Chapter 4. Some of it.

I'm hoping people don't mind that I'm tossing them unedited stuff. Anyways, Enjoy!

Zach : April 8^th, 2010

The sound of wings buffeting, swords clashing, the smell of flame, the taste of sulfur, the bright flares of intense powers at work pummeled his senses, overwhelming his confused thoughts.

I’m dreaming again, Zach thought to himself as he tried to get his bearings. Overhead, winged creatures made of shadow flung themselves at angels wearing glittering golden plated armor from wing to toe. The sky was a mix of gray and red, dirtying the sun’s rays that attempted to penetrate the chaos. It’s always the same dream.

Ahead of him, the battle raged. Hundreds of angels on the other side, all wearing the same glittering armor, doing battle with the shadowy legion that stood in front of him. Flames erupted from the ground on both sides, magma shooting into the air, spraying both forces with molten earth, as if the earth itself was angry at what was happening on its fragile skin. Bolts of lightning erupted from the sky, flashing brilliant hues of unnatural color as they splashed into the armies.

Lodged in the narrow valley between towering peaks, each force had little room for maneuvering. Flanking was not an option and neither was going around the mountains that went on for hundreds of miles.

The only way any side would win was by brute force, to push the other into retreat, and crush the other force into submission.

His forces had been pushed back into the long gorge. His army needed this victory. Too long had he met one devastating defeat after another demoralizing defeat. He needed to win this one, or it was all over.

He looked down at himself, admiring the dull gray plate armor that was forged in such a way as to be a mockery to the opposite side’s glittering golden abomination they called protection. He reflexively reached for the sword at his waist, placing his hands around the softened leather hilt, comforted by its cold feel.

To his right stood his right-hand, his brother. He wore the simplest of armor, preferring loose, flowing crimson robes. He had always marveled at how his brother controlled the elements, moving in a rhythmic flowing pattern as he weaved destructive patterns into the air. He suspected his brother wore the robes for dramatic effect, as it seemed to enhance the swirling and patterns he created from thin air.

The battle was not going his way. A section of golden angels had managed to form a wedge deep into his forces’ holding line. His side was losing the aerial battle as well, judging by the increasing number of angels landing to join the battle on the ground. The inevitable appeared more likely as his forces continued to lose ground. He looked at his brother, who sadly nodded, knowing the question before it was even asked.

He sighed, lifted the brass horn to his lips, and blasted two notes that ordered the retreat. Immediately they turned and began making their way opposite of the battle, looking to escape while they had time.

I don’t escape, he thought to himself. The golden cherubs manage to force their way through the lines, led on by their glorious leader.

“I have seen this too many times to count,” he whispered to himself. To his surprise, his brother turned to him, his dark eyes flaring with intensity.

“You were always too brash,” his brother sadly whispered back. “You didn’t heed my warning that when God gets pissed, his wrath towers over anything you can possibly imagine. We both paid an awful price for our betrayal that day.”

An alarm went off in his mind. This had never happened before, in any of the previous dreams. His brother never talked in any of the previous dreams. Panic gripped his chest. This should not be happening.

“Why are you talking?” he shakily queried. “You have never talked before. Is this a different dream?” His brother laughed.

“I have these same ‘dreams’ as well, but they are not dreams as you think they are. They are memories. You are remembering.”

“That’s not possible. I-“

“You are not what you think you are,” his brother softly said as he stepped close. “The real dream you are in is the other life you lead.” His brother reached up and kissed his forehead. “I will find you again, and soon we will be reunited. Now, you must wake up before His forces kill you.”

With that, his brother turned around and walked away, leaving Zach befuddled.

And nervous. Very, very nervous.

The sound of church bells interrupted the dream as his alarm welcomed him back to reality. Zach groggily swung out of his bed and turned off the gratingly annoying alarm.

“7 am is far too damn early,” he said to himself as he rubbed the sleep from his amber eyes and scratched his hairless chest as he meandered over to his bathroom. After relieving himself, he came back into the rest of his studio apartment, greeted by his black tabby cat meowing for breakfast.

“Morning Jericho,” Zach smiled as he picked up his purring cat, scratching under its chin before setting it down. He picked up his stereo remote, turned it to news radio and headed towards his small kitchen to make coffee and prepare Jericho’s breakfast of choice.

“-no llamas were harmed, despite the horrendous fire,” the reporter on the radio spouted. “In International news, isolated and unidentified reports coming out of Australia-“

Zach ground the fresh coffee with one hand as he scooped some dry cat food into Jericho’s bow, washing out the stereo for a few seconds.

