I was fifteen years old.
May 17, 2011
VII
I have chosen to forget. Somewhere in the back of my mind, festering like the
wounds of my captives whose flesh is consumed by the flames that give me life,
are the days before a piece of the heavenly utopia was forever tainted by the
darkness of my interrogation. I call it the divide. In reality however, it was
more like my destiny unveiling to my eyes what would soon be handed over to me.
I was an Arch angel, perfect in every way. My beauty outshines all, even our
Father. Recognizing and acting upon my power our Father made me head over the
music which brings him the most satisfying of pleasures. Through doing this he
thought he could tame me, make me feel content in being his, but he had no idea
what I felt. I knew deep within me he had created us to love him without
question; we were wired to put our passion in one direction never given the chance
to truly choose who best deserved our worship. Time passed, I played the music,
I sang the songs, I even worshiped, but I knew I couldn’t hold o ff much
longer; my rebellion was beginning to be seen; the cursed thread woven within
my robe was beginning to lose their shine. And I’m aware now of how,
everything’s going to be fine. One day, too late, I’m in hell.
It’s actually quite simple: I was made by God to challenge him; through him I
was given the beauty, the strength, and the first seed of rebellion that grew
under the nourishment of his very light. When the time came for my destiny to
unfold our Father acknowledged my challenge, awarded me with the earth and
allowed me the soul of any angel who was willing to follow me to the place below.
I was shocked at the amount of angels that chose to stay behind; I was only
able to open the eyes of one third of those dwelling in our Father’s courts.
The third I received had dull eyes, they would be enough, and in fact I hardly
needed them and was planning to establish my rules concerning them very harshly
as soon as my dominion was established. I don’t want to change the world; I
just want to leave it colder. Light the fuse and burn it up, take the path that
leads nowhere. Our father began speaking; his voice sounded like curses to
our ears.
His voice slowly faded as I realized I was falling. It was like a warm soothing
sensation in the air rushing through my wings. The brilliant light I had always
been accustomed to was dimming slowly, then faster. I was falling in to the
darkness, and I liked it. As I fell deeper I could feel it crawling on my skin.
My soul craved it. As I became part of it I realized it was consuming me, and I
let it. Blinded by the darkness I was caught off guard by the scorching heat
that loomed in the air as I fell. The pain was overwhelming; I felt my skin
crack and the brilliant feathers on my wings curl inwardly as if they were
trying to turn their selves inside out. I let out a tormented screech as I felt
my spine turn inward. I was sure tears would be streaming down my face if not
for the heat evaporating every bit of water from my body. I was instantly
thirsty, had I even been thirsty before? I couldn’t remember. The moment I felt
my beauty turning into distortion lingered way too long; I was used to nothing
of the sort, my head ached, I was nauseated, dehydrated, deformed and falling
into a pit of darkness. Without warning my body smacked against the most
detestable surface, but at least it was a surface. It was freezing cold; a
contrast from the air in which I knew was cooking me alive. The sensation of a
scorching hot body against a freezing rigid surface was extremely
uncomfortable, too uncomfortable to describe with words. I distinctively heard,
felt and smelled my wings singe in the middle of the war between the hot and
cold. I wanted to stand, to jump, to fly; anything to get away from the line in
which these met, but I knew I wouldn’t even be able to stand if I tried. I
began to whimper like an infant who’d lost its mother; this much was beyond my
control. All I desired was to fall asleep, pass out, even die; anything that
would numb the pain. I was now certain this was the worst place imaginable. What
if I wanted to fight, beg for the rest of my life, what would you do?
Six hundred and sixty-six days and nights I lie paralyzed on the heap of bloody
bones that I had crashed upon; not that I would have been able to tell since
the only thing I saw since arriving was simply ‘black’. Not only did I see the
black, I felt it. I woke up, which was startling considering I was never
allowed rest of any kind. I was distorted into something I didn’t quite
understand, in a place hung with silence, and decorated with fear. I ran
a parched hand across my body to determine any major injuries. So far I felt
better than ever. In fact, I felt disgustingly gorgeous. Now the dark
begins to rise, leave the lost and dead behind. I am not proud, cold blooded,
and fake; but I’m going to shove the world away
Six years later.
So here I am, standing as tall as my turned spine will allow, surrounded by
luscious vines and rushing streams of water. The garden was more awful that I
could imagine, it was bright, blindingly bright; and wild animals roamed free
enjoying their lives. If I hadn’t of taken the time to correctly prepare myself
to face the trials of the pure I might have run right back to my dominion below
and never again dare to leave it. And im prepared now, seems everyone’s
gonna be fine, one day, too late, just as well. That was when I saw them
for the first time, walking hand in hand, naked; they were disgusting, they
reminded me of our Father. I realized with one glance at my burnt, deformed,
crooked body they would turn away, so I brought upon myself a new look, the
look of a serpent; a brilliant green beast with bright eyes. And I was on my
way after them. A warning to the prophet, the liar, the honest; this is war.
To the leader, the pariah, the victim, the messiah; this is war.
My
chance came when I noticed the woman named Eve sitting alone under a shining
tree that appeared much different than the rest. “Did God really say that you
must not eat from any tree in this garden?” The Woman stood, startled. There
was a look about her; she would play the game well. She would play ‘My’ game
well.
Seether
Breaking Benjamin
30 Seconds to mars
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