A hand clamps over my mouth. I try to scream, but the sound is muffled in the strangers palm. Struggling against them, I try to run.

They’re much bigger and stronger than me. Struggle is pointless. I’m like a styrofoam peanut in their fist.

This imaginary is so ludicrous it makes me laugh. Probably not the most intelligent move considering I’m about to be mugged or worse.

The figure pulls me into an alleyway and slams me against the wall. I try to squirm away, but heavy hands planted on my shoulders keep me tethered in place.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully. You don’t know me, but I know you.”

I jerk my gaze up to my attacker’s face. So this isn’t a random assault? Are they a stalker? At least I can die feeling special, flattered even; much better than just being a victim because I happened to walk home on Elm Street. I don’t recognize the face, though.

He speaks again, “I’ve been assigned to protect you.” A chuckle. “I guess you could call me your guardian angel.”

“Some guardian angel.” I mutter under my breath.

“What?”

“Aren’t you supposed to help me and stuff, NOT,” I raise my eyebrow pointedly. “Drag me into an alley like a criminal.”

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“I cannot believe I’m having this conversation right now.” I glare at him. “Would you let go of me?”

His hands drop off immediately and he shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry.”

I appraise him. He’s a big fellow, dressed in all black. Doesn’t exactly fit an angel’s profile.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a dress?”

“Excuse me?”

“A white robe or something. Isn’t that what angels wear?”

He blinks at me before dropping his face into his palm. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, sorry, is that just like a stereotype?”

He grabs my shoulders, shaking me. “It’s a metaphor!”