4 posts tagged “death”

so, i've decided to call a certain collection of stories "The Forever-Man", since they're all centered around my lovely Al, who, unfortunately for him, is immortal. Though, this one doesn't exactly have him in it.

and i'm playing around with names for certain characters.

as always, enjoy.

NOTE: these sort of take place AFTER all of the major action and plot type of stuff.

-----------------------------------

"No... No no no no!" he screamed. "NO!" It was that darkness, that empty place between realms to which he had returned once again. The burning in his flesh was not real, insofar as he knew that his body was only thoughts manifested. Feelings and emotions brought into a familiar illusion so that his sanity may remain intact, for a time.

Quickly, he recalled his final moments before opening his eyes to the darkness of Purgatory once again. He could still feel those hellfire limbs holding him, and see those dimmed green eyes staring down at him in confusion and uncertainty. And the tears...

And the joy. But that joy he felt so strongly inside his heart, burning to his very core was gone now. Replaced with comfort, and a faint sound. Distant, irregular, and somehow peaceful. A heartbeat unlike any other, and after some time, the length of which he was not privy to know, he recognized it to be that of the green-eyed Forever Man.

"He is here."

He turned towards the voice, his ears perked up as he strained to listen again.

"You can sense him, in your own fashion. In mine I can smell whisky in the air. Such a... unique human creation."

He turned a circle, trying to find the source of such a soft, gentle voice. "Where are you?"

"I am everywhere."

"Show yourself!" he demanded, clenching his fists as the heartbeat, that once distant drumming in his thoughts grew stronger, faster.

There was a chuckle. "Calm yourself, child," the voice said in a soothing tone. And upon hearing it, the blue-eyed soul did begin to calm. And the heartbeat began to fade back into a steady hum in the back of his thoughts. It did not dissapear, but remained as a gentle lullabye.

"I am Azrael."

He felt a pull, a panic in his heart. Such a simple statement, a mere name, set into him an instinctual fear. He felt a chill throughout his being, and came to realize a hand was touching him. Clammy, cold. Cold as...

"Yes. And you know why I have come, Aaron."

"That is not my name," he said boldly. "I despise it, just as I despise-"

"God, for having punished you so unjustly."

"Stop doing that!"

He could hear the smile in the voice of Azrael. "I apologize. I do not mean to offend, child. It is merely a... what is that word you mortals are so fond of using? Personality trait? Habit?.... No. Ah, yes. Quirk. I am quite fond of that one myself." He chuckled, and drew his hand away.

The warmth that followed caught the mortal soul by suprise. As he grew accustomed to the feeling once again, he chewed his lip, a nervous tick he supposed. An involuntary response when he would fall into deep thought. Which life had it been when he had last done such a thing?... It was so long ago. It was hazy at best... He spoke, knowing the other already knew his mind, and had read it like an open book.

"You can take me, but you can't have him. Not after what you bastards have put him through."

He could hear Azrael's voice as he spoke quietly to himself. The words he did not understand, but the tone spoke for the meaning well enough.

"I've been prepared for this too many times. Go ahead and take me. I'm ready. I'm done. Just leave him to try again, new and-"

"I have an idea," Azrael interrupted. "If you are up for it."

Once more he felt that cold chill. This time, he braced himself for the quickness with which it spread. He focused on its path, comitting to memory the places where Death would always strike first. "Up for what?" he asked, unable to stop himself from saying them. Were those his words? Or did they belong to the ever growing hellfire burning in the place where he knew his heart should rightly be, if in this place he could claim to have one.

"I am tired of talking to a shadow," Azrael said suddenly. His voice became soft once more as those words which seemed nonsensical to the mortal's ears were spoken.

It was faint, the light. He could not pin down from which direction it had crept upon them from. But he was grateful for such a light in this place of eternal darkness. This waiting room of the damned.

His eyes caught movement, and followed it to see an arm. Fragile, yet he knew it to be quite strong despite. That arm spanned the distance between the hand caressing his own cheek and the lean figure standing in front of him. Such wild hair, and a face that smiled down at him.

