TBS Prompt 2.8 3B Satan
Limbs uncurling; joints popping in celebration
Lungs swelling; chest burning; spine lengthening.
Time served and freedom attained.
Confinement had curled him into an old man, spine cured, shoulders hunched but freedom had brought his power back. He has been that prisoner locked away and forgotten, brought out only for self flagellation or internal torment but now he is free. That knowledge makes laughter tickle his throat and fill his chest. Oh this is going to be
So
Much
Fun.
The world has changed since he was last unleashed. It is faster and jaded; darker and decayed around the edges, like a shiny apple just past its expiration date. One good swing and it will all fall down.
Likes ashes and ring around the rosy. That was his idea you know; little girls dancing, hands held and singing at the top of their tiny, pitched voices about the end of the world. Irritation prickles his features and a scowl crosses his lips before a cocky smile takes up more permanent residence. He should have had the little girls and the dancing to welcome him home. He shrugs, removing his hands from his pockets and moving with a boneless grace that the body he’s in never possessed. He’ll make the most of it because that is what he has been doing for centuries and look where it has gotten him:
Right where he wants to be. Father would be so proud; ashamed, enraged, fiery rain from the Heavens. It is all much the same thing isn’t it? Attention is love and he is about to get a lot of attention.
A girl with nicotine stained fingers and purple, dark shadows under her eyes stares at him as he passes and he reaches out, fingers brushing her shoulder. The sensation is nearly orgasmic and he has forgotten what it feels like to experience this world without that wet blanket of morals, intentions, duty and control insulating him from it all. He is sure it was supposed to teach him a lesson, residing all these years in sight of that pool of potential, never able to reach it, tap it or even fully comprehend it but even the omnipotent make mistakes-zing! Right there, blasphemy in the thoughts. It’s been a while since that’s happened to this boy wonder with such perfect faith. Oh but it feels good, a little chill down the spine and a fuzzy feeling in the pit of the stomach. He has mentioned how much fun this was going to be; didn’t he? The omnipotent makes mistakes, doesn’t see, doesn’t believe because he-or she, let’s be politically correct here-can’t summon the same faith in his or her subjects that he or she expects them to have in him or here. Isn’t PC a wonderful thing? Decayed just around the edges; one good swing and…well the picture is clear.
The thing is there are too many forces at work. No one can really keep up. Seriously, imagine his (or her) inbox for just a moment. Events line up, catastrophes happen and there’s all that pesky free will. It’s the thing that makes the world go ‘round. Not money, not love. Yes the Beatles were wrong. Deal with it kiddos. Free will makes the world spin like a little top. It’s where rebellion starts, temptation giggles and all of the sudden this job isn’t a job. It’s a choose-your-own-adventure with all endings leading to one thoroughly predictable ending. Now don’t look like that. Everyone has known it for centuries and if they didn’t…Reality television really is taking over, isn’t it?
The girl is replaced with a boy with track marks on his arms, shoulder bumping against him; apologies and coy smiles. Apples, apples, how do you like them apples? Oh he likes them just fine. So much time spent trying to save a world that didn’t want to be saved in the first place.
The boy wonder in him is screaming and dying and whimpering-at least he’s being entertaining-because this wasn’t how it was supposed to all go down. The very notion makes him laugh because this was exactly how it was supposed to go down. This is what he’s been planning on for centuries. Oh sure being stuck in the body of a stripper or a drug dealer, a very smart serial killer-personally he liked the secretary from Peoria. She showed such promise and then…isn’t that how it goes-now where was he? Oh right, the golden boy; at least that had made things interesting; nausea-inducing but interesting.
“Sam. Sammy.”
A hand grabs his elbow, fingertips digging into the skin as bruises rise, livid and dark. His eyes narrow and the Boy Scout rallies. A string of curses bubble to his lips but they come out sounding like laughter. The ground spins, his stomach roils and then it is slipping, uncoiling too fast; anchor pulling at the chain, catching, holding and straining. It sucks at him from the center before it implodes
Right
Before
His
Eyes.
Limbs atrophy; joints screaming in protest.
Lungs collapse; chest sinking; spine contracting.
His breath is coming in shallow pants as a cold sweat covers his skin but the hand on his elbow is strong, pulling him back and keeping him anchored; straining, holding and pulling but holding.
“You okay?”
He nods, the hand loosens but the anchor remains. Dean’s hand slaps his back and he winces because it’s harder than he would like but the weight and the force is right.
“Come on, Dude. Let’s go get some pie.”
“Apple.”
