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Cherub’s Kissmas

Cherub’s Kissmas
1-5-12

“Faustus, I’m dying,” he moans. He’s sprawled across the foot of the bed with a damp washcloth on his face.
“Cherub, you’re supernatural. You can’t die,” I respond from my desk.
“Yes I can, and I am! Faustus, I’m dying! Do something!” Then he does something—he heaves his washcloth at the back of my head, and it makes contact with a loud SPLAT!
“CHERUB!” I bellow and stand up so quickly my chair falls backwards. I peel the rag off the back of my neck and prepare to throw it back at him when I notice that he does, in fact, appear feverish.
His bottom lip protrudes pathetically, and he looks at me with sad, sorry eyes.
I sigh: “Alright, Cherub, what’s to be done about you?”
“Faustus, I’m dying,” he repeats again.
“No you’re not. You’re just sick…which is kind of weird, considering again that you’re supernatural. Does Tylenol work on evil cherubs? Do you know?” I feel his forehead with the back of my hand—he definitely has a fever. “How did this even happen to you?”
“I don’t knoooooooow!” he wails.
“Well, what have you been up to?”
“Kissmas.”
“Um, what? Don’t you mean Christmas?”
“No, I mean Kissmas. I’m an evil cherub, Faustus. I don’t celebrate Christmas. Sheesh! I figured you’d know that!”
“My apologies. Ok, Cherub, enlighten me: what’s Kissmas?”
“Le sigh, Faustus! ‘Tis only the most wonderful time of year. Instead of decorating trees and eating sugar cookies and spreading joy and stuff, you just kiss EVERYONE…and eat sugar cookies and spread joy and stuff, too, I suppose. Basically, it’s Christmas without the holly-jolly part.”
“Uh-huh,” I raise an eyebrow, and he scowls back at me.
“I don’t appreciate your judgment, Faustus.”
“I’m not judging you. I’m just wondering if maybe that’s how you got sick.”
“Impossible. Cherubs aren’t susceptible to mortal diseases,” he retorts. “Humans! Pah! They’re so fragile and gross!”
“…which is why you were kissing so many of them?”
“Shaddup.” He tries to sit up, seems to get dizzy, and collapses onto the bed again. “Help me, Faustus! Help me, please!”
“Lemme make you some tea,” I say and turn toward the doorway.
“Tea?! Tea won’t help me!”
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Make me better!” He elongates “better” into so many syllables I lose track. I toss the wet rag back to him, and he places it once again over his face and mumbles something incoherently.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“This is my funeral shroud. I’m dying.”
“Ok, and I’m going to the kitchen.”
Time, it seems, is of the essence. I nuke some chicken soup in the microwave as I boil water for tea. I can hear Cherub moaning from the bedroom, but I do my best to tune him out while I work. I grab a bottle of Tylenol from the shelf, dump two pills onto a napkin, and arrange them on a tray with the tea and the soup.
Cherub’s making gurgling sounds when I come back into the room, and for whatever reason, there are bubbles floating around in the air. He blindly jabs at them as they pass by.
“I don’t understand why you can’t just magic yourself back to good health,” I say as I set the tray down. “You magic just about everything else.”
When he removes the cloth from his face, his skin is covered in green polka dots like something out of a cartoon.
“Dying,” he mutters and begins to slurp at the soup.
I suppress a smile and right my chair so I can sit down again. “Make sure you don’t forget to take the pills, Cherub,” I say.
He rolls his eyes and pops them into his mouth. “These better not be poison.”
“Cherub, why would I poison you?”
“Because I’m evil.”
“But that’s why I adore you, Cherub. Also, I think you should keep the spots. They’re very distinguishing.”
He scowls again and gulps down the tea. “I’ma go to sleep now, Faustus. If I’m not better by the time I wake up, I’ll have to kill you.”
Before I can respond, he throws himself onto his side and begins to snore. This is one of the things I envy most about Cherub—never mind the magic powers, the immortality, the general carelessness for everything. If only I could get to sleep like that all the time!
I gently cover him with a blanket and carry the tray back into the kitchen. When I’m done with the dishes, I pour myself a cup of tea settle down at the table and begin to doze.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I’m awakened by a bubble popping on my nose.
“Faustus….” Cherub’s voice echoes eerily through the apartment. “Faustus….”
As my vision comes back into focus, I realize that the entire living room is full of green bubbles. Each one reflects an evilly grinning Cherub.
“What the hell, Cherub? Where are you?” I wave the nearest bubbles out of my face. One of them bursts with a loud farting noise, and Cherub begins to giggle.
“Faustus….” His voice echoes through the air again.
“God damn it, Cherub! What?!”
The bubbles suddenly all burst at once in a horrible cacophony of intestinal noises. Cherub materializes in midair in front of me, and he’s howling with laughter.
“It’s a Kissmas miracle!” he cries through giggles. “I’m not dying anymore!”
I roll my eyes. “Yup. God bless us, everyone.”

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