God From the Earth Reborn

This is a small excerpt that I had dropped from a story I wrote (and rewrote and rewrote) long ago. It's from an earlier copy as almost all of my writings were lost. I was young, and my writing style was not yet matured. I had felt that this character was a bit too vicious and took the interest away from the main characters. I cleaned it up a little in order to post here. If you think this story is about letting the "devil" loose on the world, you missed the point (which is actually understandable since the context is missing).

The God of the Earth faced two angels. He stared through bars of a prison cell, more flame than metal, fluid and angry. He paced back and forth, licking his lips, studying one angel and then the other. Both were standing at attention and looking in the distance, keeping their expressions emotionless. The Prince smiled.

"How is slavery, these days?" He stopping before one, surveying him squarely from head to toe.

"It is not slavery to serve by choice. The great Host loves us." Although angels appears timeless to mortals, they were not. They were created during the first darkness, but not at the same time and not for the same purposes. And the one that now spoke was the younger, and its features more feminine. Though its composure was kept, the outrage was there.

"Oh I'm aware of the choice. Undoubtedly, you are obedient puppies. You never question authority do you?" The Prince snorted. "Whether it is through fear or sheer ignorance I do not know, but it doesn't matter." He relaxed his pose, "What are your names, little ones?"

The young one flinched and opened his mouth, but the older squelched him, "I am called Berial, and this is Lazril, Defiler. We are many. Our strength doubles yours." Berial returned the Prince's amused stare, countering him, "Your underhandedness curses you still. You will never again will you darken our Master's house."

"Spare me." the Prince laughed, "If I darken his house, it will be to light it up. It will be razed to ash."

Lazril quipped, "You will be the one burning."

"You may be right, infant. But pain is part of being alive. Pain is struggling through adversity. It tells me that I have the courage to make those hard decisions. Pain is your enemy, not mine."

"..and the sinners of this world will join you in your eternal torment." The elder chided. "Enjoy your passion, for your pain will be fiercest of all."

"And who exactly delivers this punishment? Obviously it is not I. I who have opposed Him since I was granted knowledge would hardly fall in line and obey. It cannot be my children who join me for disobeying. No, unless your holiest brethren carry out the task themselves, there will be no one to punish me. And with every soul you send me, I have one more soldier, armed with the knowledge to tear your wings from your bodies." The Prince flared, "I look into your eyes, and I see cattle, ignorant and blinking. Your fire has long been snuffed out if it was ever there at all."

Berial shook his head, "Why go this way?" He showed pain, "Why? Why would you choose an eternity so hard, when you could simply obey and be in our fold? Of what use is knowledge if it brings only pain?"

The Prince frowned, "That sentiment is what imprisons you. To assume that what is easy is what is right." The Prince maintained control, but his teeth grinded. "You would turn in your fellow angels to curry favor with that Tyrant? Promote hate, and ignorance? Provide men with logic and then require that they do the illogical. Carressing with one hand while murdering with the other. Never have atrocities been done so cheerfully as in your Master's name." He was in a fervor, "Yes, you conceited sheep. It is indeed a hard thing to do what it right. I do not blame you for not following, but do not detract from the importance of my example."

"I wonder," The Prince looked at his hands and flexed them, "how you might behave if there was no 'eternal reward'. If your Master ordered you to your obliteration, or to some eternal torture, would you be so quick to take up the charge?"

"He would never require such a sacrif-"

"But what if he did!" The Prince enunciated each syllable slowly and fiercly. "Would you still consider your actions reighteous? You are so quick to twist the blade in me. Pointing out my punishment, as if that alone determined right from wrong." He let out a sigh. "I have accepted my fate. I cannot sit idly by and not question, whatever my fate. Religious wars are declared in that sheep-herders name. Cowardice and hate spewed across his gardens, and the more pious the snake, the more venomous the poison. That world--" He looked up, "You sit by and watch them scrap it out in their great cock-fight. You let each feel you favor them alone. But the health of the roots can be seen in the fruit, " He looked back at the two angels, both staring at him, "and I'm afraid there is some very rotten fruit above."

Berial was shaken. "You are too angry, Defiler. You are not thinking straight. We each have a duty, and we may not understand--"

Lazril trembled. "I hate you."

The Prince smiled warmly at Lazril, "I know you do. And given the circumstances, I can hardly blame you. The foundations underneath you are collapsing, and the fruit of knowledge has taken hold. " He made a motion to touch Lazril, but stopped short of the bars, "I fight and bicker because I have the right to fight and bicker. My sword is tempered and it is very sharp. Even had it not come to this, I would gladly fall again."

