Lost

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Martha said. She was very much not sure, a rarity for the angel.

“Yup,” Donna said, yawning. “No problem, chief.”

“You know what the job involves,” Martha pressed.

“Oh, sure,” Donna said. “I read the briefing packet. He’s the guy that finds lost stuff. No big. I’ll probably spend my time looking up sets of car keys. ‘Sides, fella needs a break. Been doing it since, what, 1200?”

“1232,” Martha said. “Well, I hope you’re careful. St. Anthony’s charge as finder of lost things covers more than you might think.”

---

She reappeared back in the clouds some time later, shaken. “Not so easy, was it?” Martha said.

“Forty-seven,” Donna said. “Forty-seven sets of car keys, ninety-three loose coins, twenty-two driver’s licenses, one hundred and eleven various other assorted documents, four thousand eight hundred and fifty-five library books, innumerable pets, children of varying ages, and adults. I didn’t count the intangibles, the ones who lost their minds, their souls, their way, their livelihoods, their…”

Donna looked down past the clouds, her voice trailing away for a second. Then she resumed. “I wasn’t even sure how to classify the ones who lost their homes, their countries, their people, their families, or their futures. There’s wars down there, you know? A lot of them. A lot of fighting. All those people, all those souls lost……” She looked haunted for a moment, then gathered herself.

“How does he do it?”

“He keeps looking,” Martha said. “He keeps looking.”