FALLEN
© Brian Lane
His soul screamed with anguish. He could take it no longer. This place
was not for him, and it never had been. His cause was just, yet he had been
struck down for his pride so long ago. Standing at the crossroads of eternity,
knowing any path could lead him from this place. He glanced up each road,
knowing that each leads in, but not a single one leads out.
There was only one direction he had not yet gone, and that would be his
pathway on this foul day. The light surrounding him was the strange filtered
gray it had always been, but somehow the road seemed lit with red light. His
tattered black cloak stirred restlessly at his heals as the dry winds eased
past him. The air's passage whispered the words written on the bricks as
he trod upon them.
The bricks whispered with many voices “I meant no harm. I was just trying
to help. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Well. I just wanted to
surprise you. I forgot she was allergic to shellfish! I thought it would
help you get over her. Its for your own good. Oh, I probably should have
told you. Its for the best.”
He shivered slightly. The roads to hell are indeed paved with good intentions.
The expression is close enough to the truth. There are roads where the houses
are made from glass bricks, which are often shattered by the unending hail.
There are shopping malls built from abandoned hopes, towers of regret built
upon foundations of betrayal. Churches of deception built upon blind faith,
corrupt gardens that have grown of the seeds of prejudice. Lush forests
of indifference, and fountains which flow from the wellspring of lies.
Maybe this road would be different in some way, but it seemed unlikely.
He sighed heavily. The weight of his past decisions seemed twice the burden
today. Indeed, he had fought against God in the days of old. His reasons
were not the same as those of his brethren, but he was cast down with them
all. Perhaps one day he would find the brick bearing the one good intention
that had sealed his own fate.
There was a time when he sought redemption in the eyes of his father, but
not now. His path had to be his own. Mountains loomed in the distance. This
would the hardest road of all. Looking ahead at the sharp angles, and craggy
heights, he considered turning back. It took a few moments to shake off
the feeling. He stretched out his wings, wishing he could fly to the end
of the trail. Some paths require you to keep your feet on the ground. His
charred wings ached with the memories of pain.
As he drew close to the first mountain he could see the writing on each
stone that jutted toward the sky. Each stone made of a different regret. Things
said, unsaid, done and undone. Such strange things are regrets. The greatest
shame is that most of the largest start with the words ‘if only.’
‘If’ is such a small word. How could so many lives be destroyed by such
an insignificant sound? Cause and effect indeed! There was only one cause.
Everything is the result of the endless cascade of effects. Like a great snowball
that has long outgrown the hill on which it began. In the end, everything
is because of something else. All results will lead to a single end. He once
cared about that final curtain call, but not today. The chance to make but
a small difference was better than the futility of taunting destiny.
What difference could he make? None of his decisions would truly matter
in the end. Dwelling on the future is as much a trap as living in the past,
but that is what this part of hell is all about.
He tried to shake off the feelings again, but to no avail. Perhaps something
about this place was more a part of him than he would like to admit.
When he rounded the next corner a dark stone caught his eye. There was
a brick just below it of the same color. He stepped on it to hear what it
had to say.
“I intended for you to tend the tree. Not eat of it’s fruit.”
He blinked, startled by the words, and then read the words of regret on
the stony spire. Disbelief slithered through his skeletal frame. Could this
be what he had been searching for? He read the stone aloud.
“My children, I am sorry. I am the one that should be seeking forgiveness,
for I was the cause. Fear me not, for I am your father. My rage was that
of any father unjustly disappointed in a child. I love you all. I understand
you must live your own lives, and make your own decisions. You have given
unto me your faith, but all I ever sought was your love. I hope it is not
too late. I fear now that it is too late for those that have fallen from
my grace. The battle wages on, and there are none that remember why it started.
I will fight no more. Please know that you are all brothers, and all my
children. Do not strike down your brother as did Cain so long ago. Embrace
the time that remains. One day, even I may lose hope.”
He trembled, for the words still echoed through his mind. Even the greatest
of us all has regrets, and intentions gone wrong. His head lowered, and
his mind started to finally clear. Maybe, if he brought the stone of his
own good intention before God, he could be judged again?