“-Prime Minister issued a strong warning against any such actions, even as the newcomer, whose name we have not discovered yet despite our best efforts, continues to peacefully unite villages and cities behind his banner. As I had mentioned, reports are sketchy at best-“

Zach walked over to his bathroom again and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to get hot.

“The dangerous political situation threatens to bring down the peace and prosperity Australia has had for so many years. The shock of it all is how quickly it has occurred. Keep your dial here, on 580 Vegas News for all updates as they happen. On other news, President Obama held a rally in support of his plan to-“

Zach hopped into the tiny shower. When he got done cleaning himself, the news was still rattling on about President Obama’s struggling poll numbers. Talking heads for both parties were yammering on in their pretentious ways about how they were right, and their opponent was dead wrong. Zach had always wondered if it were better to have political pundits duel it out in a gladiator’s arena. The thought of Sean Hannity wearing gladiator armor and holding a gigantic 2-handed axe, facing off against Keith Olbermann, who sported his own armor and wielding a long spear, to fight to the death brought a smile to Zach’s unblemished, sharply angled face as he dried his short black hair and put his work clothes on his lightly tanned, scrawny and scraggy frame.

Zach had two jobs: His first job was the day shift manager at a locally owned, mom-and-pop fast food joint in Henderson, Nevada. The owner had run the place for many years before, lovingly cooking the highest quality burgers and french fries. The place reminded Zach of a time forgotten in American culture, where patience was a virtue in life and cooking, and those who upheld that virtue were rewarded in their lives and taste buds. Shakes that towered over the edge of the cups, sloppily spilling their contents down the side; tater sticks (which were essentially flattened tator tots, but far superior in taste) served with homemade fry sauce (ketchup, mayo, and secret spices;) chili burritos and corn dogs, vanilla cokes, hamburgers served on lightly flavored buns that barely fit into the wrappers designed for such things; to Zach, it was worth the mediocre pay to work at a place that sat on the edge of extinction in American society, and to help that place thrive and succeed against such odds seemed so pure to him.

Zach’s second job was at a guitar shop in Green Valley. He mainly worked there for the discounts on guitar swag, and it was entertaining to meet the occasional local rock band that was trying to make it big. Today he had to work at both. One of his primary duties was to get down to the restaurant and cook all of the day’s bacon. Dressed in his work jeans, stained black t-shirt and Harley Davidson boots, he turned off the radio, wished Jericho the best, and left his apartment.

Zach lived in a dirty, run-down forgotten-about apartment and studio complex just outside Henderson. No one there had nice cars, not because they couldn’t afford it, but the fear of having anything nice in such a shithole get stolen drove away any thoughts of owning quality cars, televisions and furniture.

Zach owned a 1989 Honda Civic hatchback. It was a rusty red-or rusted red, depending on what part of the car you were talking about. It had more miles than Mellville’s Moby Dick had words. Every couple days he had to re-tighten the distributor, or the car wouldn’t start. On the plus side, there were no car payments, allowing Zach to live in such a pristine part of town. He thought about looking at other places to live where you could own possessions worth holding onto, but for reasons he couldn’t divine, something in the back of his mind told him this was the perfect place for him at that moment in time.

He unlocked his car, backed out into the numerous potholes that were efficiently placed near parking stalls, and stuttered off to work.

Chapter three. At least some of it.

As promised, some of chatper three. Rough edit, of course. I don't even know if I've done a grammar check, but, whatever.

Enjoy!

The emotionally shattered assembly of people who came to pay their respects to Daniel’s life and remains trudged along the burnt red ground of Redrock Canyon, surrounded by a sere sagebrush landscape. Dark copper tones draped the rocks in a furious homage to the molten rock that formed them millions of years ago. The mountains were flanked by a partly cloudy sky, sending intermittent flashes of light to flare the colors in the canyon to even brighter hues.

Maggie was chosen to spread Daniel’s ashen remains on top of the sea of rusted crimson dust and sand, surrounded by Daniel’s family and the few friends he had: Maggie, his mother Catherine, Daniel’s boss, John, a few of Daniel’s co-workers, and some friends Daniel had made over the years of being sober.

