes, I see. It was your mouth that got you killed.”

Deborah winced and nodded. “I was stabbed by a mugger,” she explained. “He wanted my purse and phone. I asked him if they were for his boyfriend . . .” She shrugged.

“And that’s why you’re stuck in purgatory.” Angela snapped the dossier shut. “Because you cannot control your mouth between thought and speech, your stupidity talked its way into death. The High Office of Deciders cannot decide whether this is a divine offence or not. Understand?”

“I guess so,” Deborah mumbled.

Angela sighed and gave herself a final check in the mirror. “At present you are filed under miscellaneous. That could be changed. But you would better your chances of gaining my help without your little quips.” Turning from the mirror, she thrust the dossier under one arm, and then headed for the rest room door. “Come along, Deborah, I’m ready to address the latest departure candidates.”

Deborah followed dutifully, moving quickly to keep up with Angela’s long strides. In the corridor outside, she finally managed to fall into step beside the Decider.

“Right,” said Angela, “there are three candidates today, correct?”

Deborah nodded, making sure she kept her mouth in check.

“First up is Brian Hall. He’s an overweight man with a ‘jolly smile’, whatever that means. He died saving his wife from drowning.”

“Right,” Deborah murmured.

“Going up!” Angela sang. “For such a selfless sacrifice in the name of true love.”

“Oh, good.”

“Now,” snapped Angela. “Freddie Springfield. Once holding the title of ‘Tightest Man on Earth’, our Freddie fancies himself as something of a ladies man . . . in life and death. Correct?”

“Yeah,” Deborah said with renewed vigour. “I tell you, one time...” 

“Keep it to yourself,” Angela warned. “Freddie died trying to fit a new gas boiler in his home himself, thus ducking out on the cost of a proper serviceman. Carbon monoxide poisoning, if I remember rightly.” She tilted slightly towards Deborah’s smaller form. “It was a close thing, but: going up!”

They passed through a set of double doors, into the main office. Deborah gestured the way to the Divine Conference Room, and they continued at a brisk pace. They passed many sombre office workers on their way, who set about their tasks with a detached boredom only the imperially uninterested could conjure.  

“Now, the final candidate . . .” Angela paused, and checked the dossier. “Oh, dear,” she said softly. “Mary Winger. Mary’s a big girl, with a long history of boyfriends behind her, who . . . well, let’s be frank, found her more than willingly accommodating on first dates. She has a liking for cream cakes that borders on obsession, and killed herself due to depression.” Angela looked down at Deborah with a pinched expression and slowly shook her head.

“Going down?” ventured Deborah.

“I’m afraid so.”

They stopped outside the door to the Divine Conference Room. Angela gripped Deborah’s shoulders and locked gazes with her. “The presence of a Decider is quite something to behold,” she explained. “But I must have peace and calm in this room. No one is to beg for mercy at my feet,” she lightly touched her hair, “or worship me.”

Deborah almost choked swallowing a plethora of retorts. “Okay,” she finally managed tightly.

 “Now listen carefully,” Angela continued. “When we go in you will announce my presence, but this is to be done quickly and with a minimum of fuss.” She waved a hand vaguely before her face. “This little blemish is embarrassing, but not damaging. So long as no attention is drawn to it, my status should remain unhindered.”

Deborah gave a quick salute and smiled.

“This is important, Deborah,” Angela snapped. “Help me get through this without embarrassment, and I’ll see what I can do about dragging your case out of the miscellaneous file,” she smiled superciliously. “I guarantee it will be judged favourably.” She took a breath. “Right . . . how do I look?”

Deborah wanted to control her words, but the brightness of the Decider’s overly red lips and shiny nose was forcing her eyes to cross and caused her some confusion. “Like a porn star-”

“Just take me in,” Angela growled. “And remember: With the minimum of fuss!”

Deborah cowered and opened the door to the conference room. She nodded at Mary and Freddie sitting on comfortable chairs. Freddie winked at her lustfully, and Mary continued sobbing into a tissue. The portly figure of Brian Hall was seated between them. He smiled jollily as Deborah entered, his slightest movement setting his jowls to wobbling.

Holding the door open, Deborah stood to one side to allow Angela through. Once the Decider was inside, she let the door close and cleared her throat.

“I’d like to announce the presence of the Divine Decider from the High Office of Deciders.” She thrust a thumb towards Angela. “Everyone . . . this is Rudolf!”