He sat on a small stone and stared blankly at the monolith, and thought
for a while. The words of the stones spun through his mind, like the frantic
weaving of a spider gone mad.
His foot struck at the ground at the base of the stone on which he sat.
The brick whispered to him in his own voice. “My methods are not yours,
but our goal is the same.”
The sound tore at his heart and mind. Currents of rage flooded through
him as he stepped away from the brick. His own words had wounded him in
ways he did not know were possible.
The stone he had been sitting on spoke of his regrets. He saw the words,
and understood how they had bound him to this place so long ago. It read;
“Father, why will you not let me speak of my motives. I love you. My battle
is for all of us, and I claim no side. I love my brothers, and all of your
children. Siding with one is betrayal of the other. Truly, I will only take
up arms if it will end this foolish quarrel.”
All seemed so much clearer. Even the Lord has regrets. The one thing that
bound him here was his lust for forgiveness. He had never considered that
it may be that all he needed was to forgive himself. The brick in the road,
his brick, seemed to mock him. As the last of his anger faded, he pried
his brick from the road. It’s words whispered endlessly in his mind as he
held it tightly.
“My actions were true and just. I have been judged, but I know the truth.
Damned are those that allow another to speak the truth for the heart of
another!” His words echoed through the mountains until they rumbled from
their sound.”
All of his former strength seemed to return. He threw the brick of his
good intent at the stone of his regrets with all of his renewed strength.
The stone cracked, and the brick shattered.
“If I am to find redemption, it must be within my own heart. I see that
now.”
He turned to the stone of the Lord’s regret.
“Father, I know you love me. I have always loved you. I have sinned on
your eyes, yet my cause was just. You speak of forgiveness, please allow
this opportunity. Let me seek the means to forgive myself.”
His legs folded beneath him, as he closed his eyes and prayed silently.
Suddenly a burst of noises erupted through his ears. Pausing, he opened
his eyes and looked up at the black stone. It had been a strange collection
of sounds indeed. He had learned to ignore the
screams of agony, rage and horror that were typical in this place. Either
you learn to ignore the constant wail, or you are driven mad by them. He
had heard faint weeping, and the murmur of whispered voices. What place could
such sound have within hell?
After numerous attempts, he found he could not banish the memory of the
strange sounds. It haunted him, and tore at the back of his mind.
He spun to face the cracked stone. The words were fading fast, as his feelings
of regret numbed.
If his own forgiveness was to be the key to his salvation, how could he
relearn this divine trait? Such a fickle thing is forgiveness. I forgive is
easily said, but seldom meant. Finally, after all these long years, it was
time to choose a side in the great conflict. It startled him that he had
not considered it before.
“I choose my own path. My destiny is mine alone.”
The words were just above a whisper, but they echoed through his mind louder
than the choir of hell’s hosts. He stood motionlessly until all fell silent
within him.
The writing on his stone was gone now. The pain he had endured was
no more. All of the voices stopped, as if all within hell had stopped
to take a breath.
“I was Abbadon,” He screamed, “but now I am scorched black as the night.
I will forge my own path, and the only redemption shall be within my own
eyes! Neither heaven nor hell shall lay claim over me. The way is clear now.”
He spun around, his rage replaced with cold confidence. “Do you hear me
brothers? Do you hear me father? There is another way, and I will find it.
This battle can not be won by force!”
“Why do you struggle so. These things are beyond your control?” The voice
behind him was very familiar. Each word had a strange musical quality.
“What you seek is against the natural order of things. Walk with me brother,
and I will show you the way.”
The scorched one spun around to face his ancient brother. “Lucifer, I will
not follow you, nor will I take up arms in the name of our father. I will
only fight for myself, and what I know to be true and right.”
Unlike the others, Lucifer had not been burned in the decent. He was still
beautiful and looked as angelic as he had the day he was created.
“You have no power over me, but you know that.”
Lucifer laughed in response.
“I have always been stronger than you, but I will not fight you.”