He knew that smile. And somehow, he believed, such a smile was shared amongst the hosts of the divine. He had seen it coupled not with sombre grey eyes which looked upon him now, but rather with eyes that shined brilliantly with laughter and excitement; sparkling emerald gems from a face far more handsome than that which belonged to the angel Azrael.

At least, this mortal soul believed it to be far more handsome.

That smile was disarming. Unexpected. And oh so mischevious.

"I was never here," Azrael said carefully.

"What?"

"Simply stated, child," he said. "The angel of death never came to collect you, nor the one you carry inside your heart."

"Can you do that?"

He nodded, his voice taking on a false innocence. "There were so many deaths in that last battle. I may have.... overlooked a few by accident. Working with numbers that large, it can happen." He laughed, and it was a lighthearted sound. "And it's not my fault if those few happen to be a certain four that can't stay out of trouble."

Tyler stared up at him, and could only blink in confusion.

And Azrael pulled his hand away, allowing the warmth within the one he called child to spread throughout once more. "What?" he asked, his angelic voice filled with so very human sarcasm. "You honestly expected me to send the two of you off alone? Preposterous! Where would be the fun in that for me? Besides, if you want that happy ending, you need to do a little something in return."

"Oh no," he replied, shaking his head and holding up his hands to stress his desire to refuse. "I had to sit back and watch the last time someone made a deal with creatures like you. No way. Not going to do it. I have absolutely no intention of living forever, thank you."

"That isn't what I meant," Azrael snapped, slightly offended. But only slightly. He did understand the other's reluctance. "If my records are correct... and they always are, despite the few times I'll accidentally-on purpose overlook little indiscretions, there are two pages of the book in desperate need of repair and revision."

He tried to keep his mouth shut. He tried to understand the subtlties of what Azrael was proposing. However, he found he could not control his mouth and voice, and for a second time words that were not his own erupted forth before considerations could be made. "Where are you going with this, jackass?" Immediately, he clamped a hand over his mouth, and stopped the diarreah of words from going further. After a few moments, and a rather amused chuckle from the angel of death, he sighed. "Sorry. I don't understand what's going on. Something-"

"It appears someone cannot wait his turn to speak."

"Sorry," he repeated.

"Not you," Azrael said, a slender finger prodded his chest, over where his heart should rightly be. Where the warmth had grown and settled into a comfortable, disjointed pulsing sensation. "Him. Please, do try to keep him from forcing you to say stupid things. It is most unbecomming of you."

And Tyler smiled quietly to himself, reaching up to hold his hand against his chest fondly. "I... We'll do it, that is, as long as it does not turn into another of your divine scavenger hunts."

Azrael nodded and held up a hair. "On my honor, you won't have to go hunting for them. They will, in fact, find their own ways to you. Where you will look after them until Raz has finished making the apropriate changes."

 -----------------------------------------------------------

 "Alejandro," he said, sitting up in the bed. "We should move in together."
 "What?"
 "You've been here more than you've been at your own place. It makes

sense."
 "But what about-"
 Kallen cut him off with a laugh. "Don't start. You know I'm right."
 "I don't think we're ready for that."
 "You can't be serious. We've known each other since the school yard days.

And honestly, how often are you actually at your own appartment in any given month?"
 "Well-"
 "And how do you expect to raise up Damien when you're not home half the

time?"
 "My mom helps."
 "You mean your mom is doing your job for you." Kallen shook his head,

throwing back the covers and climbing out of the bed. "You and Damien are moving in

with me and Erick. And you're not going to argue. Besides, it'll be good for the boys to

have someone to play with, and a nice, stable family enviroment."
 Alejandro sighed, nodding. He couldn't argue with Kal. After all, the man

was brutally honest. He pulled the blankets up further, wrapping it around himself to

keep warm in his lover's absence. "Kal, what will I do for work?"
 "You've always wanted to work in a museum, right?" he replied, asking as

he buttoned up his uniform shirt. "You have a doctorate in paleoanthropology. And

you're squandering it away working as a secretary in a... what's that place do again?...."

