The Sentinel’s excitement swelled so quickly that his very being was draped in a cape of blue light, lined with gold. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could just stand there and watch the nurses prep the IV bags. Surges of his joy traveled in every direction because today the prisoner’s life would finally end. He had watched his mortal grow from an angry kid to a slab of meat being strapped down to a gurney. He studied the prison guard as he sterilized the prisoner’s arm, now extended to ninety degrees across an arm board. He wiped in a circular motion around the veins that would soon be filled with the poisonous concoction. The Sentinel was elated. Finally, his mortal would get to meet him.

He watched trauma’s bilious green light slink its way toward the guard as he tied the tourniquet above the prisoner’s veins. One crooked vein bulged; that would be the one. The Sentinel sensed his colors as they guided the guard’s hand to the correct vein. He offered thanks to The Divine Will, who allowed him to move freely this morning; there would be no blowing veins or multiple attempts. He would not allow it today. His mortal had suffered the consequences. The Sentinel had not only witnessed the murder committed by his mortal but had also prayed with the victim’s Sentinel during the act. Together, they had collected the blood and fear that poured out of both the assailant and the victim. At times, the Sentinel’s own light could not block the whispers of the dark, which sought his mortal’s flickering light, but he had also been present in the very breath that had asked for forgiveness. The Sentinel’s light felt resistance as past trauma pushed the last bit of the mortal’s doubt outward, tapping his golden-blue hue. Chants and screams of the trauma merged with his brilliance, tainting his color, but the Sentinel’s bright joy smothered the snaky trauma. A venous flash gushed into the catheter while the vein carried on as if no poison were about to rush through its walls and free a restless soul.

Ecstasy streamed in multiple beams from the Sentinel and maintained a protective barrier across his mortal. He summoned every prayer that the prisoner had offered. His light burned every worry and regret. Long dead dreams cried in agony as they transitioned into incense and rose toward The Divine Will. A strain of light extended from the Sentinel’s core and whispered psalms of compassion into the guard’s ear. Oh, how the Sentinel’s energy could not be contained any longer. His celestial fire wrapped the IV bags as the saline flowed first, a solvent baptizing the vein. Then, the Sentinel sensed the first click of the button from the executioners’ room, sending a sedative that calmed the prisoner’s conscience. For less than one breath, the aevum, the heavenly duration in which the Sentinel now acted, clashed with the flowing now of mortal time. This evoked a sensation in him that had remained gated. It was not joy, and it bent him toward the place the rebels had gone. Now it grasped for his light, but his joy restlessly stitched the dimming colors back together. A second click signaled the paralytic agent, which stilled the lungs as they fought for one final inhale. The Sentinel presented himself right above his mortal’s head. The eternal dimension was already manifesting; he could see the soul trying to breach from its shell. He exhaled onto the newborn light, encouraging it to break through, but he knew the soul always had to be forced out; it never went willingly.

The third click popped, and the potassium chloride slid down the tube and met the heart, only to say goodbye. Finally, here it was, soul to Guard. His light engulfed the newborn flame as it begged for God’s mercy, and he spoke to his mortal’s soul for the first time.

“You knew me as intuition, as the chill that ran up your neck, the voice you ignored, but my Creator, and now you, know me as Elaethiel, your Guard,” Elaethiel said.

The freed soul’s dim light merged with his Guard’s, and Elaethiel felt the chill that only insufficient light creates, but that was okay; his mortal was free and with his Guard. They wafted closer to an opening in the atmosphere that burned with purification. Elaethiel looked forward to helping this dim light burn brighter so they could both worship together, as had always been planned.

Biography:
Patrick Garaca’s short story “Atomic Number 14” recently appeared in Half and One. He won first place in the Alabama Writers’ Cooperative’s 2024 short story competition and its 2025 flash fiction competition, and his poetry has appeared in Words of The Lamb Magazine. He writes from Birmingham, Alabama, USA, and is a member of the Alabama Writers’ Cooperative and the Alabama State Poetry Society.