Stockholm, the ghost

Stockholm was a ghost, he lived near the west end of the continent where his soul rested, although he did manage to visit places in books and what not and pitied the poor fool on the television. By now he had been sick of all the human gods everyone ran around singing and promoting, he after all used to be an angel but he gave up that gig in the nick of time before the God had to send his armies to reap Earth of its harvest. So that was good he thought he no longer had to take away food from children, one less archangel to worry about, although he never really understood the hierarchy that humans portrayed in church, the vatican, high schools and other institutionalized places like that. So he was a happy ghost at that not having to worry about all that jazz. His life was simple and mirrored that of someone in retirement only without the smelly poop smell and the death. Oh yeah that shit he thought, sipping on some good chai reading the news papers. He saw all the angels the demons making front page. It had always been the same ones, them and their personas their vanity that came along with human nature, but you had to read carefully he was sure, because not everything could be blamed on God, nor the devil, he found that most people exhalted themselves when they did something “amazing” but in reality it was really shitty. Stockholm remembered back in The Grace Academy, a school type for angels in their “teens” as it was called, “teens” because they had to decide to be good or bad, or both. We came down to Earth every once in a while and messed with the adults, there was some kind of proverbial thing about being a ghost almost as if we wanted to fit in and it felt good