Kallen turned his head to smile at him. "Ah! That critter cloning place, where they make

the ones we can eat. Never did quite understand that..." It was a goofy, awkward smile,

almost as if it didn't quite belong on his face. "I'll put in a good word for you with the

curator when I see him."
 "Kal, really, you don't have to."
 He strapped on his belt, checking to make sure his flashlight and mace were

in their compartments. "No, but I want to. You deserve it, and it's what you've always

wanted since we were kids." He laughed, going back to the bed to lean in and kiss his

cheek. "When I get back, you'd better be home with Damien and packing your things."
 He felt his face burning, and his mouth a little dry. "This is just so much so

fast. I mean, are you sure? There's barely enough space for you and Erick here. I don't

want to-"
 The taller blond laughed. "I told you, don't start. And stop worrying about

everything."
 "Well excuse me if I can't be as carefree as you are. My brain is fully

functional."
 "Hey!" he laughed, ruffling his lover's hair before stealing another kiss. "You

can mock my off-key singing, and even my creepy late-night muffin baking binges. But

never mock my brain." He smiled that awkward smile again. "It can't understand the

subtle bits."

so i'm sitting here, working up the plot of my project, angelican scriptures, when i decide i must have a backstory (which i can refer back to when i need to remember, [re]introduce certain elements of the bad blood between the angels and demons) for it. so, here are some dribbles from two short stories i like to call 10,001 - the story of Raziel's book, why/how the pages were scattered, and the creation of the most important page if Raziel's book; and "The Songs of Haniel" - the story of Sheol and Haniel as the war in heaven is taking place. The Songs of Haniel will include the odd love triangle between Haniel, Sheol, and the archangel Michael.

and as always! enjoy.....

 

so, here's some dribbles from 10,001 first

 As the earth closed in above the generals of the Legion, Haniel looked

upon them and he wept. Azrael put an arm around him, and whispered in his ear.
 "I have only one song left in me," he said, sobbing into Azrael's

shoulder as he lost sight of his beloved. "And I fear if I share it, I shall never sing

again."
--------------------------------------------
 "It must be destroyed," Michael said. "Within those pages lies the

secrets of Heaven. If the traitors were to get their hands on it..."
 "I cannot destroy this book, Michael."
 He drew his sword, the flames shot up along the holy steel. "Then I

shall destroy it for you!"
 "Wait!" Haniel cried. "I... have another solution," he said.
 "We cannot risk-"
 "I know," he said. "But there is another way. Michael, you wish to

destroy the sacred texts. But doing so will condemn mankind to a state of

perpetual decay. With no hope of ascending to Heaven as was Our Father's wish

upon their creation."
 He looked to Raziel and sighed. "Yet, Michael has a point. We cannot

allow such a power to fall into the wrong hands. The knowledge contained

between those covers can and will give the one who reads it the power to

overthrow this paradise, indeed, the entirity of God's Creation."
 "What do you suggest, then, Singer?" Michael muttered under his

breath.
 "We separate the pages from the book, and send the bulk of them to

Earth."
 "Are you mad?!" Michael cried. "That would place them into the hands

of the enemy!"
 Azrael came forward, and his action silenced the other three. "It is the

only option we have. The book itself cannot be destroyed. The pages cannot be

destroyed. However, we can scatter them, as Haniel suggests. Across the Earth.

Hide them from the enemy."
 "No. If Lucifer," he said, spitting on the ground as he said the name.

"finds them all-"
 "Then we hold some back. Keep them with us so that the book may

never again be whole. Each of us will take a page of the book, and we will keep it

safe. That way, if the Fallen collect the pages, they will not be able to use them

against us. The book's power lies in unity. When it is whole, it is most potent."
 Raziel thought on this, his fingers tapping the front cover of his work.

