Send Try + a muse that you want to see me write! (accepting)
In the scope of the 16 billion or so years that he has existed as a discrete consciousness, the Morningstar has never found a more pitiable mortal life form than the human race. Never.
He muses upon this fact as he sits, chin on hand, in broad daylight, at a bench outside a Walmart parking lot. Yes, oh yes. The absolute dregs of human society populate here: “ordinary” people.
People parking in handicapped spaces without placards. People shouting at actual handicapped people who “don’t look it.” People trying to return used goods because they broke them, passing them off as new. Muggings, pick-pocketings, and the thieves aren’t even the filth of that scenario, it’s the red-faced middle-aged rich guys who scream “don’t ram your cart into my Beemer!’ The occasional Salvation Army bellringer, oho, those are the best of false messiahs yet. No homo!
People are disgusting. And Lucifer’s sole remaining consolation in all the universe, jilted from Heaven by a Father he loved too covetously, is the roiling nausea in his gut and the ache in his grinding jaw when he thinks too long on how disgusting life is.
“Get a job,” a woman with a soccer mom haircut snaps at the Devil, as she slap-slaps past in her flip flops.
Eyes the hue of a desolate winter sky follow her receding form through the automatic doors. Lucifer considers spontaneous disembowelment, but then shrugs, and the cold fury ripples off his form, replaced with a sinuous sneer. He doesn’t wanna lose his front-row seat, after all.
It’s funny. The Lightbringer is painted as a putrid rotting corpse, crawling with maggots and boils and burns and leprous holes, six bruised and torn wings once white as virgin snow now reeking of rotting roses, towering, a jowly beast of a fallen Archangel, and it’s true, on a supercorporeal level, that is the best way to describe Lucifer. But he chokes not with broiling fire. Not with dramatic horrific displays. Nah. Lucifer chokes with ice. He chokes with words never said. Jealousies that fester for years and centuries. Misapprehensions and miscommunications and resentments that turn into bitter entitlements. Lucifer is xenophobia, and envy, and foregone accountability. Lucifer is the simplest of concepts, really: he’s the absence of compassion. And these things are all soooo quietly insidious. They never make a fanfare, for all the talk that he is the embodiment of Pride (which he is).
And he RELISHES that humans will forever misperceive him as a red skinned imp with a forked tail. Or better yet, as a snake: an innocent legless lizard. Jesus, it’s hilarious!
The most. Pathetic. Creatures. In. The. Cosmos.
And thinking about that? It drowns out the endless keening wailing of a thing abandoned and past hope: with no one but himself to blame. It freezes that noise over. Just a little longer.
Icarus 