Daniel, you bastard, Maggie thought to herself as she dabbed a tissue into her face. Why did you do it? You’ve left too many questions behind. So many things I wish I could ask you. She had worked so hard to turn around his life, to make him understand that life was more than just drugs and self-loathing. The realization that a good portion of her life the last three years had been spent working with Daniel increased the aching. The email she received minutes before his death was just as troubling, for reasons she hadn’t had time to look into yet. Walking along the dusty ground, Maggie pondered over her relationship with Daniel. Seeing Daniel’s mother a few steps ahead created waves of memories, nearly flooding Maggie’s senses as she meandered along the trail.

Maggie had grown up with Daniel. When Sharon, Maggie’s mother, packed up her things and left her father’s cheating heart, she took her six year old daughter with her and moved away from the sprawling Hell that was Phoenix and landed in Henderson, an urban hub of Las Vegas. Renting a fairly moderate home, Sharon worked two jobs to support her and her daughter, working at a local burger joint in downtown Henderson, and cashiering at Wal-Mart during the occasional evening and weekends. No matter how hard things were for them, Maggie remembered Sharon never asked for monetary assistance from anyone. Maggie was very proud of her mother, and her independent nature came about from watching her mother survive, adapt and thrive against all odds.

What Sharon did need help with was finding some place for Maggie to stay while she worked. At the time, Henderson had a predominantly Mormon population. Sharon took advantage of this and used her time at church to create social networks with other families who sympathized with her situation and were happy to take care of Maggie while Sharon flipped burgers and took people’s cash for cheap plastic crap. One of those families was the Redcliffe family. Catherine Redcliffe quickly became a second mother for Maggie without any hesitation. Catherine and her husband, James, had one child; Daniel, a shaggy-haired blonde six year old who was happy to share his toys with a girl. Within weeks of first meeting each other, Maggie and Daniel became inseparable, riding their bikes together, skinning their knees together, and snitching pecan sundries from the pantry together.

Maggie remembered when thunderstorms would strike during later summer, causing severe flooding and power outages, she would sit in Daniel’s room with a flashlight, and attempt to land Daniel’s various baseball caps and hats on each other’s heads. Even when the power came back on, they would continue the silly game.

Sharon also improved her financial situation, taking night classes at UNLV in teaching. By the time Maggie and Daniel moved onto B. Mahlon Brown Junior High School together, Sharon was teaching at their previous institution of learning, Robert Taylor Elementary. Maggie and Daniel continued their friendship throughout Junior High and High School. As Maggie neared the age of sixteen, she began to wonder if their friendship could become something more substantial.

Then, like a plot twist one doesn’t see coming in a mystery movie, the unthinkable happened. On Monday, March Twenty-Seven, The Year of our Lord Two Thousand, James Redcliffe was involved in a severe motor vehicle accident. He died on the scene.

Maggie remembered crying for hours with Daniel. After all, James and Catherine played as much a part of raising Maggie as her own mother had. She told herself she would be there for her friend. After the funeral, however, Daniel became increasingly distant from Maggie and Catherine. He would run away for days and then reappear out of the blue, clearly on some sort of drugs. Maggie was heartbroken. She wanted to help him so much, but she couldn’t come to grips with how to control Daniel’s growing anger at nearly everything. Catherine put Daniel in therapy, but he wanted nothing to do with it.

James’ death shattered Daniel’s psyche into unrecognizable shards of glass, each one more disturbing than the next. Maggie felt helpless, and eventually she stopped talking to him on the rare occasions Daniel went to school. Their paths separated completely after graduating.

My writing goals

I'm writing down my goals for what I want to accomplish with my novel in the near future. Thought it might help to stay on track.

1. To finish Chapter three completely this weekend.
2. To write 5000 words a week.
3. Describe and analyze my vision and Heaven and Hell.
4. Make fun of the right-wing wacko religious nutbags in my book.
5. Decide if I want God to come back in the end. Not to stop it all from happening, but just because.
6. Figure out how to work in the destruction of the Mormon temple into my novel.
7. Complete the first edit by June.
8. Send the first draft to family and select friends.
9. Final draft by the end of summer.
10. Get published within 12 months after the final draft.
11. ???
12. Profit.

What this also means is I may not post as much of the story as I go. I do plan to post hints and I will of course post snippets here and there.

I really want this blog to be the story of my journey of finalizing something I find very profound and remarkably hard to do. Finishing a novel is not an easy task, and I hope with the support of friends and family I can complete it.

On a much lighter side, everyone have a Happy New Years! Look for a snippet of Chapter three within the week!

Gus

Ok, so I lied

Chapter three will be posted sometime this week, as I am very unhappy with the intro to the chapter. I may re-write the whole thing, or at least a portion of it.

