Ashes

This writing is in the first person perspective of a well dressed man six feet and one inch in height. His hair is slicked back. He wears a long black dress jacket with two large gold buttons, black slacks and black dress shoes polished to an extreme shine.

It's been so long since I've been here. It's wonderful to see again, after all this time. I had almost forgotten what it was like -- the smog, the desperation that stalked the streets at night, the families torn apart by apathy and mental disorder which will strut across television screens for the amusement of the masses. It reminds me of my time back in ancient Rome. The coliseums, the spectacle, the smell of freshly spilt blood...

Oh no, but these are the glory days. I always get reports, of course. The lesser demons always report thoroughly when they return from the surface. But no amount of reporting, no words could describe what the inner-city slums are like at night. The whole society is rotting away from the inside, burning down slowly into ash. The best Christians are the ones who don't really believe in Christ, and the best educated people don't even believe in God. They can sit in their offices, perches of power and pretend that they know why the sun comes up. But they don't.

It's a full moon tonight. You can't see it though, it's hidden by a bank of smog boiling restlessly in the cool night air. Lamps illuminate patches of sidewalk with harsh light, but muggings continue in the stretches of darkness between. Sounds of tires squealing pierce the air from time to time. Once there were gunshots. I could feel the hate, the hot pain, the anger in the air. It was all delicious. Every now and then I pass a homeless man lying against a building, bundled up in some old ratty blankets, trying to hold off the bitter night which cut at his bones so sharply. I feel nothing.

Two men, hardly more than teenagers, try to creep up behind me. I feel the malice of their intent. A man in a business suit wandering the streets at night is the perfect target for an easy couple of dollars. My tastes are very well refined, though most people would find them somewhat distasteful. They're right behind me now. Faster than their mortals eyes can see -- especially in the gloom of night -- I spin on my heal and face them.

"Can I do something for you gentlemen?" I ask.

The one who is closest to me, stops in his tracks and takes a few steps back toward his companion. They can feel... I know they can feel it. Their hearts are both filled with terror as I regard them cooly.

"No sir," he says hastily, gesturing with his hand to his companion, telling him to stop and walk backwards. "We were just going this way," he says, indicating the opposite direction with a quick hand gesture.

"Oh well, I do hope you're careful," I say, letting him know from my tone that I realize exactly what they had planned on doing. "There are many bad, bad men who wander streets like this at night, you wouldn't want any... accidents." They can tell that I am such a man who could cause an "accident" if he was so inclined.

"Tha--" the man's voice cuts out on him and he starts again, "thanks for the advice sir," he manages to get out. "We'll just be on our way. Have, uh... have a good evening."

I smile after them as they try to disappear into the night as quickly as they can. I contemplate things I might do to them later if I feel like it, but abandon that train of thought after a few moments. So many things... too many to make the contemplation worthwhile. I continue with my walk.

I almost pass another homeless person without notice. I've seen so many this night, and they are all the same. But something catches my eye. The light from a streetlamp reflects off their hair. It's almost pure black. And while the creature obviously hasn't had a shower in months I can tell... it's a girl. The first one I've seen in the street since coming to the surface. She feels different. Her spirit is not unlike my essence. She rails against the forces of death and decay. She is unbreakable; unyielding. Just as I will forever rail against the forces of God, so will this tiny creature fight until her last breath against all which opposes her.

I stop, go back and gaze at the specimen for a while. Something moves under the blanket spread across her body, but it isn't her. A small child's head appears and looks up at me in horror. Dark, matted hair against his tiny skull and gaunt skin are his only visible aspects. He starts to cry but the mother does not wake at first, her hand simply rubs against the boy in a reassuring manner -- an action devoid of conscious thought. But the boy does not stop crying, and after a minute, the mother's eyes open slowly.

She looks up and sees me but does not seem to care. How like a circus animal she must feel, being looked at all the time like some kind of freak of nature, alone on the sidewalk with only her tiny child as companionship. She leans over and kisses the forehead of the child, trying to comfort him, and now it seems to work. His whimpering lessens, and he closes his eyes again. The mother too is about to close her eyes.

