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Lonely Angel Prologue



Life is very much what you make of it and I should know. To make things easy for everyone, my name is Elizabeth Jackson. Not Lizzy, Liz, or any other short version a bored minded soul might decide is the sport to engage in. My parents christened me, God rest their souls, Elizabeth, and that’s what I remain today. I have burnt copper colored hair worn shoulder length and often hanging in a haphazardly tied ponytail. I have a fair complexion, with sky blue eyes. My nose is somewhat bulbous but not obnoxious, unless I want it to be when I poke my nose into other people’s affairs. A trait that unfortunately isn’t always acceptable to some but eminently useful to me. I’m five feet six with a regular figure, neither slim nor obese. If I indulge in chocolate, which is something I do frequently when things get tough, it decrees I add to my waist. However, my profession means that I can easily vacate the gaining weight in a matter of moments.


This, of course, brings me to what I do for a living. I’m an Angel.


Hey, I heard the laughter and the comment “There’s another kooky number who needs to get a life.”


Life, my friend, is exactly what I’d love to have. Alas, a long time ago, 1889 to be precise, my life ended. Today, tomorrow, the past, the future, and all in between has no merit for me. What is, is. End of story.


That means of course, I’m a boring old fart with an obnoxious attitude and nothing to redeem myself. That in itself might turn you off to continue reading except for one small item—maybe it’s YOU, I’ve been sent to help, which therefore begs the question—dare you walk away, better yet would you dare to ask the question? 


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