The Mortal's Whore
Cold eyes glared out into a sea of grey that lay before her as her as her sight could reach. Grey nothingness. A vast barren wasteland, cold and desolate. Perhaps the atmospheric clime was bearable but the ice in her heart chilled her bones, ice coursing through her veins feeding her stoney soul. Isolated. Alone. This wasteland, the only place she could call home. Not that it was a very homey and welcoming place; it was not. It was as hostile and inhospitable as any terrain could be. This was no place for a child. This was no place for any man in that matter. It was as cruel a realm as could be found in this world. Why then, was this child abandon there for her broken soul to bleed? What world had expelled this helpless young woman to fend for herself in this inhumane land? Could they not see each crystal tear droplet as it fell from ruby red eyes and run rivers down rose petal cheeks, past cheery lips?
Alone. Exiled from a judgmental, hypocritical world. Selfish and self righteous, they paid no heed to her cries for help. They had turned a blind eye as her broken heart bled. Deaf ears had shut out her final breathe as she lay there dying. What cruelty refuses the pleas of a dying child? They had condemned her to eternal damnation. She shouldered their pain without complaint. They abused her. Wordlessly she paid the price for their faults alongside her own. She was not perfect, no one is. She had her share of faults as does everyone and yet she took the blame for everything, she was their scapegoat, their whipping boy. Not a word of complaint spoke she. Bearing this burden alone, no one spoke in her defence. Not a soul lifted a finger to lighten her load. They abused her. Starved her physically, emotionally and spiritually.
Love. She knew not the word. She knew not its meaning. It was just another word to her. So many things had lost their meaning to her throughout the years. Hope. Joy. Justice. They meant nothing to her. She was cold, as cold and emotionless as an ivory pillar. Fire blazed in her eyes but no anger resided there. She knew not the meaning. She was without emotion; she felt nothing. Feeling slipped away from her as did the years of obeying orders unquestioningly. She had once been a rebel but the fight had been sanded down to nonexistence after a lifetime of an iron fist beating the light from her once shining eyes. The secret of survival had been embedded into this fighter but she could not drive alone. Poor soul. Poor lost girl. She had seen so much, too much. Indifference had seized her and held her captive. Too tired was she to carry on that she had surrendered without a fight,, collapsing into the enemies embrace. The rebel in her had died. Nothing but a body remained of this little girl. Her soul too tired to go on, her spirit too broken to live on.
Her blackened angel wings quivered as she shivered. She was cold, so cold, it was almost unbearable. She hugged her knees tighter, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible. She wanted to curl up and die. Her one wish in life had been death and yet it had not come swiftly. Her people had stoned her and chased her into the jaws of death. No rivers of sulfur ran through this waste land as it should have for her sin. No flames eternally burned here for she would have gladly welcomed their warmth. No people suffering disease or fallen angels screamed in agony. No Biblical passage on the fires of hell complied with this landscape. This empty place was indeed purgatory; this was the land of the lost souls. This was the devil's lair.
No one knew what had coloured her angel wings black but it had been seen as a bad omen. They had called her "Satan's Whore" or "Lucifer's Concubine". She was the girl dressed in black who had been around. She lived for the sweet caress and for someone to whisper sweet things in her ear. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to know that she was beautiful. She wanted to know her soul was beautiful and not just her body. She wanted to mean something, something she had never been. She wanted to be someone.
She was so far gone she felt, lonely and isolated even surrounded by people. Her arms were always open for someone to take her, for someone to love her, for someone to care for her. Feeling someone's arms around her brought her back to earth, brought her close to feeling. Anyone would do. She knew what she did was wrong, and a trail of broken hearts followed her where ever she went, but none of those could compare the hurting and longing haunting her. She was no whore or a sex object to be used and thrown away. Although this was all she had ever known, this was not what she had been born to be. She was something more. Darkness shrouded her life and coloured her wings. Did this make her a bad person? To want to belong? To want to feel safe and secure and loved?