"This, we will do... However, I must think on this more before I make the final

decision."
 Michael reluctantly agreed, knowing he was outnumbered three to one.

Sheathing his sword, he nodded. "Alright. But do not waste time, brother. For

even now, those scum plot their rise, and we must not linger on this too long."
-----------------------------------
 "Brother," Azrael said as Haniel and Michael departed. "Might I have a

word, between the two of us?"
 He nodded, picking up his volume. "Walk with me, brother, and I will

hear what you have to say."
 Wrapping his cloak tighter about him, Azrael nodded. He fell into step

beside his fellow Archangel. "There is one who has read the book other than we

four."
 "Name him. I will seek him out."
 "Seek him out, you must not do."
 "Why?"
 "He has Fallen."
 "Then the enemy knows already the power of this book."
 "Yes. And no matter what you decide to do, they will seek its power."
 "Yet you believe what Haniel has suggested is the best course of

action."
 He nodded. "I do."
 "How long have you kept this secret, brother?"
 "Long enough. I have told no other, save Haniel."
 "Why do you tell me now?"
 "Our little brother has one song left in his heart to sing, and then he can

sing no more. He will clip his wings, and he will descend to Earth. His soul weeps

for the Fallen, and the burden he cannot bear."
 "You propose that we scatter the book, and when he descends, he will

protect it from them? His power is strong, yes. But he is no match-"
 "The one who read the book was Haniel's lover, the Guardian Angel

Sheol."
 Raziel recoiled at the name, stopping in his steps. "Do not speak such a

vile name to me."
 "I caught him, the day he read it. He is unlike the others of the Legion.

Despite what he has done, there is something inside him sleeping, waiting. A

dormant power."
 "And how have you come to this knowledge?"
 "I am unable to see into others of our kind, but I saw into him. He is

unlike any other among both Heaven and Hell. I believe this is because of the

book. Haniel requested that I speak with him before he joined the side of the

enemy. I implored him to think about what he was doing. Do you wish to hear

what he told me?"
 Raziel nodded, beginning his walk once more. He hugged his work

tight against his chest.
 "He said to me in most sincerity that all Our Father's creatures, Angel

and Human, are equal. We are immortal, but it is the humans that are allowed to

experience things we cannot. That despite our strength and power, we are like

them in that we long for what we cannot have. We wish to take part of those

experiences the humans treasure, and they long to be one with the Creator as we

are."
 "Strange," Raziel said, turning to Azrael. "And you believe he came to

this conclusion because of my book?"
 He shook his head. "No. Not entirely. But your book opened his eyes

for the first time to what so many among us have not seen. Lucifer, for all of his

faults, was right that he should not be forced to kneel to man. However, he was

wrong in the assumption that Our Father favors them more than his first children."
 "You're beginning to sound like the Fallen. If Michael-"
 "Michael knows my thoughts. He does not agree, but Michael is rash.

He sees only what he wishes to see and nothing else." He sighed. "But Sheol did

not join the enemy for greed nor power as all the others. He believed that what he

was doing was right and that his purpose was just. These are concepts beyond the

comprehension of our kind other than those of the highest dominions. That a mere

guardian angel should know of them, nay, understand them as we do is simply

remarkable."
 Raziel only nodded, taking in his brother's words as they walked. At

last, they came upon a garden beside a cool stream. Raziel sat down in the soft

grass and opened his book to the last page.
 Azrael joined him, taking off his cloak and spreading it out before

sitting upon it. He lay his scythe beside him and pulled his knees up, resting his

chin on them. "You have often remarked that the book has a will of its own.

