Nuclear winter and I can’t see through the shrapnel and falling snow. It is bone cold, the kind of biting frost that settles into marrow and makes it icy slush.
I met Cain at the crossroads. His body was scarred with the Mark of a God that would rather see him cast out into the Land of Nod and forever a wanderer. He was dressed in a black hooded robe with a red belt and barefoot, bruised feet. His skin was like a lamb, so soft against the hardness in this son of Samael’s eyes, and his eyes are blue like a promise of New Jerusalem after the Apocalypse, only this is a fallen world, and Earth is Hell, and a President’s hasty finger on the trigger button bombed us into the oblivion. The spirits crawled out of the ruins, oh Josiah, oh Jerusalem, oh Joshua and Jericho. Angels fly above in tangles of lusty wings and limbs, demons crippled by such great heights shamble about in the snowbanks, my neighborhood is infested with Legion and Legend. Legend – angels. Legion – demons.
Cain parts the waters on my cul de sac of infestations of infernal and divine. The gods are like cockroaches eating away at the rot of humanity. Every pantheon is here to make humankind their chessboard, we are weak enough to be pawns now, apotheosis be damned. Cain is the first cursed, but no one can harm him, so he is immaculate in his damnation. Me however – the bullets graze and bruise my skin, the fangs rend flesh, I am battered and bruised from my fall from Paradise and journey to my lover’s arms.
The Witchfather beckons from a crab apple tree I used to dream under, its insides rotten, and the Dragon King emerges, black caul and shadow body, red eyes and lips like knives. I cannot stand anymore, half my limbs are bent and broken, and I collapse in the Devil’s arms. Samael wraps me up in night and with his twisted son we fly, so far away, on raven pinions, to some place far from the vices of humanity and global warfare, away from the end of the world. Have people been raptured? It’s hard to tell with all the casualties and dead bodies lying on the streets as I fly so high above. Everyone – the gods, the angels, the demons, human slaves – look like ants.
We are just flecks of gold to the divine, but we are precious, worth Russian Roulette and bets over cocktails in rotting bars. My planet is sacrificed to the Fenris Wolf. Hati and Skoll will eat the Sun and Moon. We are Behemoth gorging himself on corpses. We are Legion now.
We are an inverted Tetragramatton, and I am too far gone to cry for all the broken names of Yeshua. Jesus descended into Hell for three days, but really, it was 40 years.
Our Earth is ragged. Our Earth is cursed.
And my God is a jealous God.