I love children, don’t get me wrong.

They had a certain air of innocence about their plump cheery faces, as if nothing could pierce their little bubble of reality. There was something about their fragility, about their trusting doe-like eyes which never ceased to warm my heart; they were the picture of perfection carved from the chaos of possibilities. Angelic in their own right, yet holding every possibility of being the very essence of the next evil incarnate; they were the very hope of humanity. A curious bundle of soft limbs and gurgling dribble filled with such blatant purity that they gurgled happily even in the face of death. They had a certain scent about them, a tantalizing whiff of powder and dribble lingering teasingly across soft mounds of rolling fat.

They were just too adorable.

“Coochie coochie coo!”

It couldn’t get any easier. A tantalizing whisper of delight managed to escape my lips as I gently pried a short giggle from the bouncing infant wriggling comfortably in my arms.

There wasn’t the vagrant plea for forgiveness, the lie of change, and the vicious treaties they strived to formed; believe me, it was better this way. Human desperation was worse than an upturned ghoul on the rampage and you wouldn’t want to go there. I guess humans would liken the pain to some form of living hell.

Then again, they never really did understand the complexities of a burning pit of flames.

With a frenzied cry of delight the child grabbed a- well, my- bulbous nose within his flexing fingers in sheer amazement. Watching the pock-marked skin stretch and tighten with each agonizing pull whilst cackling innocently, it as if during the course of but a few years the child had learnt to imitate the treasured art of cheek pinching from the very masters themselves (darn those affectionate rabid fawning relatives). Biting back bitter tears I bravely admonished the child with a short slap to the hand. It was at that very moment in time that the baby sprouted an extra set of wings and took to the sky like a half-crazed maniac of a bird.

No. Really. Perhaps this was only wishful thinking. If only…

Instead of sporting a pair of fashionable spurting wings and flying dejectedly into the sky where /I/ would by all means to be glad to leave the nude child, the infant looked quizzically into my eyes before wrinkling with practiced ease, entertaining a hybrid-smirk-wince-scheming-grin whilst laughing contentedly. It took me but a moment to figure out the hatching plot lurking behind the gurgling dribbling spit-speckled face of purity.

You would expect that during such a day and time the human race would have the technological capability to produce some form cotton based plastic wrapped diaper which would actually hold onto the said trickling biological waste product currently running down my arm.

Really. You’d think human’s stop sprouting shit once they’re dead.

Unfortunately not

“Sadistic bloody evil incarnate, to think that YOU were their next messiah…bloody ingrates can’t even get one freaking savior soul right….”

Look! Trailing dots! Ellipsis! Marvel at my audacity in front of an innocent. With a particularly descriptive and vibrant explicative escaping my lips (involuntarily of course), a warm yellowed stream streaked down my color-coordinated-sprit-calibrated flowing garb of white. No. People don’t actually wear those anymore. Pretty much went out of style after Michelangelo had the sheer luck to have the said garment ripped off to the point of indecent exposure one fine evening whilst glowing-floating angelically towards an assignment one fine morning (in turn causing widespread humiliation and a range of decent high resolution pictures raging through the Regent showcasing his boyish good looks and childish charm… not that /I/ would ever know anything about that).

In fact you’d think after a thousand years of modifying the perfect aerodynamic ‘fluttering-glory-encased-in-an-invisible-gust-of-wind’ attire they’d figure out the various downfalls of showy inspiring displays of heavenly glory. For one thing I guess that’s why Superman took to wearing spandex on top of that ridiculous red flowing cloak. I guessed the poor bloke was just screaming ‘I’m-a-skimpy-ribbed-freak-who-is-sexier-than-thou’.

Not much difference between heavenly estranged beings and penned-paper cut heroes these days.

Guess the muses are losing their touch frantically worrying about the whole dramatic entrance bit (blame Michelangelo for that bunch of nonsense. Oh. Not to mention his growing fan club. Damn moral ethics. Guess all it takes to get a bloody date these days is ripping off your clothes and screaming like a bloody girl).

