Hell found me. Standing in an open field, shouting.
I served my time, did everything I was told, took refuge in cheerful destruction.
Those who ruled me did so wantonly, and I reveled in my tasks. A nudge here, a shove there, outright mayhem on occasion, I did it all.
Eagerly, or so I thought.
My last task, the one which should have been my Master's thesis, became my damnation when I listened for the first time.
He was sitting in the tall grass, twin boys in his lap, telling stories of elves and dragons, painting his words on a blue canvas with white, fluffy clouds. His sons were listening with the rapt attention of toddlers, wonder in their eyes.
My job was a simple thing, a nudge at the right moment, and the payoff would be immense. I sat, unseen as shadows, and waited.
The father finished his tale, his tone taking on the roaring shudder of a dragon, and the children squealed with terror and delight as his arms squeezed. Their childish treble laughter was harmony to his bass rumble as he released them.
He laid them down atop the blanket which had held their picnic, covered their wriggling bodies to stillness with his jacket, and bade them sleep.
I sat up. My time was almost at hand.
The father began to sing, soft as breezes, even though his skill was rough as stone. A simple lullaby, yet somehow familiar.
I listened to the sound, chased forgotten memories, and nearly missed my chance. The grass ruffled faintly as the snake wove through the coarse blades, seeking shelter from the sun.
One push, barely a nudge, and it would find sanctuary between two small bodies until one of the children moved. One child would die, the other would live, and the father would be tormented by the loss to the end of his days.
His anguish would be exquisite.
As I touched the snake, turned it's course by mere inches, the father finished his song, despite the even breathing and innocent faces which said his sons were already asleep.
“Go to sleep my sons. Babies, close your eyes. Soon enough you'll wake to day. But for now, dear boys of mine, O my babies, sleep tight.”
At the words, memory burst free, and I remembered the lullaby, the song my father sang to me when snow swirled through chinks in stone walls and I was a toddler, safe from the night in his arms.
I cried out, my voice loud only to me, and slapped at the snake, tried to drive it away. But my master had heard me, heard anguish instead of joy, and robbed me of my power. The living body of the snake continued it's course, heedless of my weeping and I knew despair for the first time in ages.
A cloud passed overhead, dimming the brilliance of the day and I raged at the sky.
“HELP ME!”
A shaft of light, no wider than my hand, illuminated the thermos which held the father's coffee, and I saw redemption. I slapped at the open bottle, putting every ounce of my fear and despair into the action, and the unliving container wobbled in the faint breeze to spill across the blanket at the boys' feet.
The father saw it fall, saw the snake retreat beneath his jacket from the cool liquid as it spread, and cried out. He grabbed the twitching tail and yanked the snake clear, throwing it far away from the treasures of his heart. He grabbed his babies, held them close, and wept with the nearness of it.
I collapsed into a ball, suddenly crushed by the weight of my mendacity through the insubstantial centuries, pummeled by the grief I had inflicted, and finally revived by laughter as the father tickled his children, distracting them from his fear.
I stood, shivering like any newborn, yet feeling complete for the first time since I had died in a stinking brothel, a knife buried in my guts.
“Thank you,” I whispered. The day reclaimed it's brilliance and I felt the warmth of it, wonderingly.
A shade rose beneath me, crushed me as easily as eternity crushes hope, and I quailed. Severe would in no way begin to describe my punishment.
“Mine,” said a voice as timeless as oceans, and as silent as snowflakes.
“Yours,” I agreed, and the shadow fled.
For a demon, there is no greater hell than mercy, but I was demon no longer. Nor was I an angel, but I was finally headed on the right path, guided by children's laughter.
I served my time, did everything I was told, took refuge in cheerful destruction.
Those who ruled me did so wantonly, and I reveled in my tasks. A nudge here, a shove there, outright mayhem on occasion, I did it all.
Eagerly, or so I thought.
My last task, the one which should have been my Master's thesis, became my damnation when I listened for the first time.
He was sitting in the tall grass, twin boys in his lap, telling stories of elves and dragons, painting his words on a blue canvas with white, fluffy clouds. His sons were listening with the rapt attention of toddlers, wonder in their eyes.
My job was a simple thing, a nudge at the right moment, and the payoff would be immense. I sat, unseen as shadows, and waited.
The father finished his tale, his tone taking on the roaring shudder of a dragon, and the children squealed with terror and delight as his arms squeezed. Their childish treble laughter was harmony to his bass rumble as he released them.
He laid them down atop the blanket which had held their picnic, covered their wriggling bodies to stillness with his jacket, and bade them sleep.
I sat up. My time was almost at hand.
The father began to sing, soft as breezes, even though his skill was rough as stone. A simple lullaby, yet somehow familiar.
I listened to the sound, chased forgotten memories, and nearly missed my chance. The grass ruffled faintly as the snake wove through the coarse blades, seeking shelter from the sun.
One push, barely a nudge, and it would find sanctuary between two small bodies until one of the children moved. One child would die, the other would live, and the father would be tormented by the loss to the end of his days.
His anguish would be exquisite.
As I touched the snake, turned it's course by mere inches, the father finished his song, despite the even breathing and innocent faces which said his sons were already asleep.
“Go to sleep my sons. Babies, close your eyes. Soon enough you'll wake to day. But for now, dear boys of mine, O my babies, sleep tight.”
At the words, memory burst free, and I remembered the lullaby, the song my father sang to me when snow swirled through chinks in stone walls and I was a toddler, safe from the night in his arms.
I cried out, my voice loud only to me, and slapped at the snake, tried to drive it away. But my master had heard me, heard anguish instead of joy, and robbed me of my power. The living body of the snake continued it's course, heedless of my weeping and I knew despair for the first time in ages.
A cloud passed overhead, dimming the brilliance of the day and I raged at the sky.
“HELP ME!”
A shaft of light, no wider than my hand, illuminated the thermos which held the father's coffee, and I saw redemption. I slapped at the open bottle, putting every ounce of my fear and despair into the action, and the unliving container wobbled in the faint breeze to spill across the blanket at the boys' feet.
The father saw it fall, saw the snake retreat beneath his jacket from the cool liquid as it spread, and cried out. He grabbed the twitching tail and yanked the snake clear, throwing it far away from the treasures of his heart. He grabbed his babies, held them close, and wept with the nearness of it.
I collapsed into a ball, suddenly crushed by the weight of my mendacity through the insubstantial centuries, pummeled by the grief I had inflicted, and finally revived by laughter as the father tickled his children, distracting them from his fear.
I stood, shivering like any newborn, yet feeling complete for the first time since I had died in a stinking brothel, a knife buried in my guts.
“Thank you,” I whispered. The day reclaimed it's brilliance and I felt the warmth of it, wonderingly.
A shade rose beneath me, crushed me as easily as eternity crushes hope, and I quailed. Severe would in no way begin to describe my punishment.
“Mine,” said a voice as timeless as oceans, and as silent as snowflakes.
“Yours,” I agreed, and the shadow fled.
For a demon, there is no greater hell than mercy, but I was demon no longer. Nor was I an angel, but I was finally headed on the right path, guided by children's laughter.