|The Emptiness of Oblivion
Author: Our Last Stand PM
A one-shot in which the angel of death ponders what the worst of evils truly is.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama - Words: 995 - Published: 01-24-13 - Status: Complete - id: 3095063
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
"We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created evil, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable sins, that among these are Murder, Slavery and the pursuit of Death."
It is oft hard to believe that such words were ever written, for indeed they may seem ludicrous to us now, but they were, in fact, truths. Regardless of the opinions of men, this paragraph has held true throughout eons, time being an unforgiving master. There has always been a time and there always will be an era in which somebody commits one of these great three sins, the least of which is the pursuit of Death. What reasonable creature would wish for life in a place so entrenched in Murder and Slavery? Of course the only ones who see fit to continue living are those profiting from the Murder and Slavery. Kidnappers, murderers, rapists and that greatest beast, the politician, all fit themselves into this world, often comfortably, more often with ludicrous wealth. Hate continues, causing a politician to hire a murderer to kidnap a rapist, moving money, and allowing this body to continue it's spin through the heavens.
There must be somebody to have started to hate. Something must manage the Hate, which is the true currency and wealth of the world. Who was it? Man did not find himself on this earth and decide to hate. The Hate has been set in motion by that most dastardly agent of the skies: the Beast. The Beast, cast away from the heavens, began the Hate. Smoldering within him, soon it grew too large to be contained within his body. Having crashed on the surface of the earth and having penetrated through the nine circles of the planet, he heaved, smoked, and let out a great fire that floated up toward the atmosphere. From the heavens it could be seen, a pillar of flame so large and vibrant that no power could contain it, so disgustingly beautiful that not even the Creator himself could turn his head. The angels and inhabitants of the heavens held eyes affixed upon the great column, and they watched, helpless, as it spread to all corners of the earth- indeed, the only place let alone by this blaze was heaven itself. And the Beast began to sleep, his work being done.
Mankind has been damned since that very moment. The only hope is to decrease the increments of that damnation. The ones who manage the Hate, are, for their work, called demons, and cursed by men who believe themselves to be righteous. Truth is a thing too ugly for the humans, and so they believe that evil and hate are bad things. They are thankless to their true saviors.
The true saviors are the ones who still walk the earth. The angels have left, abandoned the people of the world, preferring to live in past fantasy, in a world preserved in imperfection, in a world without anger, hate, murder and slavery.
The conquest of the final realm must be completed.
Anguished cries of pain are not an unfamiliar noise to me. I have heard worse sounds. People lying to their dying brethren, breathing futilely about hope, about salvation. They do not understand. They are leaving their utopia, and they do not get another chance. Some, the lucky ones, I receive. There are screams, there is weeping, but ultimately, those that I save understood the good that has been done for them. That is when I tell them the Truths. Fire and brimstone do not await them. Only a world that is continuously, unendingly, progressing, is what they will find. The souls are fragile at first. I remember how I was. Barely sixteen when I died, I had quaked before the demon whose position I would soon acquire. He had told me, and revealed to me, the Truths. And I, being exceedingly wise for a mere boy, accepted them and understood the joy that had been brought to me. After my soul had healed the wounds of my body, I ascended in pain, to become that most feared ghost: the death-chaser. Only one whose anger and hate exceeds that of their guide is allowed to ascend to my most glorious post.
Only the most damned of the angels still works in the death-realm on the outermost layer of the earth. Behind their gates, death is seen as a poison and not as a remedy. To them it is an object of great disgust, and to us, an object of great utility. There are certain souls which are allotted to the angels. These I only watch, and pity their descent. The time is coming. It is eons away, but to those allowed to live forever, what is an eon? A static world is a diseased world. A universe needs a force to keep it in motion, and the Hate has been released. Another force would only corrupt the earth, and thus destroy all realms, all dimensions, and all souls. Oblivion is the greatest fear to be had. Purgatory and torment are extreme feelings, and they move, they course through souls look blood in the veins of the body. A soul that idles with no strong feeling except for that vague emotion of love, in truth, is not alive. Being an idle soul is tantamount to condemnation to oblivion.
The humans say death is bliss. The angels say love is bliss. The demons say hate is bliss.
Eternal bliss, a most sought-after concept, must not be judged to be happiness. Eternal bliss is the ultimate feeling, the ultimate motion, the ultimate continuation, and the ultimate preservation.
To stop the hate, as a short-sighted Creator cannot see, would be to stop the motions and machinations of the whole universe and all of its realms. To prevent the universe from moving would be to prevent time, and to prevent that truly great force of time would be the truest oblivion.