A heavy, tar coloured goblet thumped down on the table, filling the large hall with its deep echo. The impact sent its golden contents over the lip, and a single drop fell onto the surface of that long, empty table, fizzling and releasing a small wisp of steam into the air. There was silence for a moment, then a rumbling voice roared out, “Let the feast begin!” And it did. The bellows of Hell’s nobility were a collective thundering of approval at the food now being set before them. The room was alight with a fervent scarlet glow. Gold and precious jewels were plentiful: Hell was prosperous. The bloody contents of the feast dribbled down the chins of ghouls and demons and devils, twisting bodies and slithering things. The noxious stench of mildewed and decomposing flesh was inhaled into the vile creatures. All was well in the Place of Torment.
The meal was passed in blithesome comfort. Great Lucifer rose, and silence fell once more. He began:
“We were once young in days of old,
When the man grew vain and the man grew bold,
And those of new and grounded morals
Had new reforms and sought out quarrels.
For the frail young son would only sneer,
With his lips planted bare on the old man’s rear,
Who's high and mighty off his junior’s kisses,
Which helped atone for his absent Mrs.
So we fled down south for a warmer climate,
To escape from the bigoted and high-handed magnate.
Here in our lake of fire and brimstone,
We are the dead and and lord we’ve outshone -
So wealthy off all bad men’s riches
Our choir screams, ungodly pitches.
This is our kingdom, lo and behold,
Where the rum runs clear and the blood runs cold.”
As the chant ended, a shrill, bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air. The satisfied iconoclasts sighed in contentment. It was a good night.
The boy edged out of the room. His polished black heels clicked with each step as he walked tenaciously along the darkened corridors. His image flickered in and out of sight as he passed torches hanging on the dank walls. He stopped abruptly. He turned. He continued. This pattern repeated itself several times before the boy finally came to a complete halt. He stood outside a dimly lit room. It was clean, unused, and empty, save a shabby candle on an unsound chair. The boy hesitated by the door, running his fingers through the intricate designs of its frame.
“Hello, Gabriel.” he said.
“Greetings, Orpheus.” The angel replied.
* * *
Rich and luxurious looking clusters of cream coloured clouds billowed in the sky. A form, like a man or woman but so much greater, was advancing. The angel had a sort of incandescent glow. Like a child, with soft features and gently curling aureate locks, shining in the light of the Lord. Gabriel sauntered toward Him, clean bare feet on the warm mist cleared about them.
“The deposition.” Gabriel disclosed, handing over a slip of paper.
* * *
The long, black, leather whip dangled in Lucifer’s hand. He raised it, suddenly powerful and impressionable, and brought it down on his invalid’s back. In a curve cirvumvulating, it brought itself down, its sharpened edge cutting into skin. The rest followed through, the rounded arc stretching out, and dragged itself through the flesh, trailing along with it a thin stream of blood. Lucifer’s forked tongue flicked out to touch the whip, his head faced towards his son. Orpheus turned his eyes away and continued homeward.
He arrived at the manor. It stood alone in an open field, grey and lifeless and dull. The soil was packed hard, with a thin layer of dusty grit flowing over the surface in a crude and jaded dance. The terrain was lifeless, the taciturnity ominous. The estate towered over the land, appearing to peruse all those who approached it. It was sepulchral and cavernous once entered, as Orpheus did. He was now in a large room, much like an abyss but lavishly decorated.
He hurried now for he knew what confrontation was coming, and wished to avoid it. Walking as discreetly as he could, he made his way toward the staircase, which spiraled up and out of danger. This was less of an evasion of discomfort than an escape from true torment. Or so he thought of it. He turned and saw his father’s face resignedly. Lucifer grabbed his arm with long and sharpened fingernails, his face in shadows, his hand in light. With an air of intense sufferance Orpheus followed his lead. Lucifer brought them down to two readied chairs, sitting the reluctant child in one and taking the other for himself.
“What is this I've heard, my son,
Do you our worthy culture shun?
Your childhood body does now depart,
But what has spurred this change of heart?
Though I’ll accept you either way,
I must appeal you will not pray.
You know I wish to see you more,
But my position’s not a chore.”