Perhaps it is fate that the one who has read it now is in league with the enemy."
 "I do not feel as optimistic as you do. This is a difficult decision."
 "We have read the book, and we understand what is written. But even

you cannot deny that we cannot fully comprehend its power. But the book has

chosen Sheol for a reason. I believe that if we go through with Haniel's

suggestion, we will see that reason play out."
 "And what then? If the pages were used for darkness, all of the wonder

and beauty surrounding us will vanish. Lucifer will rise and-"
 "Only Our Father knows what lies ahead. And he will not divulge his

master plan for all of us to anyone, even Metatron. Give us each a page of the

book, and scatter the remaining as Haniel sings his final song. Hide them in any

manner you see fit. I have seen into Sheol's eyes, and I have seen what lies ahead

of him. It is a long and perilous road. He is not wicked. He is honest and loyal. It

is in him, now, we must have faith. For the sins he has comitted against Heaven,

he must atone. But in order for him to find his way, the book must guide him. It is

what has shaped him into the creature he is now. He has read the book. He

understands it, and he comprehends it. But until now, he has lacked the ability to

use that knowledge he has gained."
 "You tread dangerous ground, Azrael. Sheol is one of the Fallen now.

You speak of his honesty. He has none. You speak of his loyalty, yet he is loyal

only to himself and no other. He is a wicked, vile creature. He has become a

general of the Legion, and Lucifer's favorite. With such power behind him..."
 Raziel sighed, closing his book again and folding his hands on top of it.

"I am afraid you speak of hope when there is none."
 "Then write a new page. One Sheol has not yet read. Use this time, this

situation, as your inspiration. Send it with the others into the world. If what I

speak is truth, then you will have your answer."
 "And what if your words are only a false hope?"
 "Then I will take it upon myself to destroy your work and suffer the

Lord's wrath." He placed a hand on Raziel's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

"Knowing Lucifer's logic, he will send his minions to Earth at the first opportunity.

It is the hearts and minds of men that have become the battle ground now. Surely,

Sheol's natural curiosity will lead him there. He is bound to the book, and in an

earthly form, he will be drawn to the pages. And in that form, he will be able to do

what we cannot. I have faith that he will do what is right."
 "Then make space in your cloak to carry twice as much, my brother.

For my faith will never fall on such traitorous shoulders."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

and now, the dribbles from The Songs of Haniel

 "Sheol, you can't do this. Lucifer-"
 "I must. If I do not, then who? Why are they better than us, when we

were both created by the same power? They are weak, and we are strong. Yet

they bow to no one, not even the Creator." He held Haniel's face between his

hands, staring deeply into his eyes with all of the sincerity he could muster.
 It was Haniel who looked away, closing his eyes to his lover. "Sheol, to

defy the word of our Father... Lucifer does not want equality. He wants only to

conquor. He wants only more power and control. Why can you not see this?"
 "We have all chosen to fight for our own reasons, love. I care not the

wants of Lucifer and his companions. I know what I do is right. And if I must

forsake the Creator in order to bring about change, then I will do it."
 Haniel pushed him away, covering his face in his hands as he cried.

"You talk of such vile, evil things. You have strayed where I cannot go. What is it

I am to do now, Sheol? Why must you fight at all?"
 "Love," he said. "I don't want anything more from you than you have

already freely given. Your heart you have given when I did not ask. Your grace

you have given, when I have been undeserving. And now, I stand here with you in

the Garden, and I ask nothing from you save that you sing. Through sorrow,

through joy. Sing so loudly and so wonderfully that you make the universe itself

quake with the power of your song."
-------------------------------------------------
 "What are you called?" he asked, lowering himself down to the angel.
 "I am the Guardian Sheol," he replied. "And you are the Beast from the

