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Hello Unknown,
If you are reading this letter then an awful tragedy must have befallen you. I would say that I am sorry for your loss, but alas, it’s do or die in this new world. Depending on your status and virtues, up to 70% of your wealth has been taken and redistributed to the masses. You may consider me a monster, but I am not needlessly cruel, there will be enough remaining to ensure a comfortable life for you and your family as long as you use it wisely.
Kind Regards and wishing you the best of luck,
Angel
Angel was all anyone talked about these days. They appeared just under two years ago, and they haven’t left the public’s eye since - a mysterious almost inhuman thief who stole from the wealthy and gave to the common people. Angel strikes erratically, sometimes they’re quiet for months, and sometimes they orchestrate two heists in a week. Some say that the robberies are done by the mafia to increase their renown. Some say that the robberies are staged to gather sympathy. Most people only care about how long until they are hanging in the gallows. The only thing I wanted was for Angel to free me from my cage.
And freed I was, by the grace of a simple letter.
With my family's fall from grace, we now lived with those who Papa labelled paupers. He had always planned to make me into the perfect lady so he could marry me off for a fortune; large enough so he could drink until he forgot that he was not blessed with a son. However, those that were ‘Angel-touched’ became outcasts of the higher ranks of society, and thus, Papa’s expectation for my future had turned overnight into a wild fantasy. Maybe his plans for me were all that kept Papa grounded in reality, or maybe it was the shock of losing the lifestyle he had always known; but three days after receiving the angel letter, Papa went out to drink his sorrows away amongst the criminals and rats. He would return at dawn, and then he would sleep until it was safe to vanish into the night.
A year later we ran out of money. Two weeks later, Papa was found dead in a ditch out the back of his favorite speakeasy. His face was stained red with his own blood, in direct contrast to crystal clear glass that punctuated his skin. He died as a sad man angry with the world. He simply could not comprehend the worth of a life without wealth and renown. The angel letter for papa was the most disastrous act the world could have done, comparable for him even to Mama’s own death.
A week after that, I was on the streets, all alone. Ours had been the final angel letter, and maybe that made it cursed. Not even the devil himself could have prepared me for my life’s greatest trial; the harsh reality of this cruel world.
My life became an endless battle between what could have been and what it is now. My mind was filled with doubt and regret. Was I a fool to want to run away from my safe life? Would I have been more or less miserable than I am now? Was my soul going to turn bitter and angry like Papa’s? Or would I be long dead, left butchered and unrecognisable for the crows?
Like vultures, these questions circled through my head as I wandered through desolate stone streets; desperately trying to ignore the numbness that had settled into my limbs and my heart. The snow covered streets was the perfect environment for man’s greatest enemy:
Other people.
‘Hey blondie, do you want to come with me and warm up a little?’
‘……’
‘Are you daft, girl? I’m talking to you!’
‘I know, please leave me alone.’
‘That wasn’t a request brat. Come with me now!’
I turned and ran blindly through the snowy streets, however I only made it a few feet before he caught up to me and pulled me around to face him. He was one of the few men that I’ve met that was truly terrifying. His skin was yellowing from ill health, he stood easily a head taller than me. When I looked up at his face, he looked like the devil incarnate. His eyes were bloodshot and what teeth he had left were as black as coal.
I screamed as loud as I could before his hand clamped my mouth shut and shoved me into the alley wall. I kicked at his stomach futilely, achieving nothing. In a moment of desperation, I bit his hand as hard as I could. In response, he threw me to the ground. The feeling of snow soaking my clothes was the last thing I remember before falling unconscious.
Hello Unknown,
This time, I am truly sorry for how my actions have affected your life. All I truely ever wanted was to try and make a difference in this corrupt paradise called life. For a time, I feel like I made a significant difference to those who had nothing. But that was before I took the time to re-evaluate why I became the Angel. I had carried on with my heists for almost two years before I had even thought of checking in on those that I had robbed and those who I had benefited. Almost all of those I had tried to visit had since passed on, or were left completely unrecognisable from grief or from a newfound sense of gluttony. It was only at this time that I realised that my supposedly nobel motivation was really just me being angry at the unfairness at the world; and my solution for fixing this unjust world was to play god with innocent people’s lives.
Your family was my last heist before I realised the truth. Since then I have tried to follow you to try and save at least one person from my selfish acts of supposed kindness. This house is now yours, along with everything inside. There is a safe of money and jewels under the kitchen sink. This is the least I could do to ease my conscious and try to fix the damage I have caused.
For the last time,
Angel.
This was one of the two surprises that waited me when I awoke. The second was the broken body of an angel strung up in the tree next door.