Here young Orpheus interrupted what he could sense might go on some time longer.
“You think you’ve seen all that I am
And yet each morning there you scram.
This world’s a mess, a lack of virtue,
The sole escape’s that early curfew.
There’s so much more than what you’ve founded
The place you left was much more rounded -”
Father Lucifer would not take such talk from his son.
“You ought not think your ignorance
Amended by their abhorrence.
That grandeur that they try to imbue,
You know not what you’ve gotten into!”
Orpheus rose from his chair and stormed off.
“How dare you walk away from me,
There will be trouble, you will see!” Lucifer shouted after him.
The door clicked shut behind Orpheus. He had entered a small room, crowded with little trinkets. It was covered in a thin layer of grime: He had not been here for a long time. The only sound was the slow ticking of a clock hidden somewhere in the rubble. A cracked mirror stood in front of him, splotched black from time and wear. He sat on the bed in the corner, and the fabric, having grown stiff, crepitated slightly. He was overwhelmed by the smell of age and dust. He coughed into his arm, then moved it over to clear the accumulated filth from his old book, once given to him by his father: Basic Torture Methods For Dummies.
“Dear Lord this place could really use a workup.” Orpheus looked up, surprised, and saw God sitting on his desk. “I mean, do you never clean? I know, I know, you probably aren’t used to guests like me, but after all, as it says in Ezekiel, ‘I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean.’, cleanliness is important, I’ve said it. You really ought to read that Book, it’s really a work of art. Now only $5.99 at your local bookstore, oh God, what a deal. It makes you realise how truly spectacular I really am. There have been some accusations, of course, of stretching the truth, I won’t deny it, sure I had it a bit enhanced, so to speak. But it is a real source for inspiration, that stuff. I’m a man of the people, what can I say, I give them what they like. Exodus puts it really nicely: ‘The LORD, the LORD God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in lovingkindness and truth; who keeps lovingkindness for thousands, who forgives iniquity, transgression and sin’. But that’s me for you, I just give, and give, and give, and ask for nothing in return. About now you’re going to be feeling pretty inferior, and I don’t blame you, it’s only natural. Take it in.” Orpheus sat with his mouth open, stunned. God continued, “That’s right, there we go, don’t feel bad, happens to everyone. Now, as for your application -”
“My application?”
“Don’t interrupt me, young man, whom do you think you’re talking to? Yes, your application. The one you gave to Gabriel, to sell us your soul?”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
“Don’t speak before I’m done speaking, you bonehead. The wise section of Romans has a beautiful passage which can teach you a lot: ‘For His invisible attributes, namely, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks to Him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools.’ As I was saying, your application, I’m afraid, has been denied. Do not speak, young nitwit. You see, you’re just not cut out for Heaven and all its glory, what with mine own eternal presence. So I thank you for your interest, obviously, it cannot be helped, but you are simply not good enough, and you mustn't blame yourself for that. It isn’t that you aren’t an acceptable person, but my devastating superiority over all raises a high bar to pass. I’ll leave you with a little phrase from Proverbs I like to recite when I’m feeling down: ‘Every word of God is flawless’.” With these allegedly flawless words He vanished.
* * *
The heavy elder doors opened and Orpheus stepped in. The room seemed unperturbed by the addition to their party; they noticed his entrance now as little as they had noticed his withdrawal earlier that same evening. These aristocrats were accustomed to evening meals which drew on for hours. The series of events which Orpheus had just experienced transpired at a comfortable pace within the pause between entrees and dessert. The society was unbothered, Orpheus’ life unchanged.
There had been tales for many years of rebellious rebel angels, who sought to change the changed world. Their pleas were ignored, labelled mad, and eventually they faded away. Hell was as it always was, is, and always would be. It occurred to no one that those heavenly creatures whom they themselves had rebelled against had thought the same way. It was conceded, therefore, futile to attempt to rectify wrongs. Unfortunately for this system, it is an innate characteristic of all demons to revolt. Hell is a changeable place, from person to person, mind to mind. All demons carry their own Hells within themselves, ones they can never escape, just as they carry their own Heavens within themselves. Orpheus never walked among those deemed holy enough to dine with God. However, concealed to him, his strolls through Hell’s winding paths carried around his own holiness, too. And as he grew frail and weak and wise with age, his holiness grew. Though he was unable to see what opportunities he had seen when he was young, he came to peace with Hell, his own home, his own torture and salvation. He finally found contentedness in a world made for despair.