Lucifer sighed, “Then go. Turn your back on your brethren, and never look
back. You were scorched by the great fall. Go to the world of man, and let
them know you merely as Scorch. Your former name shall be no more, and you
will be enemy to us all. Say the word and it shall be done. You will be
brother to none, alone in the world of man. Is that truly what you want?
Think about it, don’t be a fool.”
Scorch lowered his head, and folded back his wings. “There are no thoughts
to be had. I must find purpose in this place, for here I have none.”
Lucifer lowered his head, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. “Then
I shall miss you brother. In a moment you will be brother to us no more.
We will all miss you. Please reconsider.”
Scorch shook his head. “I will do no such thing. If I must be alone, I
shall be.”
“So be it,” Lucifer growled. “Kneel before me, and God himself.”
Scorch knelt, closed his eyes and lowered his head. In that moment he knew
for the first time he was completely alone. He could feel his father, and
brothers turn their back to him. In that moment he was banished from heaven
and hell alike. Doomed to walk the earth until the final battle came. When
all was done he was to be damned either way. His soul would never be eternal
again. Death, for him, would mean oblivion.
The sobs he had heard before came back to him. Curses, prayers, gasps,
and screams echoed all around him. He raised his head in confusion, and
beheld those before him. He stood on a stark white marble altar. There was
a casket not far from him. A great multitude of people were before him.
A priest turned to face him. The man’s face had gone pale.
He looked over his shoulder at a large stone crucifix that extended from
the floor of the building to the ceiling. He marveled at the stained glass
windows as he turned to further examine the structure. His eyes finally
stopped upon reaching the organ on the far side of the room. The architecture
was glorious.
The priest struck at him with one of the long ornate candle holders, which
had been next to the altar.
“This is a house of God,” The priest wailed. “Foul demon leave this place!”
Scorch grabbed the brass candle holder as the priest swung again.
“I will leave,” Scorch growled, “but do not assume you know my place. My
father’s house will never be home to me again. I know this. It is but a
quirk of fate that has lead me to start my search for salvation in this
place. It was no intention of mine. Hold your words priest, for they serve
you no more than they serve me. I understand you seek to show strength before
your parishioners. What you show them is fear, hatred and rage.”
Scorch spread his wings and leapt from the altar. Three flaps of his wings
sent him sailing across to the church doors. He landed effortlessly, and
wrapped his wings around himself. He summoned up just enough power to alter
his appearance. Anyone seeing him would believe him to be an middle aged
man wearing a long tattered coat.
He pushed the church doors open, and strode into the midday sun. The bright
light burned at his eyes, but he rejoiced at the warmth it provided. It
was so warm, and this place so full of life. He inhaled deeply to taste
the air. It was not as he had remembered it. Perhaps the years he spent
smelling brimstone wherever he went had tainted his memory. Something in
the air seemed wrong. When he had last been here the air smelled so sweet,
but now it was musty, sour, and somehow thicker. Strange vehicles carried
the humans from place to place. The fumes each of them left behind hung
in the air.
The strange taint of decay seemed to be everywhere. The world was dying,
slowly being destroyed by it’s human keepers. This was not the result of
the great battle. This had been caused by man, not any divine force.
How could they all have been so blind to the plight of man?
The world of man was not the lush garden it had once been. The forces of
good and evil battled throughout the ages for dominion over this world.
Had they stopped to inspect their prize the fighting would have ended a
long time ago.
Perhaps God and Lucifer did know. Could they have expected him to help
guide mankind to fix the damage they had done? Was he really sent just to
remind them that they were to tend garden? Just to stop them from destroying
it? He would not simply be a pawn sent to rebuild the prize of kings!
Scorch sat on the wall in front of the church and watched as the people
passed by. He’d left to find a purpose, but what would it be?
Thoughts of fate and purpose flooded through his mind. He made his way
from hell to a place that seemed far more foreboding. A great deal of time
passed as he sat there simply watching the earth’s inhabitants wander past
him. It was as if he didn’t even exist to them. Much of his time was spent
considering changing his appearance, so that at least one of them may so
much as look at him. The eyes of those which did notice him, quickly turned
away. He looked like a street urchin, a common bum to them.
