43.1D
"I just had the strangest dream about you."
It is midnight in Hell. There is no shriek of the damned or cries of pain. Most of the inhabitants, damned and fallen alike, sleep.
In circle six, in the city of Dis, in one of the apartment complexes, Sariel dreams.
She is six years old. She stares up at an older angel with black hair, who introduces himself as Metatron and informs her that he’s going to teach her things for a few years. There’s a vague nod on her behalf.
It is two years later. Metatron hands her a sword made of real metal. She runs her fingers down the blade, careful not to slice herself. “It’s beautiful,” she says, gripping it in her hand. He laughs, informing her that they will now be training with real weapons instead of wooden ones.
Her first flight occurs when she is ten. She feels Metatron toss her into the air with all his might. She begins to fall and flails, trying to get her wings to work. They eventually spread wide enough and flap. She feels herself rise up in the air and now flaps wildly to stay up. Metatron suddenly appears beside her and smiles. “Now let’s propel forward, shall we?”
Sariel is now seventeen. She sits in the library, reading a large book on different types of weapons amongst the stacks. Duma is sitting next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. She grins at him slightly and strokes his hair.
Metatron smiles as he informs her that after twenty years of training, she is now officially the second in command of Heaven’s military. He then hands her a bastard sword and informs her that he’s proud of her accomplishments. She beams and hugs him.
Lucifer is sitting next to her, discussing how bored he is. She agrees with him, stating that after having the job for 13,000 years, she is very confused as to why Heaven has an army. It isn’t as if they’re ever called in to do things.
She stands and watches herself murder Iblis. She has never realized how vicious she is, how insane her movements look from an outsider’s perspective. Cut, slash, stab, take a hit, and come back twice as fast and far more pissed. She doesn’t look away as she watches herself stab Iblis, and smiles in satisfaction. That had never been a mistake.
She’s on a battlefield now, watching the carnage from above. There’s a sea of blood beneath her, and she wonders which war it is. She sees herself amongst the people fighting, stabbing and slashing without discretion. “I’m terrifying,” she thinks to herself, and smiles. It is a reputation she is satisfied with.
She’s standing beside Lucifer proudly as Adonai thanks them for fighting the war. Sariel smiles and says that it was simply her job, but Lucifer says nothing. He’s ashamed, and they both know it. She thinks a little bit less of him.
There are dead humans scattered around her feet. The buildings around them are on fire, and she sees herself stab another human. A woman this time, begging for mercy. Sariel finds herself bothered by the action and closes her eyes.
When she opens them, she’s watching herself fight Michael during the Lucifian War. Michael looks terrified of her as she swipes and stabs him in mid air, acting like a wild animal. She then sees herself fall, hit by some sort of alchemy. Her body goes limp and begins to plummet. Michael dives after the body, his sword drawn, and attempts to sever a wing as the body moves downwards.
She lands in Hell, no longer watching from an outsider’s perspective, right in the middle of a coup gone horribly awry. For once in her life she’s petrified and stabbing wildly, taking far too many hits. Her right shoulder is bleeding profusely and Azrael is next to her, screeching as he flails with his scythe in hand. ‘We’re going to die,’ she thinks as she makes a thrust with her halberd. ‘After all of this, we’re going to die.’
They don’t. Lucifer helps her up and lets her lean on him, as she is wobbly from blood loss. Azrael is on his other side, a cut around his left eye practically blinding him. He has said that he will make up for Hell, and apologizes for their injuries. She laughs slightly and says that they’ll worry about that once everyone stops bleeding. He smiles a small, wry smile and nods in agreement.
Lucifer is asleep beside her, curled up like a kitten. It has been fifty years since the fall and he has finally begun to have emotional breakdowns. She’s worried about him, as is Azrael, and it’s her turn to stay with him tonight. What she thought was simply letting him lean on her lead to using sex to release emotions and she knows that it was a terrible idea.