I guess the downside to posting these things on my blog is the desire to do the chapters in succession so there is no confusion. Then again I may finish chapter 4 and decide it fits better than chapter three when it comes to order.

Whatever. I still have more to write, and the Steelers are now only down by 4. Ha!

Until later this week...

Gus

Editing chapter three..

So that should be posted this weekend. Yay!

For now, I have a surprise. The entire introduction, edited and re-worked a bit. I think it works better.

Enjoy!

Daniel could smell him. The musty scent of age and decay mixed with something sweet –cloves perhaps- mingled down the hallway into his room, viciously potent and alarming.

It didn’t hit Daniel immediately, however.

He was busy working on something important, something revolutionary. Muse blared loudly through his computer speakers; a cigarette dangled from his chapped lips, ashes falling into his lap and keyboard, stinging his hands slightly; his phone sat next to his keyboard, beeping at him like a cat desperately whining for fresh cat food. Empty Funyon bags and half-empty Mountain Dew cans sat precariously on the edge of his particle board desk, waiting for the slightest shake to spill their contents onto the messy floor. His Oregon Trail “You have died of Dysentery” t-shirt that stuck to his skinny frame was stained with ash and Mountain Dew. Time and personal hygiene had become a blur to him as he feverishly typed his letter of warning, of prophecy, and an apology, to the world.

He hadn’t realized what time it was, and was shocked as he looked out his window to discover it was night time. How many days had passed since he started his letter? What day was it? He hadn’t gone to work in days. Had anyone even noticed his sudden status change from human to hermit?

If it was a Friday night, he would have been in a bar, with friends. If it was Saturday, he should have been at one of the local casinos in Las Vegas, gambling away his meager bonus money from his mediocre job. Any other night and Daniel might have been watching Simpson reruns, maybe masturbating to internet pornography, drinking whiskey until he was buzzed enough to go to sleep. Daniel enjoyed his simplistic life, was happy with what he had accomplished, especially when looking back at his past and how far he had come.

Then he had to show up, and cause everything to swirl into an abyssal nightmare.

It doesn’t matter anymore, Daniel thought to himself as he took a brief moment to rub his green-gray eyes, and pushed his messy blonde hair back from his brow. I’m almost done. A couple finishing touches, and I can end all of this. In the background, the radio seemed to prophesize his current state:

Is our secret safe tonight
and are we out of sight
Or will our world come tumbling down?
Will they find our hiding place
is this our last embrace
or will the walls start caving in?

Then, at that moment, the potent smell, frightening and familiar, finally broke through his impenetrable wall of motive. Daniel went pale, as pale as Casper.

He is here, Daniel panicked. What the fuck is he doing here? Not yet! I’m not finished! I wasn’t expecting him so fast! Daniel stood up quickly, and went to close the door to his room.

A shoe managed to jam its way between the frame and door. A classic British wingtip, made with aged leather that was faded gray, jutted its unwanted presence into Daniel’s room.

“Commendable,” growled the voice behind the shoe, “but it won’t do you any good,” Daniel had always thought the voice sounded like Morgan Freeman, if he had spent an eternity smoking cigarettes.

No, no no no no! Dejected, Daniel opened the door, allowing his full vision of the person behind the shoe.

A large man, around 6 ft 3 inches tall, filled out the entirety of his suit with a muscular frame. The suit was classic wool that, like the shoes, was faded gray with age. It was almost impossible to gauge how old the suit was with just one look. Daniel got the image of a tailor in England, in the late 1800’s, working on the fabric, sewing on the three buttons for the jacket with delicate skill.

An impeccable white button up shirt was matched with a blood red tie. Daniel could swear that in the right light, or right environment, he could see a smiley face shimmer on the tie. A white handkerchief, folded neatly into the breast pocket, managed to show the tip of a symbol, but it was too tucked in to see it all. Daniel could almost see the start of the symbol for Anarchy, but that was only a guess.

The last detail on the suit were the New York Yankees cufflinks, aged like the rest of the suit, an old gold and pearl-white.

The man wore a fedora, with a red ribbon. Under the hat, long brown hair was neatly pulled back into a braid.

His eyes, those eyes, are what scared Daniel the most, black as night, as black as they get, with constantly angry, arched eyebrows that sheared away any thoughts of ever pissing off this man.

His nose was slightly forked, with nostrils that flared when he spoke, lips that always seemed to be on the edge of sneering.

