A Story by Switchblade

A demon, who kills men, nothing more.

Cold. Hell wasn't a lake of fire, a flaming pit, there were no screeches and moans, no damned souls dancing in the flames. It was white, white all over, glass and ice and pale infinity. Satan was the calm whirlwind in front of me.

"Lucy?" Satan asked. Satan was a woman, tall, snow skinned, clad in a tight white dress with a high collared neck and a mid thigh hem, with raven hair and sharp, angular eyebrows. She could have been an angel, save for her intoxicating pale yellow eyes. "Or Luke?" Satan was a lean man, blond, with perfectly chiseled features, white suit barely showing up against his crystalline skin, and of course, pale yellow eyes. His appearance was pleasant, almost comforting, his demeanor was almost nervous.

"Lucifer is fine," I huffed, impatient.

"Alright, call me Lucifer. I'm staying in this form. I know you like it better." He laughed a schoolgirl's giggle from behind pointed teeth.

I would have blushed, if the blood in my veins wasn't frozen in place. What could he possibly want? When did the torture start? I couldn't imagine it feeling like much, the cold made my skin intensely numb.

"Did you think they would take you up there Jean?"

And now he was using my name. "Not a chance," I replied.

"Well, they did. I got you down here by special request."


"I wanted you down here. You seem like my kind of guy."

"I'm not," I hissed.

"Really? Mass murderer, recognized deviant, sexual and otherwise, Jean D'Quirilete is not my type of guy?"

"I'm not."

"I don't care. You're staying here."

"I'm not."

"Is that all you know how to say? Why can't you stay?"

"I have-" I regretted to say it, to buy into the cliche, but I had to "-unfinished business."

"Don't we all? I have unfinished business up there, but I'm not getting past security. Too much paperwork." He laughed again, this time, a deep throaty laugh.

"This is different."

"You have no idea how many times I've heard that. You're staying here."

"Why can't you let me leave?"

"I'd get lonely. I like you too much, Jean."

I squinted, and felt a faint wetness in the inside corner of my eye. It crawled out and touched my icy skin, mocking me with its presence.

"Lonely." His deep baritone register rose an octave and cracked out the word. He had meant it to be sarcastic, but behind his sharp, snide bearing, there was a desperate, pleading, sadness.

It seeped out his eyes, down the side of his face, gathering at his jawline.

"I'll let you go. But when you die, when you really die, you're mine, Jean D'Quirilete."


Both of his hands gripped my neck, but my knife was in his stomach. He fell to his knees, gasping for air as the feathery wings sprouted from his back. It was agony, watching them suffer, but when the winged spectre emerged from his human form, Jean knew it was worth it.

"Freedom," the angel said to him as he stretched his wings. "Thank you."

Jean smiled up at the seraphic hawk speeding up towards the clouds. He had killed another man, but he had freed another angel. He blinked his eyes, and they flashed a dazzling yellow.

© 2013 Switchblade

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Added on August 26, 2013
Last Updated on August 26, 2013
Tags: Angels, demons, heaven, hell, afterlife, near death




Professional creeper. Kind of strange. I like to talk about tuna and Buster Keaton. Queen of the Lichens, Empress of Celery. There are those who call me Tim. Youtube: Julia Withers Deviantart.. more..

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