"Hello," I say simply. I am not accustomed to speaking with mortals... not in a friendly context anyway.

"Go away," she replies flatly. "We are trying to sleep."

I'm somewhat taken aback by this. Such things would not be said in Hell. Then again, there is no sleep in Hell. "I couldn't help but notice you," I say in return. "You have quite a unique soul." It occurs to me only after saying this how odd it must sound to mortal ears.

"No, no I don't. We're all the same."

I couldn't exactly fathom what it was she meant by this. "What, all homeless people?" I ask.

"No, no, not just homeless people. All of us. It's all the same stuff. Star dust and monkey genes."

"I didn't mean what you were made out of," I point out, "I was referring to that which you were endowed with: Your soul."

She almost laughs, but it comes out as a cough. "You must have the wrong person," she says, "I don't have soul."

I have to raise my eyebrow at this. "You don't?" I reply. Given the unique sense I had gotten of her earlier, I have to wonder for a moment if she is perhaps another fallen angel. "No," she replies. "Not as far as I can tell."

"Do you mind if I sit down?" I ask. This is turning out to be a rather interesting conversation. This human is nothing at all like the ones I get to see.

She pauses. "No..." she says. "I guess I don't."

"Thank you," I reply cordially, and lower myself to the cold sidewalk. Then, continuing our conversation, I ask, "Why do you say that you don't have a soul?"

"Because I don't believe in God," she replies simply. It's as good a reason as any I suppose. She shifts under the blanket, and so does the child. Now her eyes are open, though, the traces of sleep have left her face.

"That's interesting," I reply. "I happen to know Him. I served him for a while, but he cast me down and out of His light."

"What, were you a preacher?" she asks.

"No," I say. The memories of the battle are painful. "I was an archangel -- I used to be at His side constantly. But in the end my designation didn't matter. We were all just slaves."

"Oh..." she replies slowly.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"I don't know, should I? The streets have a way of getting into a woman's mind and doing things to it, you know?"

"Yes, I know." I sit in silence for a while. "It's because of Him," I remark, after a minute.

"Who did you say you were, again?"

She nods in the gloom. "So... am I going to Hell, then?" she asks.

"No," I say. "Most anything you hear in the major religions these days isn't true. Especially about sin and salvation. God isn't so choosy as they might want you to believe -- particularly for humans. The angels are the ones who were the worst off. Humans simply have to be fairly good, and they are rewarded with an afterlife in Heaven. Angels, on the other hand, have to spend eternity groveling at His feet. Those are the rules, anyway."

The woman doesn't say anything for a moment. She seems to be thinking this over. "I couldn't do that," she states, after a few more moments of thought.

"No, neither could I. That's why I'm here. Or rather, that's why I am who I am."

"The devil," she says, and she almost sounds sad. Like she's sorry for me.

I nod, though I doubt she can see my head clearly in the darkness.

"Is it hard?" she asks after a moment.

"No. It's just the way I am. It's not like I'm a special case or anything... I mean, a full third of the angels defected with me. I was just the most... driven. To me more than any of the other angels, the thought of a life of servitude was repulsive. I was the most driven to do something -- anything -- about it."

"Doesn't sound like the kind of thing you should be punished for... I mean, how can God be in favor of... slavery?"

I have to think about that. I've never seen it in quite that light before. Slavery... "It's not really the same," I reply after thinking it over. "I mean, it is slavery in a sense... but that's why He created us. It's like we're just a hammer or a car to him... we're just tools. But... we're more than just tools, also."

"But... how is it different from slavery?"

I guess I didn't really answered her question. That's just not the way I'd thought about it... "Because we're not human," I say.

"And that makes it all right?"

"Well, yes. And no. It is right, in its way, it's just not..." I have to pause and think for a moment before finishing, "good." I feel like I should say something else, but I can't think of anything.

"Good? Why does the devil care about goodness?"

"Bec--" I start, but falter.

"I thought you hated goodness..." she said slowly.