And the scar! Razor-thin and running from one small ear to the next, along his cheekbones, right under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose, it startled Daniel with its brilliant, violent red sheen. It looked like a fresh wound days ago when Daniel met him, and it looked that way still.

Today he was clean shaven, Daniel noticed, and shuddered as the man walked into his room. The man contemptuously sighed as he looked around the filthy room, and sat down on Daniel’s full size bed that had no bottom sheet on it. Daniel dejectedly took a seat in his computer chair, and prepared for the worst.

The man stared at Daniel for what felt like an eternity, the dark eyes boring with a burning intensity that Daniel had never felt before. Daniel wanted to turn away in terror, but he knew what was at stake. Weakness wasn’t something he could afford to show with this man, so he stared right back, finding courage in some hidden part of his psyche he never knew existed until that moment. A new song blared into the fray, breaking the silence:

My blood is bruised and borrowed. You thieving bastards.
You have turned my blood cold and bitter,
beat my compassion black and blue.

Finally, Daniel spoke, breaking the staring contest.

“What do you want?” he bitterly asked.

The well-dressed man let out a small chuckle, and winked at Daniel, the tension gone from his eyes. “Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood. You have some funny neighbors. Did you know that Mrs. Jensen down the street is committing adultery with two men at the same time right now, while her 2-year old dreams of chocolate fountains, and her husband is away on a business trip? Three houses down, John Robbins has a meth lab in his garage.” He stopped for a moment and pulled out a very large hand-wrapped cigar from a jacket pocket, lit it with a sterling silver Zippo lighter, let loose with a satisfactory sigh, and continued. “Here we are, in a perfect storyboard middle class suburban American neighborhood, and you have horrible things happening everywhere you look! I mean, you can’t make that shit up. It’s classic!” He blew out a ring of smoke at Daniel, and started to laugh earnestly.

“If you came here to have a discussion on middle class American life, you can just leave right now,” Daniel muttered. “I already know the world is blind to its own hypocritical nature when it comes to good and evil.”

“You’re right! I’m not here to have that discussion with you, at least not yet. We are on the same page, same wavelength on that topic anyways, last I knew. In all honesty I wanted to check in, see how you were doing since I dropped that metaphorical mental anvil on your head. Somehow I doubt you immediately stood up seconds later, chasing after the Roadrunner again with Acme products meant to foil the Roadrunner’s propensity with escaping over and over again, eh?” He looked over Daniel, eying the mess on his desk and the filth on his t-shirt. “I’ve seen you in worse shape though. I love that t-shirt, by the way.”

“Thanks. It was a gift from a friend.”

“Hopefully a cute girl, a friend with benefits, right?” The man winked, smoke pouring from his mouth as he chuckled.

“Can I ask you a question, Little Horn?” Daniel asked, wanting to change the subject.

“Nice reference to the old name,” Lucifer smiled. “You must have picked up a Bible after I gave you my spiel. It depends on the question, I suppose.”

“What if your plan fails? What if divine intervention ruins your whole plan?”

Lucifer looked at Daniel, a touch of intensity swirling in his eyes again. “A fair question to ask, and I’ll answer what I can. There will be no divine intervention, and even if there is, do you really think something I have been planning for nearly two thousand years, pondering and postulating over every hole, no matter how small, that I wouldn’t have a solution for any problems that arise?”

“But according to the Bible-“

“The Bible is bullshit,” Lucifer spit on the ground and grimaced. “Never assume anything written by humans would be the true word of God, or of Jesus Christ, or even my own autobiography. Christ, humans writing the word of God is like Fox News claiming to be a network that reports news: full of tripe, entertainment in place of actual news, factual errors all over the damn place.”

“I always assumed Fox News was your move,” Daniel joked.

“I’d like to claim credit for it,” Lucifer chuckled. “That wasn’t my work though. Something to be said about that when I can’t claim credit to that particular evil deed, though Rupert Murdoch and I are close friends. We play poker a couple times a year. I swear that Aussie fucker cheats somehow, always has an ace up his sleeve. I’ll figure out how soon enough.”

“So you assume we won’t fight back, or is that just a part of your grand plan, to grind humanity into extinction? We will fight back. We will never give up.”

“Of course, some of you won’t. The rest will be praying to God to save them, and some of your kind will be making deals with my peons to spare their lives. You know this is the truth.”

