There’s a common misconception that, when humans die and enter heaven, they somehow magically turn into angels. Let me start off by saying that’s entirely false. A human is a human, dead or otherwise. Angels like me are born that way.

Another misconception is that since angels live in heaven, our lives must be perfectly easy and happy all the time. Another falsehood. Unlike the humans around here, we don’t get everything we want for free. We have to work to eat or go hungry.

You see, angels look up to humans a lot. Probably because we only ever see the good and pure out of them. Maybe it’s because I’ve actually talked to some humans, or all the time I spend online, but I don’t see what all the fuss is about. They’re just people with good and bad sides to them, just like us.

There’s been a big cultural shift in heaven lately. More and more humans have been getting in, (and I’m sure that has nothing at all to do with the recent reform of the purgatory system,) and they’ve been idolized more and more. Suddenly, everyone wants to dress, talk, and especially look like a human.

I was an actress before this, but my only show got canceled due to low ratings. I’ve been trying for months to find work anywhere, but I just don’t look human enough to fit the bill. No-one wants their character to have as many eyes as me, or as big a set of wings, or as glaringly bright of a halo.

I’m a feather’s width from losing my cruddy empty apartment, and I can’t even afford any food. But I’ll never starve. Angels, unlike humans, are immortal. We feel pain, sickness, hunger, and exhaustion, but can never die. Just suffer. That’s why we gotta make money, to avoid suffering. That’s why it sucks I’m all out of money.

I’ve got a dozen cuts and bruises from paper and clumsiness and whatnot, and all the stress is making my wing feathers fall out. But having not eaten in days, I don’t have the energy to heal myself. I can’t fly, I can hardly even walk. A powerless angel doesn’t seem very heavenly at all.

I wonder what it’s like to die. It must be nice, really. No more hunger, no more pain. Just waltzing around, having everyone love you, costing people their jobs. Though it’s not really their fault. It’s everyone else’s fault for thinking that since all humans here are good people, you must be human-like to be a good person.

They envy them, and I guess I do too, in a different way. I wish there weren’t my own blood and feathers all over the floor. And yet here people are, thinking there’s so suffering in heaven. The worst part is that this is how almost everyone lives these days, apart from the rich and human-looking.

Angels may not be dead people, but most of us wish we were.