"The Seraph of Szechuan" original short fiction, Day 5 of U Pick it I Write it Contest

This story is part of my U Pick the Story, I write it Contest.

As today's winner of the "pick the prompt" contest, @nxtblg will receive 25% of the proceeds of this post, via Steemplus

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The Seraph of Szechuan

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"Sheesh, what am I doing?" Scott Stanton pushed away from the desk. He stood up and grabbed the cold long neck, sweating on the table next to his mouse pad.

He'd just googled How to Write an Online Dating Profile, and he hadn't even bothered to delete cookies to hide the evidence. Sad. He stopped in front of the full length mirror behind the entry hall table.

He sipped his beer and stood sideways, admiring his profile. He just didn't get it. He was tall, full head of hair, athletic physique, well groomed, well dressed and well educated. But, it was Saturday night and he was here, wearing nothing but sweat pants, again.

The doorbell rang. Was it seven already?

He dragged on a t shirt from the pile on his bed and went to the door. He looked through the peephole and smiled.

"Hey!" he said, opening the door. "Perfect timing."

Moira stood in the doorway, smiling. He could always count on her to show up when he needed her.

"That's twenty-three, sixty-seven, plus tip," She said.

She stepped through the door and deposited two paper sacks on the entry hall table.

"Cool, here's an even forty," Scott said, handing the delivery girl two twenties.

"Whatta we got tonight?" He asked, snatching one bag from the table. He walked back into the living room and flopped onto the couch, clicking the remote to life as he landed.

"Um, mine's Mushu Pork, yours is Schezuan chicken, extra spicy," Moira said.

She hung her delivery uniform jacket on the hall tree and closed the door, grabbing the second sack. Moira kicked her feet up on the ottoman, snuggling into the leather club chair.

"What's it going to be, zombies, or conmen?" Scot asked.

"Uh, no, it's time travel night, remember?" Moira smiled.

"Oh, right! I got part three and four! Up for a double feature?" Scot asked.

"No, not tonight, got to be at the bowling alley for a shift at 12."

"Seriously? What's it with you, you're like Cinderella or something, have to be gone by midnight, every weekend? Don't you ever take a weekend off?" Scot asked.

Moira laughed it off, "Well, not all of us can be independently wealthy recluses, like you. If I'm not there by twelve it won't be pretty."

"Okay fine, but one of these times we get to watch more than one movie," Scot said.

Moira smiled, "Ah, you like me."

Scot laughed, "Oh no, we are not going to complicate this right here with feelings. No way. Not going to happen."

Moira smiled and took another bite of her pork.

If only love could be like this, Scot thought, comfortable, friendly. But, somehow, it was always hectic and nerve wracking. His mother told him he'd just never gotten to the good part, and maybe she was right.

The movie was bad, perfectly suited for their favorite pastime, Mystery Science Theatre 3000 style sarcastic commentary.

"So, wait, he's kissing his own grand daughter right now?" Moira asked.

"Yeah, but, he hasn't realized it, oh, wait, and now he knows!"

"Oh, hahahahaha! That's awesome, oh, come on, that would never happen!"

"What, you're complaining about believability in a movie about time travel?"

Finally the credits rolled.

"So, what happened to your date tonight?" Moira asked.

"Usual, waxing eyebrows, or something," Scot said.

"Dude, you are the king of the stand ups," Moira said. "What is this now? Sixteen straight?"

"Something like that," Scot said.

Moira swung out of her chair, closing her take out box. She sucked her fork clean and headed to the kitchen.

"No, no need for that!" Scot said. "Come on, don't."

Moira tossed the fork in the sink and flipped through the pages of Scot's kitchen calendar, counting red exes.

"Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, oh, nope. I was wrong, this week makes seventeen! I think that's a new record," she said.

She grabbed a red sharpie from the kitchen junk drawer and drew a red ex. Originally, the red exes were her idea, meant to motivate Scot into actually keeping a date, but by now, it was becoming kind of a joke.

Scot came into the kitchen.

"What about you? You're here every Saturday night, not like you've got a life either," he said.

"No, no, no, you don't get to put your shit on me, Scot," Moira said. She opened the freezer and dug out the vanilla icecream, reached into the fridge and grabbed chocolate syrup.

Scot scooped two big bowls out of the dishwasher and deposited each, with a spoon, on the counter. Moira dug out two big scoops for each bowl.

"When I showed up here, you were already a mess," she said. "You asked a totally strange delivery driver to eat dinner with you. You were so desperate, how could I say no? And now, I just tell people I'm dating a guy, but we always stay in."

"You do what?" Scot asked.

"Sure, I got a kid, so until he's grown, I'm mostly off guys, so, to fend them off, I just tell them about you."

"Seriously? So, I'm the only one here not dating someone?" Scot laughed.

"I don't know, what else would you call this?" Moira sucked ice cream from her spoon, then waved it to indicate both of them.