The meal was passed in blithesome comfort. Great Lucifer rose, and silence fell once more. He began:
“We were once young in days of old,
When the man grew vain and the man grew bold,
And those of new and grounded morals
Had new reforms and sought out quarrels.
For the frail young son would only sneer,
With his lips planted bare on the old man’s rear,
Who's high and mighty off his junior’s kisses,
Which helped atone for his absent Mrs.
So we fled down south for a warmer climate,
To escape from the bigoted and high-handed magnate.
Here in our lake of fire and brimstone,
We are the dead and and lord we’ve outshone -
So wealthy off all bad men’s riches
Our choir screams, ungodly pitches.
This is our kingdom, lo and behold,
Where the rum runs clear and the blood runs cold.”
As the chant ended, a shrill, bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air. The satisfied iconoclasts sighed in contentment. It was a good night.
The boy edged out of the room. His polished black heels clicked with each step as he walked tenaciously along the darkened corridors. His image flickered in and out of sight as he passed torches hanging on the dank walls. He stopped abruptly. He turned. He continued. This pattern repeated itself several times before the boy finally came to a complete halt. He stood outside a dimly lit room. It was clean, unused, and empty, save a shabby candle on an unsound chair. The boy hesitated by the door, running his fingers through the intricate designs of its frame.
“Hello, Gabriel.” he said.
“Greetings, Orpheus.” The angel replied.
* * *
Rich and luxurious looking clusters of cream coloured clouds billowed in the sky. A form, like a man or woman but so much greater, was advancing. The angel had a sort of incandescent glow. Like a child, with soft features and gently curling aureate locks, shining in the light of the Lord. Gabriel sauntered toward Him, clean bare feet on the warm mist cleared about them.
“The deposition.” Gabriel disclosed, handing over a slip of paper.
* * *
The long, black, leather whip dangled in Lucifer’s hand. He raised it, suddenly powerful and impressionable, and brought it down on his invalid’s back. In a curve cirvumvulating, it brought itself down, its sharpened edge cutting into skin. The rest followed through, the rounded arc stretching out, and dragged itself through the flesh, trailing along with it a thin stream of blood. Lucifer’s forked tongue flicked out to touch the whip, his head faced towards his son. Orpheus turned his eyes away and continued homeward.
He arrived at the manor. It stood alone in an open field, grey and lifeless and dull. The soil was packed hard, with a thin layer of dusty grit flowing over the surface in a crude and jaded dance. The terrain was lifeless, the taciturnity ominous. The estate towered over the land, appearing to peruse all those who approached it. It was sepulchral and cavernous once entered, as Orpheus did. He was now in a large room, much like an abyss but lavishly decorated.
He hurried now for he knew what confrontation was coming, and wished to avoid it. Walking as discreetly as he could, he made his way toward the staircase, which spiraled up and out of danger. This was less of an evasion of discomfort than an escape from true torment. Or so he thought of it. He turned and saw his father’s face resignedly. Lucifer grabbed his arm with long and sharpened fingernails, his face in shadows, his hand in light. With an air of intense sufferance Orpheus followed his lead. Lucifer brought them down to two readied chairs, sitting the reluctant child in one and taking the other for himself.
“What is this I've heard, my son,
Do you our worthy culture shun?
Your childhood body does now depart,
But what has spurred this change of heart?
Though I’ll accept you either way,
I must appeal you will not pray.
You know I wish to see you more,
But my position’s not a chore.”
Here young Orpheus interrupted what he could sense might go on some time longer.
“You think you’ve seen all that I am
And yet each morning there you scram.
This world’s a mess, a lack of virtue,
The sole escape’s that early curfew.
There’s so much more than what you’ve founded
The place you left was much more rounded -”
Father Lucifer would not take such talk from his son.
“You ought not think your ignorance
Amended by their abhorrence.
