Heroes

by Leigh Barker

  No Good Deed

  Sometimes Life Can Get Weary

  Gabriel stood in the palace garden and watched the tree of life, as if he expected it to do something other than be happy for its existence, even if that existence was… well, a bit boring.

  He’d spent many hours in this garden since the Sodom and Gomorrah incident. Generally folks say happy hours, but what the weeding had done to his back was nobody’s business—suffice it to say it had given him some serious jip. But now Michael had forgiven his little, err, S&G indiscretion, shall we say. Overzealous smiting could happen to anyone.

  The reason for his interest in the life tree would have been a mystery to anyone passing by. After all, it wasn’t anything special, and there were far more interesting and flowery woody perennials dotted around the garden, but to another archangel it would have been obvious. The hint is in its name. Point being, it wasn’t—living, that is. Well, okay, it was a bit, but straggly and decidedly pathetic, and it was supposed to be the most important plant in the extensive garden. Gabriel was not a happy bunny.

  He crossed the neatly trimmed lawn and poked the tree with his broadsword—as if threatening it with a good stabbing would perk it up. When no sudden revival ensued, he turned on his heel and strode along the gravel path towards the arched doorway, his black robe billowing and looking suitably dramatic.

  The life tree watched the archangel go with relief and sore ribs. What kind of gardener pokes you with a sharp metal thing? And when you’re feeling like… well, a bit lifeless, actually. Not an easy task, you know, being a life tree. Big responsibility, especially since he was the only one, which in itself was a bit sad. Nobody to talk to, nobody with anything worthwhile to say, that is. The life tree sighed through its dried leaves. Well, there’s that tall, bushy thing over there, but she’s totally up herself, and boring, oh, boring. Who cares about squirrels?

  The life tree’s branches sagged a little more. And Eden took another tiny step towards oblivion.