That wasn’t jealousy. You’re imagining things. Now go away before I rip your soul out and sentence you to an eternity in Pandora’s Box (the bloody old bitch rants on about anything, I’m sure she’ll simply love your company. No worries though. You’ll be brain dead, aha! The hypocrisy! And within a thousand odd years of your eternal salvation or damnation you’ll be cowering for mercy. Heck! For all I know you could be a masochist. Kinky ne?).

I should turn to necrophilia. Being death and all I guess it would be fitting. Whatever happened to the sickly thin feminine crossed boyish wiles which enthralled the rabid fan girl population? I guess we lost out to glowing god-like creatures with naturalistic tendencies. At least we’re one notch above pedophiles and politicians, not that that’s saying much.

Which brings me to the bawling infant once again; and with a dash of sparkle and fairy dust I vanished in a poof of light. No idiot. Gods you people with your automated vehicles and bloody decaying bodies. Back in the old day, in which the Heavens are still suspended in, the snobbish lot, we walk.

You know the two strange sticky things protruding from your body. You call them legs? Yeah. I use those. Nope. No flashy flaming chariots or nothing (though Aeries seemed adamant to arouse a raging debate about these trivialities every thousand years or so). Surprised? Seemingly unversed in human tongue these days I’ll guess I’ll translate my undying wisdom into a sarcastic snappish witty reply.

”Just jokin’ y’all. We’re all really overweight flappers with wings and an undying light filament floating mysteriously above our heads. We sit around in mechanized contraptions which would simply blow your mind. Currently mine’s a version 360 turbo engine deluxe without double horse powered engines. You? Oh! You got the Flab ‘I’m a lazy bastard’ 6000? Figures.”

Yeah. That’s me. Sarcasm all nice and neat compressed into a conveniently immortal body. I guess walking through a rocky path suspending ominously over unending black depths with a wailing toddler in my arms makes me cranky. Poor cranky dead guy with some form eating disorder (of which will continue to elude you) dragging a wailing baby with shit running down his fittingly inconspicuous jeans paired with shirt ensemble. Probably gay too, naturally duh! I mean who isn’t these days! Oh wait we forgot about the angst-ridden past. We can’t get enough of those. Maybe just maybe it’s enough to get me laid.

What about torches for the place eh? Give them the whole haunted castle ‘oh my god you’re in deep shit now’ feel. I guess there’s just something comforting about a crumbling path of doom.

Or maybe they just get kicks tripping newbies up every hundred years.

It’s almost ridiculous really. After the crumbly path of doom it casually fades into a white-washed marble wooden-paneled-floor with the odd simulated green plant life to stimulate office-efficiency. It’s as if they can’t make up their bloody mind!

“Good Evening and welcome to the Regent! We trust you with your lives, you trust us with your souls. How may I help you…?”

Frankly these drones could twitter niceties all day, bloody drones…

”Oh. Its you shitface”

“Bitch”

“Bastard”

“Whore”

“Wannabe whore”

…. Or perhaps we prefer drones. I hear they’re all the rage these days.

This one was particularly dolled up; I guess these days its company policy seeing we don’t want to scare them mortals shitless on their first day of eternal salvation or damnation, depending on the pearly whites. Either way, its gets freaking boring after the hundredth scream of terror or blissful delight. I could really do with them bloody niceties anytime now. Pity the pinstriped bespectacled glaring secretary was all but sympathetic to my cause. So I guess to break the awkward silence and heated glaring contest, I came up with the next most diplomatic thing to say.

“Fuck. Just sign the bloody soul in already would cha? Effin’ hell what does one have to do to get bloody good help around here.”

With a straining glare and a flash of fingers running across the fabled keyboard (Yes, we have bloody computers. We’re not heathens despite having lived under miles of rock since the beginning of time) she plugged into the mainframe with practiced ease. At that very moment a crew of white-faced wisps appeared from behind and whisked the bawling child away from my arms.