There is no such thing as evil only perception. Everything is grey. Evil can be done in the name of what is right and good may come of evil. There is a rhyme and reason for everything. Those who turn to the dark side are rarely without cause. For some, this is the wrong reason. Some turn to evil for the right reason. Some circumstances turn people away from the light and yet they are just as precious as the righteous. Their souls are the same. Their actions different. What is life? Why do we live? To find love. Love can be cruel but it is what saves. Children of the darkness and children of the light alike long for it whether they are aware of it or not. Some shy away from love's clutches; afraid of hurting, afraid of being consumed with longing. Others search too hard and will not recognize it once they have found it. They say love is only good, so is that to say that demons cannot love? Can the devil himself love? We are all capable of love. Whether we choose to or not has nothing to do with how good or evil we are. Love is a part of every being.
A single tear rolled down her cheek as she remembered each jeer, each cold hearted remark and cruel taunt. She was not a whore. She was lost. Never had she felt m ore lonely. Never had she prayed so fervently for the swift motion of death's sword. Most find pleasure in life, but there are though who welcome the embrace of the afterlife. They are those who are so unhappy they are willing to sacrifice their immoral souls in sin for the pain to stop.
She was alone.
The he came.
From across the empty plains she saw him coming closer, ever closer. At first she thought him but a figment of her imagination, perhaps she had gone mad. They had said she was crazy. Was she? Was she truly out of her mind? As he neared her she came to terms with the fact that he was in fact a real person. He was the first she had seen in who knows how long. There was no wind and yet his jet black cloak blew wildly as did his chin length raven hair flying askew. Raven hair. Running her hands threw her tangles; it was the same colouring. Her eyes flew to his face searching, searching for something but she knew not what. His tanned skin matched hers exactly as did his piercing ruby red eyes. His sharp, well defined features were quite similar to her own. He held his head high and moved with regal grace. His stoney face as expressionless as her own. Hid long black robes were well made and trimmed with red unlike the tattered black robe that barely covered her body. Was he dangerous? He couldn't be, he was too entrancing. Where did he come from? What did he want? He was handsome and her heart beat faster with every nearing step he took.
She shied away as he came to stand in front of her. She feared him as much as she feared any, backing away as an abused dog cowers from his master. He stooped to one knee before her ad she shrank back. Head bowed, she avoided his gaze. Reaching out, he gently ran the back of his hand down her cheek. At his touch, she felt her fears melt away as if he was the sun that was melting her heart of ice and snow.
"My Lord?" she whispered. Her lips were dry, as was her mouth making the words difficult to form. Had she not been parched, she would have still found words difficult to force from her mouth.
"Yes my fallen angel. Do not fear me. I have been waiting."
Lifting her to her feet, the stranger fitted his strong arms around her thin waist guiding back in the direction by which he had come. She melted against his body; safe and secure. She had never know what it was like to not be alone. She had never known a loving caress nor heard such soft words spoken. She was no stranger to men but they had not be as kind, as gentle. They did not have the aura of calm that eased her heart and mind. They did not possess the magic to enchant her as this man did. He was a stranger and yet she would follow him. She knew not where they were headed nor what he would do with her, but the look in his eyes told her that she was safe. She had never seen that before. This dark stranger displayed everything she had been searching for in one touch of his hand.
"I have waited. I have come for you my angel. Do not fear me. Do you know how long I have waited to be whole again? My soul has returned to me. My heart beats again." his words were so soft they were like music. He had come to save her from drowning in her sea of emotionless cruelty. She had found in death what she had spent her whole life on earth desperately searching for. It was here in this stranger's eyes.
His name was Lucifer.
I am not trying to glorify evil, or even justify it. This world is to cruel for that. But not everyone you see as evil is. We are so judgmental and hypocritical we don't notice it; it's part of our nature. We condemn many but do we truly know the reasons that compels them to be the way they are? Do we take the time to understand or do we just lay the blame? Are we the deaf ears and blind eyes that drove this fallen angel to suicide? They say that ignorance is bliss but what we don't know can kill us. Not everyone can live an ideal life. Things happen, things change. But we do what we feel is right for us.