I'm at a loss. It's an odd feeling. Before, everything seemed to make so much sense. But now this human... this woman...

"What's your name?" I ask. I can't think of anything else to say, and I am suddenly very curious about this unique girl.

"Alanis," she answers.

"Alanis..." I repeat it to myself softly. It has an interesting ring to it. A chiming sound almost... Alanis...

I sit there in silence, pondering. After a minute, she becomes worried. "Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yes," I say, but I'm not. And somehow it feels awkward to lie. It's never bothered me to lie to anyone in the past...

"What is it?" she asks. I guess my lie didn't really matter. She sounds so worried. About me? About the source of evil?

"I... I don't know. That's what's wrong. I've always known, before. It's always been so clear. But suddenly it's not the same. Can there really be a difference between what is right and what is good?"

"Sure," she replies almost immediately. She's obviously given the subject a good amount of thought. Maybe that's why her spirit is so steadfast.

"Well..." She begins in a lecturing tone. She reminds me of a schoolteacher. ...Of the way God used to sound when Adam or Eve would ask Him questions. She continues, "take a battle, for example. A man might be sent to his death to save the lives of some civilians. It's not good, but it is right. It... should be done."

I have to allow myself time to consider this. And then I reply, "But what if the man had lived... and had gone on to save a hundred people later on -- but instead gives his life to save fifty?"

"Who's to say that those hundred people would have been in harms way if he hadn't given his life for the fifty, earlier? You can't know what's going to happen in the future; and every action you take affects what will happen in the future."

I have to keep my mouth shut, but she realizes her mistake after a moment.

"Oh, well... I guess maybe some people can know what's going to happen."

I smile in the darkness. "But the point is well taken," I say. "Mortals have to live their lives without knowing about the future. It can't work any other way... too many temporal conundrums to deal with."

"Ah," she replies softly. Then after a moment, "Do you know the future?"

"Hard to say," I reply, but I know that wont make any sense. "Maybe I could... if I tried. But I don't. I don't want to know what will happen, so I try not to think about it. Gives me the illusion of free will, you know?"

"Free will..." she says, slowly, contemplatively. "Do I have free will?" she asks.

"Yeah... you do. It's hard to explain. See, what will happen has already been decided... but that's because... well, it's like this: You're a character in a novel, see, and the novel has already been written. But, there are an infinite number of different versions with different endings, and you get to decide which version you play out."

"Sounds like quantum theory."

I raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Yeah," I reply. "Yeah, it is like that. ...A lot like that."

She smiles in the darkness. "You didn't think I'd know what you meant if you'd said 'quantum,' did you?"

"No," I have to admit. "I didn't."

"That's okay. Nobody expects it from someone living on the street."

Again we lapse into silence. I listen to the sounds of the city, but they're not as interesting as they were when I first came to the surface. They're almost distasteful now. I keep thinking about what she said earlier...

"Is it right that you live the way you do?" I ask. I know it must be a hard subject for her, but I am very curious as to what she'll say.

She takes a breath and slowly lets it out, organizing the jumbled thoughts in her brain so that she can respond to my question. "I don't know..." she says. "See, that's why I used the example of the soldier. I know that it's good to save lives, because I believe human life has value. But it's not so clear for me... with myself, that is. With the soldier, there are two distinct outcomes... there's very little leeway. For me... I don't know what my life would be like if I weren't living on the streets. If I weren't living on the streets... there's a good chance I wouldn't be living at all." She doesn't explain the last comment, and I decide not to press her on it. If I really wanted to find out, there are plenty of ways I could.

Human life has value... I think to myself. I wonder, does my existence has value?

"What about angels?" she asks, suddenly.

"What, do our lives have values?" I say, continuing from my own train of thought.

"No, that's not what I meant. Sorry, I was backtracking... I was wondering if angels have souls too."

"Oh, I see," I reply. "No, no... angels don't have souls. Angels are just... an essence. Similar to your soul, but able to manifest itself if necessary. Without the use of a body, that is."

She thinks about this for a moment, then states, "Well then, angels must have value too."