“Took them long enough.”

“John. You know well enough the Sweepers deal with the corporation on a multi-dimensional basis. Or perhaps your dwindling has failed to comprehend how long it takes to sort through a thousand different entrees every hour.”

“Pshts. Here I was thinkin’ they were a chosen race”

Demons really were touchy things when it came to heavenly promises.

Here we go again. Cue long and agonizingly terrifyingly condescending lecture

Or not?

Striding purposely with a wrinkle of distaste playing artfully upon those daintily pouted lips, she whispered breathily. Flushed pink as anger coursed throughout her veins, leaving sculpted arms trembling tensely by her sides, the crimson haired beauty replied tartly as she leant a little too close for comfort, breathed a little too hoarsely, whispered a little too huskily.

“Now listen here you…”

Here my thumping undead heart sprang into action, pumping an embarrassed flush to stain my ruddy cheeks as frantic eyes traced hungrily across her lips, trying to interpret and intelligible garble unheard beneath the growing thud of his pitiful trembling muscle locked within his chest. Legs stumbled uneasily as they frantically stumbled backwards in search of an escape from her pressing presence, but to avail.

A sharp edge dug into his spine as he met the cold marble of the reception desk.

No. We weren’t having rabid sex. Trust a human to misunderstand the immortal conduct between two perfectly capable mature consenting….

“Mnnnhh…”

Adults.

Somehow, somewhere, a muffled groan hybrid whimper echoed boomingly throughout the empty sanitized hallways. It was but an unexpected observation within the clouded mainframe of my mind that I noticed my lips were trembling openly and a strangling, shrilly familiar hum escaped from its depths. Involuntarily wincing, my eyes glazed with fear as they frantically sketched over the approaching intimidating figure.

Arched shoulders, upturned frown, speckled flecks of red anger dotting pale cheeks.

Perhaps I should explain before you draw a conclusion that the bitch was going to have her dirty way with me, kinky bastards you are, it all remains a perfectly logical explainable fact that the lovely lady secretary of whom you’re going to hang a poster of within your bedrooms to stare at whilst you do god knows what…

Is a demon.

That’s right. Babies do go to hell. Demons live there.

Where are the fiery pits of doom then you ask? Just around the corner, down the hallway, to the right, left, up a flight of stairs and down another.

I supposed you were expecting horned darkly cackling creatures who relish in the infliction of pain?

Well. What do you think I’m staring at, human!

No, contrary to popular belief I’m not a sexually repressed emotional git obsessed with the delights of fornication. Really.

In fact, I doubt that any /sane/ sexually repressed emotional git obsessed with the delights of fornication would find the current figure appealing.

Unless you’re talking about masochists.

Besides, I really can’t imagine any mortal masochist surviving /that/.

Pointy horns curled artistically through her ragged auburn hair, her spectacles perching lightly across the ivory stand. Her skin now bulged with several different hellish markings, a sprinkle of sharp spikes protruded from her arms emphasizing the ranging claws extended from the tips of her fingernails. A decisively curled tail covered with a fine blanket of velvety red rested upon my leg and ran sneakily up my leg after taking roost there but moments before. Frankly, despite the slight embellishments of horns, spikes, sharp nails and a pointed tail, it wasn’t these slight abnormalities which left me quaking in my stylishly polished leather boots.

She had a pair of decisively shredded boned wings protruding from her shoulders.

Eying me with hungrily with those pupil-less unblinking eyes, I gulped down a biting comment and stuttered appreciatively.

“L-lovely set of w-wings t-there. I didn’t think pen-pusher of the year would get you to that level quite so soon.”

The demonic secretary purred softly in my ear, her breath tickling my neck and the faintest scent of blood lingering in the air.

“Aren’t they? I just got them this morning. Lovely things really, I’ve been waiting eons for this promotion. Not to mention the benefits in store for this little pen pusher. Now lets see how far up your ass your spleen is shall we?”