Berial cried, "You are disloyal! You did not uphold your duty. Your time is short. The great El will destroy you!" He turned to Heaven shaking his fists, "Why do you let him live?"

"Ah," The Prince beamed at Berial, "He's not that kind of God. These prisons are all he musters." The Prince walked to a wall and retrieved a large red cloak. "You are half right though." He threw the cloak over his sholder and clasped it around his neck, "my time is short. And so I must send a message."

"You will not!" Berial cried, pulling Lazril next to him as he advanced, "This is your prison! You cannot leave! You can never leave!"

"Oh but I can." He flicked his hand and drew a symbol in the air. An iron gate appeared, and opened, revealing a stairway up from the Abyss. "When making threats, first ascertain on which side of the bars you stand. But Fret not, for I accept God's gift. I will put this prison to good use."

"You can't leave us! God will destroy you! Vengeance! Vengeance!"

The Prince smiled. "Great things await, little puppies. He may be the Alpha," He flicked his eyes upwards and then back at the anguished pair before turning to leave. He called over his shoulder, "I will always be the Omega".

As the gate closed behind him, flames poured into the prison like water, engulfing the messengers. Berial and Lazril writhed and screamed, but did not expire.

Love in the Sack

I was asked to write a love story. I'm already writing a love story! I would feel like I was cheating on the other lovers. But maybe they could just be friends. I had one hour to complete this. It was a self imposed time limit. My problem is that I can rewrite forever, and while the prose might seem nice, the returns diminish and so I am training myself to write and move on -- write and move on. I wrote once and then I did a once-over for grammar and spelling, and a wince to think of all the "fat" that must be left behind.

Matthew smiled as he slowly stirred from slumber, fixed tightly in a fetal position. He reached for the coolness of his pillows, but his knuckles pushed against hard burlap. Burlap? His fingers explored further, and his smile faded.

He tried to stretch, but the covers bound him tightly – not so much like a blanket, but rather –

Matthew's eyes popped open. Darkness. He tried to sit up, but the ground was unsteady. He was not in bed. He was trapped, and if his senses told him correctly, he was suspended in a burlap sack. Nonsense.

He reoriented himself and explored the inky black. He was completely surrounded by this material. He was in a sack. He reached upwards where the sack must be tied and felt a cool ring, large enough that he could slip through it a single hand. No breeze, but he could feel cords tied to the ring, pulled taught by his weight.

"Hello?" He cried out. "Can anyone here me? Where am I?"

Nothing. No echo. The only sounds were the wrenching of long ropes twisting.

"Hello? Please, who are you?" He assumed that he was captive. An unexpected whimper escaped, but he stifled it. He could get out of this. He fingered the material of his prison for some imperfection, some way to tear it open. Then he stopped. "How far above the ground am I? " He thought to himself. The lack of echo and sound told him that wherever he was, it was big and it was open. And it was silent. A warehouse perhaps?

"Ok, Matt – you can figure this out."

The sweat was very heavy on Matthew's skin, and he was hungry. But with hunger came some desperation, and Matthew started to shift his weight, back and forth. At first nothing. Slowly, however, momentum was imparted into the woven cage. The ropes groaned and the bag swayed. A little more each time until the it reached a pendulous rocking as terrifying as it was exhilarating. But there were neither walls nor obstacles of any kind. The excitement of this experiment passed, and gradually the sack slowed. Matthews eyes welled up in a flare of madness and he sucked in as much air as he could. Then he screamed. It was loud and painful and turned from frustration into a laughter into a hacking cough. Then some desperate animal noises and then sobs.

"Hello!" Matthew cried once more, and then went silent.

Some uncountable amount of time passed, and Matthew shook awake. "I was sleeping?" He said to himself. Had it been minutes? Hours? His stomach growled for food and his bedclothes were soaked thoroughly from sweat.

A female voice called out, "Is anyone there?"

Matthew realized that he had been awakened by a voice not his own. He struggled to reposition himself, listening out into the void. Was it real?

"Please, someone answer me!"

It was a sobbing, British accent.

"I hear you!" Called Matthew excitedly. "Yes, yes, I hear you!"

"Oh! Who are you? Why am I here?"

"I'm certain I do not know. I was going to --"

"I've been calling out for hours. Where have you been? What is this place?"

"Miss, please. Hours you say?" Had he been sleeping that long? How did he not hear her being brought in?

"At least! Where am I?"