"Oh, my gosh, you're right," Scot said. "So, instead of being depressed about being dateless sixteen weeks in a row, I should be taking you out for our four month anniversary?"

Moira laughed. " Seventeet, and that is not what I said. Okay, buddy, times up, got to get to the bowling alley."

"Next week, I'm picking you up. We are going out," Scot said. "I'm not taking no for an answer."

Moira sighed,"Fine, but this is not a date. Here's my email. But, I have to be at work by midnight."

She wrote her email in red sharpie on the calendar. "[email protected]"

"But, I'm warning, you, you don't know everything about me," she said.

She grabbed her jacket and walked out the door.

Eight months before, they had met for the first time. Scot's date had genuinely come down with the flu, and he'd ordered takeout, the call had been disconnected before Scot could pay, but Moira had shown up anyway.

Then, it had been off and on for a few months, anytime he hadn't had plans on a Saturday night. It didn't matter where he ordered the food from, Moira showed up. She worked for Eats on Demand, a food delivery app that covered most of the city.

Without Moira, Scot didn't know where he'd be. He'd suffered depression bad enough to require medication in the past. But, since meeting Moira, things had changed. He felt better. The rejection didn't sting the same. He'd been able to laugh at his dating life, something that had left him in bed for days in the past.

This latest streak had started after a disastrous date, with Lena.

"Here, you've got to try this bisque," Scot said, offering his spoon.

She'd sipped it, then, moments later, she'd begun to cough quietly, then gag, then choke.

"Whaaats, innnn, the sooooup," she'd whispered.

Scot snatched a menu out of a diner's hand at the table next to theirs and dug through it.

"Tomato, fennel, sage, onions, and lobster," he read.

"Thaaat's iiitt," she whispered, her face swelling. "Caaaalll aaammmbulaance."

Since then, every weekend, he'd been stood up. It had just been him and Moira.

Scot checked his look in the mirror. He was nervous. He'd never seen her outside of this apartment, and he had agreed to it just being about friends, but now he didn't know. Maybe there was something more. He checked his watch. It was seven.

He'd made reservations for eight at his favorite restaurant, and then an actual movie, in a real theater this time.

Moira answered the door when he knocked. She was wearing a silvery satin dress, her long, curly hair fell around her shoulders. Scot realized, it was the first time he'd seen her in makeup, without her delivery cap on. Why hadn't he realized she was pretty?

"Where's your son?" Scot asked, offering a wrapped package. "I brought him something."

"Sitter," Moira said.

She loved the restaurant, and was definitely not allergic to shell fish, polishing off an order of shrimp pasta, before Scot had finished his. The movie was hilarious and afterward, they stopped for ice cream at an ice cream parlor downtown, and took a walk through the shopping district that ran along the banks of a canal. It was perfect.

Six weeks of perfection. Every Saturday night, a new adventure, an art opening, a concert in the park, theatre tickets to see Shakespeare, go carts and arcade games and finally dinner and dancing. And that's when it happened.

Scot had insisted on one more drink, and Moira had complied. On the way home, she'd fallen asleep in the Lyft, so Scot, being a gentleman, took her home. But, that was where things went a little sideways.

"Moira, we're here," he said. "It's eleven thirty, you're supposed to be at work at work by twelve. Moira?"

Try as they might, neither Scot, or their driver could get her awake.

"Can you help me get here inside?" Scot asked. "There's an extra $20 in it for you."

"Sure," the driver said.

The transfer came off without a hitch. Moira was safely home on her sofa, and the driver was paid, but she'd insisted on making her shift tonight, and Scot knew that in about ten minutes it was going to be too late.

"Maybe if I put her in a cold shower?"

He found a plastic deck chair and placed it in the shower. Took off her dress, leaving her in a slip, and carried her into the bathroom.

"Moira, cooperate," he said.

She was coming around, but in that silly, giggly way people have when they've had too much of a good time. Finally, he got her in the shower, took off his sport coat, rolled up his sleeves and turned on the water.

"Where am I?" Moira asked.

"Home," Scot smiled.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "You can't be here. What time is it? I have to get to work."

"Relax, I'll explain it to your boss," Scot said.

He left the bathroom and found Moira's bedroom. He found sweats and a t-shirt, but no bowling alley uniform. It would have to do. He was leaving the room, when her phone, left on the desk, lit up. He looked over.

"Scot, I hope you're okay," the text read. "Sorry about your dad."

"What?" He picked up the phone and thumbed the screen. No password. A string of texts popped up, all addressed to him, all from girls who'd stood him up. What was this about? Moira had been intercepting his messages and replying.

Suddenly, what had felt like a fairy tale romance had turned into a stalker film. Except, he couldn't just turn it off, this was his life. In the hall a clock chimed and from the bathroom, Moira screamed. The scream turned to moans, she sounded like she was being ripped apart.

Scot ran down the hall, whatever she'd done, he had to help if he could. But, nothing in Scot's life could have prepared him for what lay behind that door.