Deep."
 He nodded. "I was. But in the course of this war, I have shed my slave

name."
 "What then, may I call you now, general?"
 "Leviathan," he replied. "Give me your sword."
 Sheol looked to the broken blade in his hand, staring at it a long

moment before he offered it to him.
 "This was a mighty blade. How many have you cut down with it, may I

ask?"
 "I do not know, sir," he replied. "But I fear it will slay no more."
 "Gather those who still live. If they be Legion, you are to command

them. If they be Host..."
 "Yes sir," he said. "But what of my sword?"
 "You will not be needing it any longer."
----------------------------------------------------
 "Sir, this is the Guardian I told you about."
 "Sheol, come forward."
 He was hessitant, glancing at Leviathan by his side. The creature

nodded to him, encouraging him on.
 Sheol went to the general's throne, but unlike the others, he did not

kneel. Satan glared at him, and Sheol did not flinch. His face was calm, his hand

resting on the pommel of his sword, yet there was no hostility in him.
 "You will kneel before the Morning Star," he snapped angrily.
 "I have never knelt to anyone," he snapped back, his voice even. "And

I will not begin the habit now."
 "You insolent-" Satan began, but Lucifer raised his hand. The angel

was instantly silenced.
 "Sheol, I have heard many things about you. You were the youngest of

your order, were you not?"
 "I was," he said, looking the general in the eye.
 "And I understand that when Leviathan called for a retreat, you

remained behind to ensure a clear escape."
 He nodded. "There was no other logical option. If someone did not

distract the Host, many more Legion soldiers would have been lost on the field

that day."
 Lucifer was silent, beckoning Leviathan to him. When the other

aproached the throne, he knelt beside it as the general whispered in his ear. The

beast nodded before Lucifer leaned to his other side, to speak quietly to Satan. He

shook his head.
 "No."
 "You question my decision?" Lucifer asked coyly."
 "He is young and rash. He survived by luck alone. Guardian Angels are

not fighters. They are watchers. Meddling where they do not belong."
 Sheol was silent, carefully examining each of the men while standing

there before them. As the trio bickered, he gave a slight cough to interrupt. "Sirs, I

know not what matters concern you, but I am needed elsewhere. My men are

hungry and in need of attention. I fear if I do not replenish their numbers soon,

our next battle may be our last."
 "Go," Lucifer said, waving him on despite Satan's protests. "You have

your duty to your soldiers. What we discuss now is mere pebbles beneath the

feet."
 "Thank you, sir," he said, turning on his heel without another thought.
 "Sheol," Lucifer called as the angel began to walk away. He stopped in

his tracks, half turning to look back at them.
 "Yes?"
 "Stop by the smithie after you have seen to your men. You need a new

sword and armor more befitting a lieutenant of your calibar."
 "Thank you," he replied before leaving the trio bickering in the

chamber.
-------------------------------------------
 "What are you doing here?" Haniel hissed. "The others are saying you

have slain many of our brothers."
 Sheol stepped out of the shadows. "Do you believe them?"
 "What have you become? You are not the same as when I knew you."
 "War has changed me," he said. "But I have come for you, as I

promised so long ago."
 Haniel threw himself down upon the bank. "If I am seen with you-"
 "You do believe what they are saying about me, then."
 "I do not know what to believe. You were created to watch, to love.

Yet..."
 Sheol crouched beside him, gently cupping his face with his hand. "It is

true," he said. "I have slain many of our kind. But I have spared so many more. I

do not fight with intent to kill. But those who do not understand as we do, I must

show them the flaws in their logic."
 Haniel wept, turning away from him. "I am afraid for you," he said.

"You must go. You must not return. Michael has been turning over every stone

and delving into every mountain to find traitors of the Host. He will not suffer a

member of the Legion in the Heavens."
 "Are you afraid for me, or of me?" Sheol said, examining his lover's

body closely for any sign or tell. "I would never harm you. Come with me, and let

me show you what we have accomplished."
 "No," he said, choking back his tears. "I cannot. You have become a

stranger to me, Sheol. You are not the tender man I once loved. There is nothing

left in you now but anger and hate."
 "Haniel-"
 "Do not say my name," he snapped bitterly, rising to his feet and

spitting on his face. "You are not worthy to speak of my name, nor are you

welcome here any longer!"
 "You do not mean that," Sheol said, wiping his face with his sleeve as

he stood.
 "Leave now, or I will summon the Host."
--------------------------------------------
 His heart broken, Sheol became wild. He drove his soldiers like a slave

driver, and threw himself into each battle as if it would be his last. His anger

consumed him, but the loss he suffered overshadowed all else.
 He cast aside his former name, and when Lucifer gave him the wings of

a Seraphim, he named himself Belial. For the lust he carried for battle was unlike

any other, and the craving for the song of war was ravenous.