“I can’t believe that. Humans have always stood on the side of good in most situations. We won’t stand for anyone making deals with you. We understand there is a hard line in the sand between good and evil, and we know not to cross that line when it appears.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Lucifer replied as he shook his head. “Most humans look at the line, and wonder how far can they cross the line and get away with it, then rationalize their actions in order to keep living in sin and not feel guilty about any of it. Do you understand the difference, Daniel? It’s fucking pathetic, is what it is. Every time a sin goes unpunished, or is ignored, you humans tolerate it and move onto your video games, and your shitty reality tv shows to shield yourselves from the truth; humanity is hypocritical when it comes to cleansing its own filth. You have created your own version of Hell on earth thanks to your ignorance and arrogance.” Lucifer paused and took another drag from his cigar. “Meanwhile, the universe moves on, not caring one iota about the happenings of humanity.” Another puff of smoke, and he grinned. “Men are nothing more than a Godforsaken speck on the universal timeline, a small zit on the universes’ chin.” Lucifer sat up slightly and leaned towards Daniel. “Come closer, I have a secret to tell you.”

Daniel shook his head. “No. You’ve already told me enough. You’ve already broken me down enough at it is, and I don’t care about your philosophi-“

“Come here, you worthless meatsack,” Lucifer interrupted, practically hissing the words as his eyes glinted dangerously. Daniel had no choice, and got out of his chair, wondering if these were his last seconds on earth. Lucifer licked his lips, and placed his mouth inches away from Daniel’s ear. Putrid hot breath, smelling of tobacco and a hint of cloves blended into Daniel’s senses, intoxicating him.

“you, you… humans,” growled Lucifer, “have been abandoned by God. He has left you and your pathetic kind to find your own way through the universe. Do you understand? His greatest mistake was to create humans in His own likeness, and that vain fucker couldn’t accept to look into the mirror He had created in humanity. He had such high hopes for His creation, but He never considered that He could be a flawed being. Killing in His name, raping in His name, destroying the planet by invoking His name; your actions created a reflection of His own consciousness; so he left. He is gone, left to go create bigger and better things, or at least He hopes. Humanity is alone, with nothing to stop me from doing whatever the fuck I want with your weak and insignificant race. You..are…alone…”

“You lie, Light-Bearer,” whispered Daniel as tears slowly began to trail down his unshaven cheeks. Lucifer leaned back, chuckling again, and stood up.

“Perhaps. I do tend to deceive when it suits my purpose,” Lucifer sardonically replied. “However, this is not one of those times.” He walked over to a Tool poster Daniel had splayed across his wall. “One of my favorite rock bands, these guys. They get it, the whole kit and caboodle.”

I have to finish, or at least send what I have done before he kills me, Daniel thought to himself. “Í have other posters of theirs in my closet,” he gestured as he wiped away tears and slowly made his way back to his computer desk.

“Hmm. Do you mind if I take a gander?” Lucifer asked.

“Do I have a choice of saying no?” Daniel sarcastically said.

“Ah, Yes,” Lucifer grinned, puffed from his cigar and walked over to Daniel’s closet. “Choice and free will are what caused a large portion of the predicament you humans will find yourselves in.” Lucifer started shuffled through the clothing, shoe boxes and old videogame machines in Daniel’s closet, searching for posters.

Now! Daniel quickly typed some remaining last words on his letter, typed in an email address on his Gmail, and hit send. I wish I had time to explain it all to her, but she’ll have to piece it together on her own. A great sense of relief washed over Daniel as he turned around to see Lucifer holding up a poster of a pig with a fork in it.

“Magnificent,” Lucifer quietly murmured as he rolled up the poster and tucked it under his right arm. He turned his attention back to Daniel, and sat back down on Daniel’s bed.

“So now what?” asked Daniel.

“Do you know why I showed you my plan?” Lucifer queried as he drew air into his cigar. “What would be my purpose of showing a human my masterpiece of design and function?”

“I was wondering about that, and as far as I can tell, there really isn’t a good reason.”

“Wrong again, my boy. A plan this magnificent, this perfect and chaotic needs an audience! You just happened to be walking by, and I thought to myself, ‘here’s a slob I can trust to understand his duty once I have given him his direction to go.’” He moved over to Daniel, and bent down to whisper in Daniel’s ear. “I know what it is you type on your computer. I chose you for this purpose because I know you are weak, and you have done what I had hoped you would do.” He backed off a bit and grinned. “I want the world to know, because humans must know in order for my plan to succeed. The Antichrist needs an audience, needs followers! Even if no one believes you, the word will begin to spread, and then-” Lucifer paused for dramatic effect, “-well, the rest of your race will have to see the wonders I have planned. Early reviews suggest it is better than Disney’s Main Street Electrical Parade, and more fiery than the volcano in front of the Mirage in Vegas.”