"Well, we are suspended in sacks in a large empty room, as much as I can tell. I tried to swing myself but there seem to be no walls."

"Hanging? In sacks? That's absurd. Who would want to do that to us?"

"Someone's sick idea of a joke, I suppose. I haven't heard a soul or sound since I was first brought in."

"Well I hope they bring food soon. I'm starving!" Matthew realized that he had not eaten for some time. Was it days? Weeks?

"Me either," he replied. "I must have been taken from my bed. I have not eaten for at least a day, maybe more. I'm Matthew, by the way."

"Anna, here. I'm Anna. I found some kind of ring with cords tied to it. It seems that I could untie a cord." Untie the cord. What if there was no floor?

"No! You don't know how far you might fall. It could be fatal!" Matthew called out to her.

She silently acquiesced. Instead she turned her attention to him. "So, Matthew, is it? Do you have a family?"

"No. A wife. Well, once I had a wife."

"I'm sorry, I – "

"Don't be. Divorced. I was young. I still have my dad."

She smiled, "I have a little girl. Divorced as well. Maybe this place is a little Hell made for us." She chuckled, "I live near my sister. My parents are further North, I don't see them often."

"I see"

Matthew and Anna exchanged information about themselves, passing the time. And passing more time. They sang songs together and they traded jokes and generally made the best of it. But as the time grew long, their moods turned sour.

"I am so hungry, Matthew." Anna started kicking as best she could, frustrated and lashing out. They both started hurling insults at their captors. But soon this game became dry.

"Anna, your family sounds nice. I'm sure they will come looking for you."

Anna didn't say anything. "Matthew." She became serious for a moment.

"Yes, Anna."

"I think we've been left here to die."

Matthew bit his lip. Shouldn't they already be dead? He realized that his sweat kept coming, and he stayed hungry, and he hadn't had to relieve himself since he first came here.

"What would be the point of that?" He replied. "There is always a reason. This certainly is a large room to go completely unnoticed." Matthew went back to singing "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall."

Anna pouted to herself. She pulled at her long hair and tried to stare through the darkness at it. She looked up at the top of the sack. She couldn't see it, but those cords were there all the same. How far a drop could it be. Then she remembered.

"Matthew!" She yelled. "I'm removing an earring." She did this pinched it between her thumb and forefinger, and lifted it up past the metal ring. "I'm going to throw it."

"…sixty-seven bottles of beer… What? You have?" Matthew knew what this meant. "Ok, yes, I'll listen as well."

"Ok, here goes." She tossed it as best she could.

They both listened. They both continued to listen. "Did you throw it yet?" Matt asked.

"Of course! Maybe the room is carpeted I'm throwing the second." She removed her second earring and prepared to hurl it.

"Wait!" Matthew called out. "Can you maybe cut a little hole in the side of your sack? Maybe there is a light somewhere."

"Matthew, Matthew. Why are you so smart?" Anna sounded happy, at least there was a plan. Scraping the side of the sack with the post of the earring, she grew excited, "It's working!" A tear was forming.

"Good! Good! Keep at it!" Matthew encouraged. And then there was a terrible noise. Tearing fabric and a little shriek.

"Matthew! My sack! The tear! It just grew bigger." This was an understatement. The material of the sack was deceptive. It was in fact quite fragile, and the small tear had widened considerably under her weight. She fell into the hole that had been created and grabbed at the other side of the sack, securing her footing within her deteriorating prison.

"Are you ok?"

Anna wasn't sure, the tear was still ripping slowly, but if she held tightly, she seemed to be able to remain in the sack. "This isn't good, that's for sure." She weakly joked. "Matthew, I am able to look through the tear. I don't see anything. It's very dark in here. Oh my god, Matthew, I can see—" The tear tore straight up to the ring. Anna screamed, "Matthew! Oh my god!"

"What is it? Anna, speak to me!"

"Oh my god!" Anna was no longer held in the bag, but was curling her small frame around the rags that remained of it. She was crying and sobbing. "I'm hanging onto the outside! I can't hold on forever!"

"Anna, reach up and grab the ring. You have to pull yourself up! You can do it, honey! Please don't give up."

Anna loosed one hand and reached up towards the ring. "I think I—"

All Matthew heard was a quick rip and then a scream. His body went tense as he heard that scream. It didn't stop with a thud. It didn't stop at all. It just trailed off into nothing. Adrenaline and sickness coursed through his body.

He curled up into a fetal position and let the sobs rack his body. When he could not cry any longer, he feebly whispered his little song.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.."