She’s in her office when Lucifer runs in, beaming, and shoves a piece of paper into her face. Sariel skims it over and nods slowly. “It’s a chance to go home!” he says. There’s a tone of excitement in his voice she hasn’t heard in ages. It’s relieving. He’s finally starting to act like his old self.
It’s the 18th century. She’s standing next to Lucifer and Azrael, watching a battle rage on. It’s the first time she’s ever seen a gun in action, and she decides immediately that she dislikes them. They are impersonal and loud. Killing another person should always be done looking the victim in the eye, as far as she’s concerned.
She finds herself in a trench as guns fire overhead. She grimaces and peaks her head over the top, and then ducks. The Great War. Sariel shudders and stares at her feet. They’re disgusting and look black. Trench foot. She tries to heal it, but can’t. She doesn’t want to lose her feet, so she runs down the trenches, hoping to escape.
It is 1998, and Uriel is sitting in her office, going over new protocol. An ice cold box of lo mien is beside him. He sighs and looks up from the paper. Sariel is staring at him, thinking. “What?” he turns and asks her. Her response is to kiss him, and she’s pleased when he returns the gesture.
The year 3045 comes. She stands over a metropolis populated by flying cars and mutated humans who chat happily with aliens. Azrael is next to her, eating a hot dog and commenting on how fascinating all of it is and would you look at that giant wasp. She rolls her eyes.
It is far later in the future now, and she stands outside an imposing pair of wrought iron gates. Final judgment. She walks through the gates freezes. Something is tearing at her body. She can feel each molecule being pulled away. She tries to calm herself, ignoring what’s going on, but her attempts fail. Panic sets in as she feels her toes and fingers disappear. Her arms and legs dissolve next, and then her torso and head. Her mind is the last thing to be destroyed, and everything she once was fades into nothingness.
Sariel wakes up in terror, practically falling out of bed. She looks to her left and right, relieved to find herself in her room. She’s safe. She’s alive, she’s breathing and she’s still in Hell.
“I hate that fucking dream,” she mutters to herself, deciding that a pot of coffee will keep her awake for the next several hours before work.
Word count: 1260
Note: Too much Sandman? Never.
It is midnight in Hell. There is no shriek of the damned or cries of pain. Most of the inhabitants, damned and fallen alike, sleep.
In circle six, in the city of Dis, in one of the apartment complexes, Sariel dreams.
She is six years old. She stares up at an older angel with black hair, who introduces himself as Metatron and informs her that he’s going to teach her things for a few years. There’s a vague nod on her behalf.
It is two years later. Metatron hands her a sword made of real metal. She runs her fingers down the blade, careful not to slice herself. “It’s beautiful,” she says, gripping it in her hand. He laughs, informing her that they will now be training with real weapons instead of wooden ones.
Her first flight occurs when she is ten. She feels Metatron toss her into the air with all his might. She begins to fall and flails, trying to get her wings to work. They eventually spread wide enough and flap. She feels herself rise up in the air and now flaps wildly to stay up. Metatron suddenly appears beside her and smiles. “Now let’s propel forward, shall we?”
Sariel is now seventeen. She sits in the library, reading a large book on different types of weapons amongst the stacks. Duma is sitting next to her, resting his head on her shoulder. She grins at him slightly and strokes his hair.
Metatron smiles as he informs her that after twenty years of training, she is now officially the second in command of Heaven’s military. He then hands her a bastard sword and informs her that he’s proud of her accomplishments. She beams and hugs him.
Lucifer is sitting next to her, discussing how bored he is. She agrees with him, stating that after having the job for 13,000 years, she is very confused as to why Heaven has an army. It isn’t as if they’re ever called in to do things.
She stands and watches herself murder Iblis. She has never realized how vicious she is, how insane her movements look from an outsider’s perspective. Cut, slash, stab, take a hit, and come back twice as fast and far more pissed. She doesn’t look away as she watches herself stab Iblis, and smiles in satisfaction. That had never been a mistake.
She’s on a battlefield now, watching the carnage from above. There’s a sea of blood beneath her, and she wonders which war it is. She sees herself amongst the people fighting, stabbing and slashing without discretion. “I’m terrifying,” she thinks to herself, and smiles. It is a reputation she is satisfied with.