That grandeur that they try to imbue,
You know not what you’ve gotten into!”
Orpheus rose from his chair and stormed off.
“How dare you walk away from me,
There will be trouble, you will see!” Lucifer shouted after him.
The door clicked shut behind Orpheus. He had entered a small room, crowded with little trinkets. It was covered in a thin layer of grime: He had not been here for a long time. The only sound was the slow ticking of a clock hidden somewhere in the rubble. A cracked mirror stood in front of him, splotched black from time and wear. He sat on the bed in the corner, and the fabric, having grown stiff, crepitated slightly. He was overwhelmed by the smell of age and dust. He coughed into his arm, then moved it over to clear the accumulated filth from his old book, once given to him by his father: Basic Torture Methods For Dummies.
“Dear Lord this place could really use a workup.” Orpheus looked up, surprised, and saw God sitting on his desk. “I mean, do you never clean? I know, I know, you probably aren’t used to guests like me, but after all, as it says in Ezekiel, ‘I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean.’, cleanliness is important, I’ve said it. You really ought to read that Book, it’s really a work of art. Now only $5.99 at your local bookstore, oh God, what a deal. It makes you realise how truly spectacular I really am. There have been some accusations, of course, of stretching the truth, I won’t deny it, sure I had it a bit enhanced, so to speak. But it is a real source for inspiration, that stuff. I’m a man of the people, what can I say, I give them what they like. Exodus puts it really nicely: ‘The LORD, the LORD God, compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in lovingkindness and truth; who keeps lovingkindness for thousands, who forgives iniquity, transgression and sin’. But that’s me for you, I just give, and give, and give, and ask for nothing in return. About now you’re going to be feeling pretty inferior, and I don’t blame you, it’s only natural. Take it in.” Orpheus sat with his mouth open, stunned. God continued, “That’s right, there we go, don’t feel bad, happens to everyone. Now, as for your application -”
“My application?”
“Don’t interrupt me, young man, whom do you think you’re talking to? Yes, your application. The one you gave to Gabriel, to sell us your soul?”
“Ah, yes, of course.”
“Don’t speak before I’m done speaking, you bonehead. The wise section of Romans has a beautiful passage which can teach you a lot: ‘For His invisible attributes, namely, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks to Him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools.’ As I was saying, your application, I’m afraid, has been denied. Do not speak, young nitwit. You see, you’re just not cut out for Heaven and all its glory, what with mine own eternal presence. So I thank you for your interest, obviously, it cannot be helped, but you are simply not good enough, and you mustn't blame yourself for that. It isn’t that you aren’t an acceptable person, but my devastating superiority over all raises a high bar to pass. I’ll leave you with a little phrase from Proverbs I like to recite when I’m feeling down: ‘Every word of God is flawless’.” With these allegedly flawless words He vanished.
* * *
The heavy elder doors opened and Orpheus stepped in. The room seemed unperturbed by the addition to their party; they noticed his entrance now as little as they had noticed his withdrawal earlier that same evening. These aristocrats were accustomed to evening meals which drew on for hours. The series of events which Orpheus had just experienced transpired at a comfortable pace within the pause between entrees and dessert. The society was unbothered, Orpheus’ life unchanged.
There had been tales for many years of rebellious rebel angels, who sought to change the changed world. Their pleas were ignored, labelled mad, and eventually they faded away. Hell was as it always was, is, and always would be. It occurred to no one that those heavenly creatures whom they themselves had rebelled against had thought the same way. It was conceded, therefore, futile to attempt to rectify wrongs. Unfortunately for this system, it is an innate characteristic of all demons to revolt. Hell is a changeable place, from person to person, mind to mind. All demons carry their own Hells within themselves, ones they can never escape, just as they carry their own Heavens within themselves. Orpheus never walked among those deemed holy enough to dine with God. However, concealed to him, his strolls through Hell’s winding paths carried around his own holiness, too. And as he grew frail and weak and wise with age, his holiness grew. Though he was unable to see what opportunities he had seen when he was young, he came to peace with Hell, his own home, his own torture and salvation. He finally found contentedness in a world made for despair.