(no subject)
Title: Hell On Earth
Fandom: Original
Genre: Angst
Word count: 292
Notes: Written for a mouseai challenge.
Summary: Back alleys of New York City.
New York City, in the dark smelly back allies where the bums shoot up and die alone where nobody cares. It's like the sewerage of the entire world, the place where the dregs of humanity are dumped along with the rest of the garbage. Nobody goes there if they don't need to; it's a dangerous crime area, they say. It's infested by drug addicts and muggers and rapists. They're right, and even if that's not enough to persuade people to stay away, it's disgusting- the streets are filled with the overwhelming stench of human waste and vomit and death all mingled together, and the walls stretch up forever so that the allies are dark, narrow, claustrophobic, making you feel like you can't escape and you can't breathe.
It's depressing, that's what it is. Once you've spent too much time there you can never cleanse yourself entirely. It leaves a tarnish on your soul, and that's why I'm still here, still here in the fucking doorway chain-smoking and getting utterly pissed. This is humanity at its worst and it makes me want to cry. I feel disoriented, disillusioned, and it's hard to remember that I don't belong here. I can remember, if I try, what it was like to be an angel; remember what it was like to be pure and to have faith. I know there is a God. I've met him. I can't believe him any more, though, not now that I'm down here in this alley with filth that I'll never be able to remove coating my formerly white wings.
How can humans believe in a Hell after death, I wonder? Can't they see that it's right here, right here on Earth?
Even an angel will Fall in New York.
Fandom: Original
Genre: Angst
Word count: 292
Notes: Written for a mouseai challenge.
Summary: Back alleys of New York City.
New York City, in the dark smelly back allies where the bums shoot up and die alone where nobody cares. It's like the sewerage of the entire world, the place where the dregs of humanity are dumped along with the rest of the garbage. Nobody goes there if they don't need to; it's a dangerous crime area, they say. It's infested by drug addicts and muggers and rapists. They're right, and even if that's not enough to persuade people to stay away, it's disgusting- the streets are filled with the overwhelming stench of human waste and vomit and death all mingled together, and the walls stretch up forever so that the allies are dark, narrow, claustrophobic, making you feel like you can't escape and you can't breathe.
It's depressing, that's what it is. Once you've spent too much time there you can never cleanse yourself entirely. It leaves a tarnish on your soul, and that's why I'm still here, still here in the fucking doorway chain-smoking and getting utterly pissed. This is humanity at its worst and it makes me want to cry. I feel disoriented, disillusioned, and it's hard to remember that I don't belong here. I can remember, if I try, what it was like to be an angel; remember what it was like to be pure and to have faith. I know there is a God. I've met him. I can't believe him any more, though, not now that I'm down here in this alley with filth that I'll never be able to remove coating my formerly white wings.
How can humans believe in a Hell after death, I wonder? Can't they see that it's right here, right here on Earth?
Even an angel will Fall in New York.