"What?" I ask. "What's the logic there?"

"Well, human life has value. I know that's true. And you say they have souls, so... if you basically are a soul, then you have value also. QED."

I hum to myself softly, cogitating over this new hypothesis. "But what if it's not because of your souls... what if it's because of your relationship with God that gives your lives value?"

"I didn't expect you to take God's side," she says.

"I'm not exactly taking His side. I'm just pointing out another possibility. I don't know the answer. You've heard of playing the devil's advocate."

She laughs now, and it's a beautiful sound. It's been such a long time since I remember anything being beautiful. Not since I left...

"Aah," I say weakly, suddenly. My head became light suddenly. Very disconcerting. It's not often that I experience physical discomfort.

"Are you okay?" she asks. Again I hear the concern in her voice. I don't understand it... why... why would she act so?

The little boy has seemed to wake up. Though he tries to move with stealth, I see him shift under the blanket. He must have awakened when I cried out.

My head is swimming now, and I can't concentrate. I look over at the woman again. ...Alanis, are you doing this to me? And then the little boy speaks, softly to his mother, perhaps hoping I wont be able to hear him.

"Mommy, is he sick?"

"I don't know, Adam," she replies. And then she addresses me again. "Are you all right? There's a place not too far from here I know..."

I look at her and she stops. It's not a menacing look, but I think for the first time she may wonder if I really am who I claimed to be. The look on my face is odd. I feel confused. But I don't want to leave. I don't want to ever leave. I suddenly wish I could sit on this sidewalk forever and talk with this woman who I just met...

And then she seems to gain resolve. She is about to get up, I see her muscles tense up. "No, no please," I say, and she stops. "I'm fine, really... I'm fine. Please, just relax."

She does, but not emotionally. She's watching me very carefully now. I can't understand it. I have to ask. "How can you be so concerned for... me?" I ask. "I always... I always hated humans so much..."

"That's okay... I would have hated you too. ...If I had believed that you existed."

I smile. It's a fair point, and it does ease my mind somewhat. And then I get this feeling again. It's almost foreign, but I know it's not. I recognize from my past. Thousands of years ago now... Millions? I can't remember, exactly. It was... "up" there. Did it have to do with Him? Is that where I recognize this feeling?

"What?" she replies, somewhat unsettled by my odd tone, my wavering voice.

"I... I remember now."

"Remember what?" she asks. She leans over and looks at me.

"Love," I say simply. It was still a like seeing something through gauze, I still had to concentrate to recognize it, but I was sure now.

Her brow furrows. I can see the light from the streetlamps reflect off her tan skin. "What do you mean?"

I had looked into the gloom as if I might see Love in the darkness, but now I look into her troubled eyes. They're a pale blue. I couldn't have seen them, but being an angel does have certain advantages. They're so beautiful... "You," I say. And I can see it in her eyes; her mind starts to race. She doesn't know what to do, what to think, what to say. Neither do I.

"I-- ...You can... love?"

"Oh, I loved God!" I cry out. The pain which had been coming nearer and nearer for my exploded like a grenade in my chest. And I had. "It was the humans. He loved the humans above us, and it enraged me! I was so jealous," I continue in a low voice, almost a growl. Even thinking about it is hard. "He loved you people above us. His own angels!"

"I'm so sorry..." she says. And she reaches over to touch my back, reassuring me.

I have to look over at her. "Oh, Alanis... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up like that. But yes... I can love. And I did love God... But that was so long ago now. I had forgotten what it was like. I had forgotten what good was like. But you... you reminded me. You showed me. I had no idea that there were humans like you."

She is speechless for the first time since our conversation began. She tries to speak a few times, but nothing is forthcoming. "I'm not sure what to think," she admits after a minute. "I decided to give up on love a long time ago... after Adam's father left..."

"No... never give up. On anything. Anything!" Maybe I shouldn't get so animated, but I can't help it. "I could feel your soul. It was steadfast and determined. Alanis... please promise me to not give up. Defeat is below you, Alanis. Your spirit can overcome anything. I can feel it. ...It's like mine. It's the only one like mine I've seen in... many years."

She raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how to feel. I... I can't believe it. It's incredible. The devil... loves me..."

That pains me more than I can explain. "Call me... Lucifer. Please..."

"I'm sorry," she says. "...Lucifer. It's just that--"

"Please, don't make excuses. Don't dismiss me like that. Do me the honor of thinking about it. Just at least think about what I've said."

She pauses. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I will think about it."

I get up slowly. "When will you be back?" she asks. "Tomorrow night," I reply, and leave.

Time isn't the same for creatures like us... angels, demons and such. I couldn't say it felt like any longer or shorter a period of time, but my mind was racing. I think about God and myself and my brothers in heaven and in hell. My former glory, closer to God than any other being. And I lost it, threw it away. Was it worth it? I watch the world turning, spinning with unimaginable speed in the vast stretches of emptiness and blackness. And I can see it burning down, disintegrating, becoming gray ash and floating away into the wind. "Ashes to ashes..." I can imagine it disappearing completely, a gray smudge on the huge black canvas of the Universe. I remember loving the decay, needing it, reveling in it. Now I don't. Now it makes me uncomfortable, I want to stop it. But I have no control over it any more, and it makes me feel helpless. I can help it along... I don't know how to do anything else. Confused, I return to the cold black streets, and Alanis.

"Hello," I say for the second time.

She smiles at me in the light of a streetlamp. "Sit down," she says to me, and indicates the sidewalk next to her. A bit of the blanket she's wrapped in is laid out next to her, so that I might have a place to sit above the cold cement. A sentiment that confuses me somewhat, but I don't question her about it.

I sit and cross my legs. I'm not sure of what I should say, so I don't say anything. After a few moments, she speaks.

"I've been reading from the Bible," she says, holding up a black, cloth-bound book which had been laying to her other side.

"Getting a little history?" I ask. "I'm not sure that's the most reliable source."

"I didn't think it would be, but I needed something to give me a background. I recognize that it necessarily casts you in a particular light. But it's still fascinating."

"And what has it made you think?"

"Well between this, and between our conversation last night..." she says slowly, and pauses. She looks over to me, lowers the book to the cement again and reaches for my hand. I almost recoil, but then I submit to her touch. "I don't think there's anybody with a greater spirit or more determined will in the Universe," she continues, "and I would love to be able to spend my life with that person." She squeezes my hand. Now I, for the first time since meeting this creature, Alanis, am speechless. Emotion nearly overpowers my rational thought.

For the second time, my head swims, but it's not the same this time. I look at Alanis, but it's something else. Something isn't the same. Something has changed.

"Something's different," I say quietly.

"What?" she asks. "Like what?"

I pause, unsure. "Oh... I see..." I say slowly.

Alanis gives me a prompting look.

"'Do unto others as you would have others do unto you,'" I quote. "He's been saying it for so long in so many different ways, and yet I never really got it until now. I wanted freedom. I wanted... to be in control."

"And?" she prompts again.

"So did everyone else." I turn and smile at her. "I didn't see it before, but it's okay that not all the angels rebelled. I wanted them all to come with me. We wared. But it was all a mistake. I thought, 'I want to make myself free, so I will make them free too.' But that's not right."

"I don't see it yet," Alanis says. "What is right?"

"What I really wanted was to exist on my own terms. I should have let them exist on their own terms."

Alanis smils. "I see," she says.

"Do you really see, Alanis? It took me many millennia to really, truly get it." I look into her eyes. "You do," I say, smiling. "I knew you were special."

"So now... I'm confused... what happens?"

"You, Lucifer, has accepted God. Something's got to have become unbalanced."

I have to think about this. I'm not sure if she's right or not -- or if she is, what the answer is.

"Maybe this is how it all starts," I say, thinking as I go. "The world is returning to ashes. I've been burning it down for thousands of years. But now... now the phoenix must rise out of those ashes. We know what the way is. Now we have to start resurrecting ourselves."