My God, Daniel thought to himself, this is part of his grand plan. He wanted me to spread the word. I am nothing but his tool to use… As recognition spread throughout Daniel’s thoughts, he started to sob.

“Father, forgive me,” he whispered.

“No, He won’t,” Lucifer deadpanned. “As I said, He no longer cares. The rest of this,” he gestured spreading his arms, “this world, is now a big playground for whatever the fuck I want to create. And I want Chaos!” He put out his cigar on Daniel’s bed, and pulled out a handgun with a silencer from his pocket.

I’ve done what I can. I just hope he doesn’t realize who I sent the letter to. A sense of peace, despite the threat of his impending death, flooded over Daniel.

“I am ready,” he said, and closed his eyes. Lucifer laughed again.

“I don’t need to kill you,” he pompously said. “You humans have done a brilliant job of doing that yourself since you were first created.” He set the gun next to Daniel, and patted him on his head. “You know what to do.”

Daniel looked at the gun. “Why put a silencer on it?”

Lucifer looked at Daniel with mock indignation. “What, and wake the neighbors? Always selfishly thinking of yourself, aren’t you?” He then gave a thumbs up to Daniel. “I’ll see you on the other side,” He said as he walked out of Daniel’s room.

Daniel picked up the gun. I have to do this. It’s too late for me. I have done what I can, he repeated to himself for a couple seconds. He put the gun in his mouth, turned off the safety, and put his finger to the trigger. Magdalene, and Mother, forgive me. He closed his eyes again, and pulled the trigger.

Lucifer could hear the thump of a silenced bullet entering Daniel’s skull as he walked down the hallway from Daniel’s bedroom. Down the hallway, Mathew Bellamy could be heard:

it's time we saw a miracle
come on it's time for something biblical
to pull us through
and pull us through
and this is the end
this is the end of the world

Lucifer chuckled again. “How fitting,” he mused, and walked out of Daniel’s home, into the darkness of night.

Fairly quiet

Been really busy with school, work, going to Pittsburgh for the Steelers game, etc.

And now that I finally have a free weekend to write a bit, I get a sore throat and cough.

Ugh.

Hopefully in the next few days I can put some more ideas down in concrete forms. Right now I have lots of ideas written down, and even some very general outlines.

Until then... keep looking towards the stars! Oh, and feel free to read one of my friend's blogs, Ragnarok Monkey. Most people won't get what he's writing, but it's entertaining nonetheless.

Speaking of stars..

Finally: Chapter 2: The Letter

Maggie:

You aren’t going to understand much of this, but I need to tell someone else, and you are the only person I can trust. Please pass this on to a lawyer, maybe my parents as well, because this is also my last will and testament.

You get all my stuff. I want to be cremated and have my ashes spread in Red Rock Canyon, somewhere near Overlook Point. I don’t care what needs to be done, but please make sure this happens. Oh, and tell my parents I’m sorry for the nightmare I’ve put them through during my lifetime.

Like I had said, this isn’t going to be easy to understand, and it’s gonna sound almost insane, but you have to trust me. And I promise to you with whatever soul I have left that I am not on drugs. I promise you!

Ok, here goes…

Lucifer is real. He’s fucking real, and he’s a cold, calculating bastard. For whatever reason, he found me, and I really don’t understand why he chose me as the schmuck to tell his grand plan to. I’d say he was drunk, but do Fallen Angels get drunk? Do demons drink? If I had time, I’d ask the philosophers, or maybe the Pope, but I don’t. Maybe you can look into it.

I was at the Double Down Saloon last Monday. You know the place, I’m sure. It’s really close to the Hard Rock Hotel. It has some cool art, and the Bacon Martini. Go there if you haven’t yet.

Anyways, the Monday night football game had just ended. The bar started to empty out a touch, but I wasn’t ready to leave yet. I ordered another Bud Light and stepped outside the backdoor of the joint to have a smoke.

So I’m standing there, trying to light my God damn cigarette, and he walks out from the dark alleyway.