She’s standing beside Lucifer proudly as Adonai thanks them for fighting the war. Sariel smiles and says that it was simply her job, but Lucifer says nothing. He’s ashamed, and they both know it. She thinks a little bit less of him.
There are dead humans scattered around her feet. The buildings around them are on fire, and she sees herself stab another human. A woman this time, begging for mercy. Sariel finds herself bothered by the action and closes her eyes.
When she opens them, she’s watching herself fight Michael during the Lucifian War. Michael looks terrified of her as she swipes and stabs him in mid air, acting like a wild animal. She then sees herself fall, hit by some sort of alchemy. Her body goes limp and begins to plummet. Michael dives after the body, his sword drawn, and attempts to sever a wing as the body moves downwards.
She lands in Hell, no longer watching from an outsider’s perspective, right in the middle of a coup gone horribly awry. For once in her life she’s petrified and stabbing wildly, taking far too many hits. Her right shoulder is bleeding profusely and Azrael is next to her, screeching as he flails with his scythe in hand. ‘We’re going to die,’ she thinks as she makes a thrust with her halberd. ‘After all of this, we’re going to die.’
They don’t. Lucifer helps her up and lets her lean on him, as she is wobbly from blood loss. Azrael is on his other side, a cut around his left eye practically blinding him. He has said that he will make up for Hell, and apologizes for their injuries. She laughs slightly and says that they’ll worry about that once everyone stops bleeding. He smiles a small, wry smile and nods in agreement.
Lucifer is asleep beside her, curled up like a kitten. It has been fifty years since the fall and he has finally begun to have emotional breakdowns. She’s worried about him, as is Azrael, and it’s her turn to stay with him tonight. What she thought was simply letting him lean on her lead to using sex to release emotions and she knows that it was a terrible idea.
She’s in her office when Lucifer runs in, beaming, and shoves a piece of paper into her face. Sariel skims it over and nods slowly. “It’s a chance to go home!” he says. There’s a tone of excitement in his voice she hasn’t heard in ages. It’s relieving. He’s finally starting to act like his old self.
It’s the 18th century. She’s standing next to Lucifer and Azrael, watching a battle rage on. It’s the first time she’s ever seen a gun in action, and she decides immediately that she dislikes them. They are impersonal and loud. Killing another person should always be done looking the victim in the eye, as far as she’s concerned.
She finds herself in a trench as guns fire overhead. She grimaces and peaks her head over the top, and then ducks. The Great War. Sariel shudders and stares at her feet. They’re disgusting and look black. Trench foot. She tries to heal it, but can’t. She doesn’t want to lose her feet, so she runs down the trenches, hoping to escape.
It is 1998, and Uriel is sitting in her office, going over new protocol. An ice cold box of lo mien is beside him. He sighs and looks up from the paper. Sariel is staring at him, thinking. “What?” he turns and asks her. Her response is to kiss him, and she’s pleased when he returns the gesture.
The year 3045 comes. She stands over a metropolis populated by flying cars and mutated humans who chat happily with aliens. Azrael is next to her, eating a hot dog and commenting on how fascinating all of it is and would you look at that giant wasp. She rolls her eyes.
It is far later in the future now, and she stands outside an imposing pair of wrought iron gates. Final judgment. She walks through the gates freezes. Something is tearing at her body. She can feel each molecule being pulled away. She tries to calm herself, ignoring what’s going on, but her attempts fail. Panic sets in as she feels her toes and fingers disappear. Her arms and legs dissolve next, and then her torso and head. Her mind is the last thing to be destroyed, and everything she once was fades into nothingness.
Sariel wakes up in terror, practically falling out of bed. She looks to her left and right, relieved to find herself in her room. She’s safe. She’s alive, she’s breathing and she’s still in Hell.
“I hate that fucking dream,” she mutters to herself, deciding that a pot of coffee will keep her awake for the next several hours before work.
Word count: 1260
Note: Too much Sandman? Never.