A priest from the church walked down the stairs, watching him.
Scorch turned his head and watched the man’s progress. Maybe there is some
hope, he considered. This man of God was willing to look at him.
“You there,” called the priest.
“Yes father,” Scorch replied.
“I’m sorry my son, but you cannot stay here. We can’t have people panhandling
in front of a church, so move along. If you are to be begging for money
so you can buy booze move along!”
Scorch blinked in disbelief, for even this priest had lost faith in mankind.
“I said move along, or are you deaf as well as disrespectful?”
Scorch sighed heavily, “I do not beg, and I do not drink. What does your
bible say about judgment?”
The priest recited, “Do not judge, or you too will be judged. Matthew 7:01”
“Actually,” Scorch said with a grin, “I was thinking Luke 6:37 and 38.
Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not
be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given
to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over,
will be poured into your lap. For the measure you use, it will be measured
to you.”
The priest scowled.
“Then again,” Scorch continued, “I always did like Luke. Blessed are you
who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger
now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will
laugh. Luke 6:20 and 21.”
The priest sighed and put his hands on his hips. “My son, I am sorry if
I have judged you wrongly, but you still cannot stay here. I ask you not to
use the word of God against me. I see that you know it well enough to argue
the point, but the decision is not mine.”
Scorch lowered his head in disgust.
The priest shook his head, and frowned darkly. “What will you quote next,
The Parable of the Good Samaritan, or The Rich Man and Lazarus?”
Scorch stood and looked into the priest’s eyes. “I can see that you are
a good man, and you know the bible well enough. It is one thing to talk the
talk, but another to walk the walk.”
The priest blinked as if slapped.
“Say nothing,” Scorch replied to a question not asked.
The priest nodded, with a strange amused look in his eyes. ”Mind if I join
you?”
Scorch raised an eyebrow, not fully understanding the remark.
The good priest sat next to him, maintaining a respectful distance, and
turned to face him.
Scorch turned his head back to the people passing by.
“What’s your name?” asked the priest.
“I used to have a name,” Scorch sighed heavily, “but I am no longer who
I was. It’s a very long story, and I prefer to not burden you with it. It’s
my burden to bear. Just call me scorch.”
The priests tone was in part mocking, but compassionate at the same time.
“Scorch? Is that a nickname, or your last name?”
Scorch smiled playfully, “Its my nick name actually, and your name is?”
“Quinn”
Scorch smiled. “Nice to meet you father Quinn.”
Father Quinn Grinned broadly, “What’s your real name. I can’t be going
around calling you Scorch now, can I? The parishioners might have a little
problem with that.”
Scorch paused to consider the question.
“It wasn’t meant as a trick question,” father Quinn snapped.
“It is, however, a trickier question than you may think.”
“Surely you must know your own name.”
“Are you so sure?” Scorch looked deeply into the mans eyes. Perhaps the
answer he needed would be buried behind them, then all at once it came to
him. “There are many things in my past that are still lost to me. I lost my
memory a great number of years ago, and still have a great many black spots.
There are places in my mind where the light of human reason dares not tread.”
The good priest nodded, grudgingly accepting the answer. “Well then, would
you mind if I call you Luke? It’s a good name, and your favorite book of
the bible.”
Scorch nodded, “Luke is acceptable.”
“Would I be correct in assuming you don’t have a job?”
“Yes, you would.”
“Do you have anyplace to stay?”
“Not at this time.”
The priest glanced toward the church, with a thought full look in his eyes.
“We have a spare room behind the church. It’s a small apartment for the
groundskeeper. It’s been a long time since the church was last able to afford
a hired hand, and honestly we still can’t. If you want the position, until
you can get back on your feet, it’s yours. You’ll at least have a place to
stay, and you can join us for meals at the rectory. Things haven’t been going
well in this neighborhood, and it would be a lot of work. We wouldn’t be
able to pay you regularly, and not much when we can afford to pay you at
all. Are you interested?”
Scorch girnned. “Just tell me what you need done.”
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