"Out!" Moira screamed. "You can't be here, you just can't see this, not now!"

Scot stood in the door, her phone in his hand, mouth gaping, eyes wide, Moira stood, soaking wet, fresh from the shower, but he hardly noticed, because, rising from her shoulders, and swinging out behind her hips, were two, huge, feathered wings.

Scot dropped the phone.

"What were you doing going through my phone?" Moira's face sank."No, this was not supposed to, no, not like this!"

"Um, never mind the phone, Moira, what the hell?" Scot said.

She wrapped a towel around herself, snatched the phone and pushed past Scot into the hall. He followed her into the living room, where she sank, sobbing, onto the sofa.

"It was all going so perfectly, and I would have told you, I swear, but there was just never a good time," she said. "You have no idea how long I've waited to meet someone like you!"

"Uh, seriously? Seventeen weeks of red exes, Moira, but I guess I have you to thank for that, huh?" Scot said. "So, yeah, I have some idea."

"Centuries, Scot, I've waited centuries to have something real with a mortal," Moira said. Her eyes flashing. "And not all of those exes were my fault, in fact, only three, okay, four, maybe technically five."

"Wait, which ones?" Scot asked. Then shook his head."What does it even matter, what the heck are you?"

"I'm an angel, Scot, a bonafide heavenly being," Moira said. "Doomed to live out my existence alone, until I find true love."

"What?" Scot laughed. "This is a joke, right?"

"Yeah, Scot, I had magical wings that pop out at midnight every night, which, I might add, is excruciatingly painful every single time, implanted in my body, just to punk you, you got me!"

"Sorry, it's just, I was not expecting that, and taking my texts, come on, not cool!"

"I know, it's just, I finally got someone interested in me. Really interested. Not just fascinated with my wings and immortality, or wanting to hop in bed and find out what it's like, but a real friend," Moira said. "Guess I screwed that up."

"Uh, yeah," Scot said. "I don't even know who you are."

"But, you do. I really do love scifi and stupid comedies. I really do like baseball and pizza and beer. All of it was real, I just didn't, tell you everything I guess, but the important stuff was all real!" Moira sobbed.

"And, um, being immortal, you thought that was a minor detail?"

"It's temporary," Moira said.

"Temporary? How is immortality temporary?"

"Well, no, I'm always immortal, but everyone is, really," Moira said."But, if we can find true love, we get to lead a normal life. Live, die, love, have kids, all of it."

"So, uh, you don't have a son, huh?"

"No, just another part of my plan to force things into the slow lane. But, you don't understand, I've been through this literally hundreds of times," she said.

"Why? Can't you just do missions for God or something?" Scot asked.

Moira sighed, "Yes, and I was thrilled with it for a millennia or more, but everyone I helped, just died anyway, but their lives! They were so free."

Scot looked confused. "Seriously? Freedom, you think being mortal is freeing?"

"Look, what you and I had, on Saturday nights, it was great, right?" Moira asked.

"Yeah, but, it wasn't exactly exciting," Scot said.

Moira smiled sadly, "That's where you're wrong. We had so many choices. We chose what we ate, what we watched, what we talked about. Trust me, running missions from upstairs you do not want to go off script. It's great, but after we've served, we're given a chance to experience all of this. I know you don't understand, but I was really hoping this would be it."

Scot sat silently for a long time. Then he started to chuckle, then he was laughing, before long tears were streaking down his face.

"This, is amazing!" he said. "All this time I've been worried about finding some normal, pretty face, so I could convince her to accept me, without having to make too many changes. And all the while, this angel, a real life angel, has been stalking me, so she can be that regular girl. Why not?"

It was Moira's turn to be confused. "Why not? Aren't you angry? I lied to you, I cloned your phone. There are girls who might actually think you've died out there."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, I might have pretended to be your sister on one of them and she sent me a picture of her shrine to you, you dodged a bullet with that one," Moira said.

She opened the picture and handed Scot the phone.

His eyes went wide. "Oh my, where did she get all these photos of me? Wow, that's not creepy at all. Moira, she almost makes you look normal."

"Really?"

"Really, I mean, I feel a bit 'Prince Eric' in The Little Mermaid here, but what the hell, it's not like I had a jam packed calendar anyway, so what now?"

"Well, if you mean it, we just keep doing what we're doing," Moira said.

Scot smiled, "That sounds good, do you get to wear the wings, now, or?"

"Oh, no, they'll shed and I'll be just like any other girl, would that be okay?"

"Okay? Moira, you're the most amazing woman I've ever met. Well, except for that cloning my phone thing, but other than that, yes, that would be okay," Scot said.

They kissed.

"One question, could I get a quick selfie? Or no?"

In response, Moira swept his phone from his hand with a flick of her wing.

"Well, I guess I can forget about that dating profile," Scot said.

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READ THE NEXT CHAPTER IN DALTON'S STORY!

8 Minutes to Sunday, Episode One