“Hell yeah, friggin’ apple.”
Lungs swelling; chest burning; spine lengthening.
Time served and freedom attained.
Confinement had curled him into an old man, spine cured, shoulders hunched but freedom had brought his power back. He has been that prisoner locked away and forgotten, brought out only for self flagellation or internal torment but now he is free. That knowledge makes laughter tickle his throat and fill his chest. Oh this is going to be
So
Much
Fun.
The world has changed since he was last unleashed. It is faster and jaded; darker and decayed around the edges, like a shiny apple just past its expiration date. One good swing and it will all fall down.
Likes ashes and ring around the rosy. That was his idea you know; little girls dancing, hands held and singing at the top of their tiny, pitched voices about the end of the world. Irritation prickles his features and a scowl crosses his lips before a cocky smile takes up more permanent residence. He should have had the little girls and the dancing to welcome him home. He shrugs, removing his hands from his pockets and moving with a boneless grace that the body he’s in never possessed. He’ll make the most of it because that is what he has been doing for centuries and look where it has gotten him:
Right where he wants to be. Father would be so proud; ashamed, enraged, fiery rain from the Heavens. It is all much the same thing isn’t it? Attention is love and he is about to get a lot of attention.
A girl with nicotine stained fingers and purple, dark shadows under her eyes stares at him as he passes and he reaches out, fingers brushing her shoulder. The sensation is nearly orgasmic and he has forgotten what it feels like to experience this world without that wet blanket of morals, intentions, duty and control insulating him from it all. He is sure it was supposed to teach him a lesson, residing all these years in sight of that pool of potential, never able to reach it, tap it or even fully comprehend it but even the omnipotent make mistakes-zing! Right there, blasphemy in the thoughts. It’s been a while since that’s happened to this boy wonder with such perfect faith. Oh but it feels good, a little chill down the spine and a fuzzy feeling in the pit of the stomach. He has mentioned how much fun this was going to be; didn’t he? The omnipotent makes mistakes, doesn’t see, doesn’t believe because he-or she, let’s be politically correct here-can’t summon the same faith in his or her subjects that he or she expects them to have in him or here. Isn’t PC a wonderful thing? Decayed just around the edges; one good swing and…well the picture is clear.
The thing is there are too many forces at work. No one can really keep up. Seriously, imagine his (or her) inbox for just a moment. Events line up, catastrophes happen and there’s all that pesky free will. It’s the thing that makes the world go ‘round. Not money, not love. Yes the Beatles were wrong. Deal with it kiddos. Free will makes the world spin like a little top. It’s where rebellion starts, temptation giggles and all of the sudden this job isn’t a job. It’s a choose-your-own-adventure with all endings leading to one thoroughly predictable ending. Now don’t look like that. Everyone has known it for centuries and if they didn’t…Reality television really is taking over, isn’t it?
The girl is replaced with a boy with track marks on his arms, shoulder bumping against him; apologies and coy smiles. Apples, apples, how do you like them apples? Oh he likes them just fine. So much time spent trying to save a world that didn’t want to be saved in the first place.
The boy wonder in him is screaming and dying and whimpering-at least he’s being entertaining-because this wasn’t how it was supposed to all go down. The very notion makes him laugh because this was exactly how it was supposed to go down. This is what he’s been planning on for centuries. Oh sure being stuck in the body of a stripper or a drug dealer, a very smart serial killer-personally he liked the secretary from Peoria. She showed such promise and then…isn’t that how it goes-now where was he? Oh right, the golden boy; at least that had made things interesting; nausea-inducing but interesting.
“Sam. Sammy.”
A hand grabs his elbow, fingertips digging into the skin as bruises rise, livid and dark. His eyes narrow and the Boy Scout rallies. A string of curses bubble to his lips but they come out sounding like laughter. The ground spins, his stomach roils and then it is slipping, uncoiling too fast; anchor pulling at the chain, catching, holding and straining. It sucks at him from the center before it implodes
Right
Before
His
Eyes.
Limbs atrophy; joints screaming in protest.
Lungs collapse; chest sinking; spine contracting.
His breath is coming in shallow pants as a cold sweat covers his skin but the hand on his elbow is strong, pulling him back and keeping him anchored; straining, holding and pulling but holding.
“You okay?”
He nods, the hand loosens but the anchor remains. Dean’s hand slaps his back and he winces because it’s harder than he would like but the weight and the force is right.
“Come on, Dude. Let’s go get some pie.”
“Apple.”
“Hell yeah, friggin’ apple.”