this is sorta far-futurish for my Al character. i think i might want to work this into the Angelican Scriptures project when i pick it back up from the dusty box i've shoved it in. it's dark, it's got foul language, and murder.

enjoy.

note: just a few quick explanations - Al is host to the entity known as Belial, a demon prince of Hell, who in my story is the fallen angel Sheol from the War in Heaven, and was one of Lucifer's 3 chief generals. since he is a Fallen, he is weakened when exposed to things that hold Holy essence, those born of Heaven (angels and other heavenly creatures), or is on Holy Ground (save for most cemetaries). He is on a path of redemption, trying to earn his way back into Heaven for his wrongdoings against God. that is how he is able to muster the strength to break free.

--------------------------------------------

 "You know there's only one place she can go, Alabaster."
 "Motherfucker! Let her go! She's got nothing to do with this!" he

shouted, struggling against his bonds. But he was so weak... though simple chains

they were, he could not break them. Not in this place. Not in the presence of what

was Holy.
 "She has everything to do with this!" he snapped back angrily. "Angel

and Fallen cannot co-exist. This... THING is an abomination!"
 Angrily, Al tried his bonds again, knowing he did not have the strength

in such a holy place to free himself. His teeth gnashed at the air as he roared in his

rage. His green eyes burning with such deep rooted anger, such darkness that he

seemed a caged beast.
 "Ah..." the priest said, tugging the woman by her hair and forcing her

forward just out of his reach. "Look at him, witch. Look at him and see your

loving father for what he truly is. A monster."
 She stared at her father. Watching him in his madness. She felt the cool

trickle down her cheeks, and tasted the salty sweetness of her tears on her lips.

But she did not fear him. The monster that he was, she did not avert her gaze.

And then, she saw it. The small spark in his eyes that was the man she grew up

with. The man who loved her, who gave her everything she had ever wanted and

more.
 "Be still, Alabaster, or the woman will die."
 Al looked at his daughter, starting to settle against the wall like a tamed

animal. "Please," he said at last, his voice slightly hoarse. "Please. Let her go. It's

me you want. Let her go, and I swear to you, you'll never hear about her again.

She'll do no wrong. You have my word."
 "Your word?... Your word?" he said, his voice thick with amusement

and mockery. "Your word doesn't amount to anything. You lie, you cheat, you

steal and you kill. Your WORD has no value, beast."
 And she smiled then. Her father saw it, and his eyes pleaded with her.

Silently begging her to be still. Not to do anything she might regret.
 Subtly, she shook her head and her vibrant emerald eyes glanced

towards one of the pews. The one where the priest had laid his briefcase of

torturous toys.
 Al's eyes grew wide as his daughter put all her weight into her shoulder,

shouting as the priest pulled back on her hair when she hit him. Stunned he

released her, and she made a play for the briefcase. Her fingers fumbling with the

latches a moment. She tried to pry it open once they were undone, but was

stopped by a combination lock embedded into the leather.
 "No!" Al screamed, unable to stop himself from struggling once again

as the priest took a handful of her hair, pulling her back hard to press the nozzle

of his gun against her temple.
 She gasped as she was pulled upright and dragged up the platform to

the pulpit. She struggled against him the whole way, her nails clawing at his arm, at

his hand, trying to force him to release her.
 But his conviction was strong, only serving to fortify his crazed belief.

