After the nothingness came the light. Not the Omnipotent light he was used to. This light was cold, hard, unforgiving. It pierced and burned his eyes. This definitely wasn’t Heaven.

Or was it? Was this where angels went when they died? Was even possible for him to die? If not, where was he?

The angel tried to move his arms, but they wouldn’t budge. His legs were firmly in place too. His wings were still there, but they throbbed and he could feel something warm trickling down his back from them.

“Is it what I think it is?” A voice came from the light. The angel knew that voice, but he couldn’t remember why.

“Yes, Sir, Mr. President,” another voice answered. The angel didn’t like this voice. It was thick and heavy. It reminded him of mud.

“But,” the first voice hesitated. “how?“

“We’re not sure. All we know is that he hit a window above the left cargo door at eight thousand feet. By some miracle, we didn’t lose cabin pressure, but he sustained damage to his left wing in the fall.”