I gotta give Lucifer some credit. The fucker has amazing fashion sense. He was wearing this really old suit, and a fedora. He reminded me of a mobster from the 1930’s, like Al Capone, but more sinister. He’s also huge. He has to be close to 6 foot 5 inches. The combination of a huge guy in a mobster suit and fedora, and the five beers I had downed during the evening, had me a little scared. At the time I didn’t know it was the Prince of Darkness himself, but I knew this wasn’t a normal person.

And then he started to talk. He knew my name. He knew my name!

“I knew I’d find you here, Slaton,” he said.

“Who are you, and how the fuck do you know my name?” I asked him. Lucifer smiled. He’s got a crooked smile, by the way.

“I have many names, given to me by many people for many years. You can call me Lucifer. I think that name might ring a bell with you.”

“No,” I kinda chuckled. “You don’t exist. You’re from a really shitty story.”

So then he laughs. “True, it is a shitty story, and completely false. I’m not here to discuss the historical relevance of the ‘Holy’ Bible.” He took off his fedora and walked towards me. I tried to back away from him, but had nowhere to go. Trapped like a fucking rat. “I’m here, because I have chosen you as the recipient of a gift. You understand the darker side of humanity more than most, so please to enjoy, the end of all things.” Then, faster than humanly possible, he grabbed my head before I could do anything to stop him.

He commanded me to look into his eyes. Did I have a choice? It’s Satan, for shit’s sake! I was scared as Hell at this point, so I stared into those dark eyes, as black as…well, I can’t think of anything that isn’t a cliché, but they were dark.

And I was given a vision of things to come, of the end, but not it’s not like people think.

The Antichrist won’t be a seven-headed beast with thirteen horns, like the Bible says. He will be a smooth, calculating, and cunning bastard whose personality will ooze inspiration in those around him to form together and take on the rest of humanity. He is essentially a puppet, fully controlled by Lucifer. He will at first use the flag of peace to rally nations behind his cause, and destroy nations who do not give in to his plans.

At the same time, natural disasters will occur. All of the recent tsunamis were a test by Lucifer to see if he has the power to create such disasters.

The vision I was given started with these plans, a simple outline to the end of the world. Lucifer plans to use the Antichrist, along with his powers to destroy the earth as he sees fit to sow chaos. He has no other purpose. He has no motive aside from chaos and anarchy, and from the vision I witnessed, the Rapture is one-sided. God or Jesus will not intervene, despite humans pleas for help.

After the vision was over, I fell to the ground, crying like a little bitch. Lucifer smiled down at me, and handed me a handkerchief with “555” engraved on a corner. I whimpered and sniffed for a few minutes, while Lucifer hummed “Raindrops keep falling on my head,” and lit a cigar.

I thanked him for the handkerchief and asked why it had 555 on it while I regained some composure. He snorted.

“It’s no more random than the 666 mark of the beast bullshit,” he said, moving his cigar around in his mouth. “I also got a discount if I printed fifty of them. Gotta save money where I can, right?” He laughed, took another drag, and continued.

“John was a bitch, and high as a fucking kite when he wrote Revelation. Nothing works better than a bad shroom trip to take an already paranoid mind and throw it over the edge into full blown hysteria.” He paused to take another drag. “He did a better job writing that chapter than I ever could have imagined. What a fitting end to a book where God and Jesus forgive everyone for their sins. And the seven-headed thing with thirteen horns, which is supposed to represent the Antichrist? That’s astronomically awesome, in my opinion.” He put out his cigar on the ground, and picked me up off the ground, patted my shoulder and smiled again. “Now, go do what you must. I will be keeping an eye on you.” And he walked out of the alley.

It has been days since that vision, and I have not seen him since.

I don’t know when it will start, and I don’t know who the Antichrist will be. I don’t know if Lucifer can be stopped, or if his plan has already started. I still don’t understand why he showed me what he did, but it has left me scarred. Horrendous images flooded my head, the Mormon Temple in Salt Lake City erupting in flames, humans filled with rage, lustily screaming in ecstasy as they shoot and stab other humans in the name of the Antichrist, mountains trembling and falling on cities, rivers running red with blood: these images I cannot get out of my head. I so desperately want them to stop, and sadly the only way I can think to end them is to kill myself. If Hell is real, I’m already going there, so it doesn’t make much of a difference.

Please pass this on to those who need to know. Give it to religious leaders, to political leaders, newspapers, anyone who needs to-

Fuck, he’s here. I have to end this now while he’s distracted.

Listen Maggie, I love you, and I hope you survive what’s coming, or die quickly when it starts. Tell my family I’m sorry. Please make sure you tell them!

Slaton