He pushed her with such force against the altar that it knocked the breath out of

her.
 Alabaster screamed pulling as hard as he could against his chains. The

steel shakles bit into his flesh, but he didn't care as the hot blood began to slither

down his hands. He would gladly rip his own hands off, it only it would make the

deranged priest stop, make him leave his daughter alone.
 The woman looked up, gathering as much saliva as she could, spitting

upwards into his face.
 "You bitch!" he shouted, pistol whipping her before taking a step back

and cocking his gun.
 She stared up into the nozzle of the pistol defiantly, as if daring him to

shoot her. He was sweating, and she could see it in his eyes, the fight between

sanity and madness. And she laughed.
 His hand shook, and his finger slipped. The trigger pulled and the

laughing was cut off. Gray-blonde hair and chunks of flesh splattered across the

altar. Blood splattered up into his face. He wiped furiously at it and turned as the

chained man wailed angrily.
 The bolts holding the steel plates to the wall started to strip from the

wall. Muscles pulled tight as the chains began to sag, legs bracing against the floor

for leverage, for support.
 The grinding of his teeth was audible enough that the priest started to

back away. His heart pounding as he watched the man rip his way from the wall.
 He cocked his pistol again, shooting wildly at the monster barrelling

towards him. Each shot that hit him only made him more enraged, more beastly as

he closed the distance quickly between them.
 The priest turned to run, screaming in fear as a hand reached out to

grab him by the back of his head and pull him backwards. A chain wrapped

around his throat tight as he was dragged, still kicking to where the woman's body

now lay, still warm, still bleeding from the remnants of her skull.
 He clawed at his neck, trying desperately to pull it away, gasping for

breath as he was forced to look on what he had done.
 "You call her an abomination," he hissed in the priest's ear. "You call

me a monster."
 He licked the priest's ear after he spoke, pulling the chain tighter, but

not enough to snap his neck. Not yet. "If I am a monster, what does that make

you in the eyes of your God? There is only one place murderers go, priest."
 His eyes grew wide as he was pulled once more, slammed against the

floor beside the dead woman, beside this demon's daughter. As he looked up into

the eyes of the man who was killing him, he didn't see the joy and the madness he

had expected to see. Instead, he saw the raw pain inside him and knew then 

who this man was.
 His last thought before he felt his neck snap was cast in despair and

fear. Oh God... I didn't know... I didn't know...

 "It's a week and a half..."
 "At least he's finally out of my hair," he said, turning his face to him

despite not being able to see him. Sarcasm hidden behind that injured mossy

stare.
 He felt numb. The world just felt... wrong. He knew it would pass. It

always did. But it didn't change the fact that one of his best friends, hell, one of

his very few friends, was not gone. Not even quite thirty.
 He felt dead inside. Cold, alone.
 He undid his tie. He was miserable.
 He should have been there. He should have made his sister pick up the

boys.
 He should have called.
 "Hey."
 He looked down, seeing that middle aged hand on his arm. When had

he sat down? For that matter, when had he taken off his jacket?
 "Go lay down for a while. You've been runnin non stop. How are you

supposed to take care of my ass when you're halfway in the grave yourself."
 His words were sarcastic, trying to be humerous in a morbid manner.
 But the tone wasn't what mattered to him right now. It was the intent.

What was left unspoken that was important.
 "Fuck me."
 "What?"
 "I said fuck me."
 "You're out of your mind with grief. You're not thinkin straight."
 The hand was withdrawn, but he caught the wrist.
 "It's not your fault."
 A small struggle at first, and then, no more pulling.
 A simple gesture. A small understanding.
 To not be alone. To be held. To find some form of comfort.
 It's not what he wanted. But it was what he needed.
 Words were left unspoken as lips were otherwise occupied. There was

no pulling away when he crawled into the blind man's lap.
 Thoughts became scattered. The outside world left behind for just a

little while.
 In that brief time, feeling like little more than white trash, his mind left

the morbid thoughts of Death and loss.
 For just that little while...
 He felt more alive than he had for the last week and a half.
 But as he lay on the couch, the middle aged man slipping into post

coital slumber, Al stared up at the ceiling just as numb as he had been a week and

a half ago.