until the blood dripped down her lips and eyes and stained the sheets like faded lipstick.
“Drink, my darling,” I begged.
Instead, she spit.
“Bastard,” she said. “Who was she?”
“You would have preferred a him?” I asked.
“I would have preferred your balls in a blender!”
I had no response to that.
“I sacrificed her for your honor,” I explained.
“And I piss in your mouth for her memorial,” she returned.
An arc of dismissal did indeed emanate from the area where, formerly, we had coupled. She peed steaming holy water in my face. Hardly heavenly.
I grabbed her around the neck and squeezed with intent, but she only grinned purity, and kneed me in the groin.
“You should control your temper,” I suggested.
“You should control your deceit,” she returned.
“You ignorant bitch,” I screamed.
I’m sure the scream was the key. For the first time in our relationship, my damnable anger overtook me and fire literally poured from my mouth to limn and blacken the beautifully angelic face of my love. Her scowl was rimmed in the light of a puritan moon. She didn’t take it well.
She never even touched the ravage my fury had made of her face. It would rebuild itself in eternity. “Damn you to hell,” she cried at last.
“Too late.”
“Ahhhh!” she moaned, frustrated beyond words. With five heavenly nails she gouged hard at the well-traveled scars of my face. And with holy spit she burned the light from my eyes.
“I hate you!” she proclaimed.
“I love you!” I returned.
We were both wrong.
No creature from heaven can feel in the right way for a creature of hell, and vice versa. God and Satan must have laughed in tandem. Whatever we felt, it was anathema. We were doomed by our attachment.
I threw her to the ground and cackled. Imagine the worst horror movie villain giving a chilling warning of esoteric humor. It was ghastly. Frightening. Subversively sublime.
She seemed nonplussed.
But I kicked her in the head repeatedly until her iceberg eyes fluttered back and closed.
Angels should never fight with demons. We’re so, so much more desperate.
I left my Angel’s home at the outer edge of the City of Light and fled, as if a criminal, to the Grey Lands. Not that I had to worry…regardless of who succumbed in this round of violence, we were both eternal.
I spent many hours there, walking in desperation…wondering if I had crossed, not the line, but the very border of existence.
But a demon can never escape the bounds of his prison, and so I was only punished more for my transgression; not by Satan, but by my Angel’s own desperate deeds. Desperation is our calling card in the Dark Carnival. We one-up each other with every desolate day.
I never wished to take her heaven from her. I envied her that salvation.
After I left her in her tomb of light, I wandered the twilight of the Grey, and kicked in the heads of those who came in my path. They came to me in obeisance, since my aura still reeked of the scent of salvation of the City of Light, and as they kneeled before me, begging my aid, I put a razor-edged boot to their foreheads and grinned like a sickly clown. “Zombo to you,” I spat.
Their souls fled to the next level of damnation as ethereal brain matter spattered the ashes of the ground.
But my destructive glee was short-lived. Our fight had driven Angel to another form of destruction. Self.
On the horizon, I spied a shooting star in the deep blue of night. It’s always night in the Grey Lands. The heavens spat out a star, and it fell. It fell angrily, sputtering purple and white light in a whirl. I hurried forward, eager to see the pit of its death.
My feet pummeled the earth in pursuit, but I could not beat its path to the lost land of the borderland. By the time I arrived at its impact zone, it had already arisen.
It was a she.
Fire still bled from her hair and limbs, but I knew without a doubt whose soul had fallen from heaven.
Her white hair still
“Drink, my darling,” I begged.
Instead, she spit.
“Bastard,” she said. “Who was she?”
“You would have preferred a him?” I asked.
“I would have preferred your balls in a blender!”
I had no response to that.
“I sacrificed her for your honor,” I explained.
“And I piss in your mouth for her memorial,” she returned.
An arc of dismissal did indeed emanate from the area where, formerly, we had coupled. She peed steaming holy water in my face. Hardly heavenly.
I grabbed her around the neck and squeezed with intent, but she only grinned purity, and kneed me in the groin.
“You should control your temper,” I suggested.
“You should control your deceit,” she returned.
“You ignorant bitch,” I screamed.
I’m sure the scream was the key. For the first time in our relationship, my damnable anger overtook me and fire literally poured from my mouth to limn and blacken the beautifully angelic face of my love. Her scowl was rimmed in the light of a puritan moon. She didn’t take it well.
She never even touched the ravage my fury had made of her face. It would rebuild itself in eternity. “Damn you to hell,” she cried at last.
“Too late.”
“Ahhhh!” she moaned, frustrated beyond words. With five heavenly nails she gouged hard at the well-traveled scars of my face. And with holy spit she burned the light from my eyes.
“I hate you!” she proclaimed.
“I love you!” I returned.
We were both wrong.
No creature from heaven can feel in the right way for a creature of hell, and vice versa. God and Satan must have laughed in tandem. Whatever we felt, it was anathema. We were doomed by our attachment.
I threw her to the ground and cackled. Imagine the worst horror movie villain giving a chilling warning of esoteric humor. It was ghastly. Frightening. Subversively sublime.
She seemed nonplussed.
But I kicked her in the head repeatedly until her iceberg eyes fluttered back and closed.
Angels should never fight with demons. We’re so, so much more desperate.
I left my Angel’s home at the outer edge of the City of Light and fled, as if a criminal, to the Grey Lands. Not that I had to worry…regardless of who succumbed in this round of violence, we were both eternal.
I spent many hours there, walking in desperation…wondering if I had crossed, not the line, but the very border of existence.
But a demon can never escape the bounds of his prison, and so I was only punished more for my transgression; not by Satan, but by my Angel’s own desperate deeds. Desperation is our calling card in the Dark Carnival. We one-up each other with every desolate day.
I never wished to take her heaven from her. I envied her that salvation.
After I left her in her tomb of light, I wandered the twilight of the Grey, and kicked in the heads of those who came in my path. They came to me in obeisance, since my aura still reeked of the scent of salvation of the City of Light, and as they kneeled before me, begging my aid, I put a razor-edged boot to their foreheads and grinned like a sickly clown. “Zombo to you,” I spat.
Their souls fled to the next level of damnation as ethereal brain matter spattered the ashes of the ground.
But my destructive glee was short-lived. Our fight had driven Angel to another form of destruction. Self.
On the horizon, I spied a shooting star in the deep blue of night. It’s always night in the Grey Lands. The heavens spat out a star, and it fell. It fell angrily, sputtering purple and white light in a whirl. I hurried forward, eager to see the pit of its death.
My feet pummeled the earth in pursuit, but I could not beat its path to the lost land of the borderland. By the time I arrived at its impact zone, it had already arisen.
It was a she.
Fire still bled from her hair and limbs, but I knew without a doubt whose soul had fallen from heaven.
Her white hair still
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