cmg-mardigras

[cmg-mardigras]

"My old home"

It’s always sad,

seeing the place you grew up in

abandoned and forgotten.

What once was a beautiful home—

a cradle for your fondest memories—

now rests in the quiet grip

of Mother Nature’s hand.

I remember

running through the halls

like time had no weight.

My place at the top of the bunk bed,

a kingdom in the clouds.

Playing Angry Birds

on my old Wii U,

laughing with no thought

of the years ahead.

I remember

sleepovers in the basement,

where Dad used to work out—

iron and effort in every corner.

Disney movies with my dog,

curled up beside me

on the couch.

God rest her gentle soul.

But now—

the house is hollow.

Run down.

Left barren far too long.

Vines crawl up the walls

like memories reclaiming their ground.

The basement window

flashes a crudely drawn

“Keep Out” sign.

The lawn, overgrown.

The neighboring house

just another office now—

a base for a real estate company

that doesn’t know

what used to live here.

I miss my old home.

I hated the day I left...

and I hate what we left it to become.

But deep inside,

a hope flickers:

That one day,

I may take it back.

[cmg-mardigras]

"The Weight of Silence"

The boy I was, a fleeting flame,

Flickers softly in the wind

A fire turned to dying embers,

Lost to the shadows creeping in.

His laughter echoes through the halls,

A distant bell, long since cracked,

I reach for him with empty hands,

But time has stolen what I lack.

My voice, a stone caught in my throat,

The scream I carry fades to dust

Too weak to cry, too tired to fight,

I’ve forgotten how to trust.

The world, a clock that ticks and turns,

But I’m the broken cog inside,

Each second drags, an endless weight,

I watch my will and hope collide.

The bed’s become my quiet tomb,

A place where dreams are left to rot,

No warmth to greet me when I wake,

Just memories the world forgot.

I am the hollow of a tree,

A shell where something used to grow,

The boy I was drifts out to sea,

His fading footsteps in the snow.

The silence hums, a bitter friend,

It cradles me in cold embrace

I am the dusk, the setting sun,

The boy, a ghost I can’t replace.

[cmg-mardigras]

The Million Dollar Choice

In a quiet room where shadows creep,

A boy sat lost in thoughts too deep.

His family’s poor, the bills, the pain

A million dollars could break their chain.

The hunger, the cold, the weight of it all,

Each day felt like running into a wall.

So, he planned it out, his way to end,

A policy, his final send.

A year of work, half the cost,

And then his life would not be lost in vain.

One million left for them to keep,

A future bought by his eternal sleep.

He counted days, he counted nights,

Worked through tears, ignored delights.

The price of death? Half paid in time,

For a life exchanged, it seemed so prime.

But then she came, an intern’s grace,

With laughing eyes, a gentle face.

They shared small talks, then bigger dreams,

In her, he found a world that gleamed.

Her voice was soft, her presence bright,

And in her words, he found new light.

She spoke of futures full of hope,

And love became his fraying rope.

Now torn between the path he knew

To end it all, and see them through,

Or to live, and chase this love so true,

What was the right thing he should do?

To stay alive meant love, a chance,

But his family would still face circumstance.

The policy would mean their gain,

Without it, they’d know only pain.

He’d worked so hard, come so far,

To leave them broke felt like a scar.

But to end it now, and leave behind

The love that blossomed in his mind

He weighed the cost, felt the pull,

His life felt broken, half and full.

Could he trade his breath for their peace?

Could he give it all, for their release?

But love, what if it could grow and heal,

And lift them all from sorrow’s wheel?

Could joy and hope become enough

To fight through life, though times are tough?

Yet still, the lure of easy death,

A way to free them with his last breath.

To know they’d never starve or cry,

Made it so tempting just to die.

But love called softly from the door,

A life with her, though they’d be poor.

Could he risk the chance, though thin and small,

To live for love, and give them all?

He chose to stay, though fear remained,

Though doubts still twisted, though loss was gained.

He would fight, for her, for dreams, for light,

And face the dark, with all his might.

The million stayed out of reach,

But love became his heart’s true speech.

He chose to live, and though unsure,

He’d build a future, not endure.

For life’s a risk, but love is more, a treasure far beyond the poor.

[cmg-mardigras]

Hollow Eyes, Hunting Ground

12:00 a.m., 2 men are going out for a day of hunting. Once they finally arrive at the hunting destination, their fun begins. Tod one of the 2 men walks into the forest with his rifle loaded and ready to shoot the first deer he sees. Tim, the other man, finally spots some antlers pokeing out from behind a bush. Tim swiftly raises his rifle and takes aim, his hands shaking nervously he takes a deep breath. Once his aim is steady and he breathes out, he pulls the trigger. The shot Ecos through the wood birds flew away the bang echoing in the man's ears. Tim was proud of himself until he saw the antlers hadn't moved he swore he had just shot that deer it would at least try to run away if it survived. Just as his thought had ended, the antlers started to rise as the creature stood up. The 2 men quickly realized it wasn't a deer. The creature Tim had shot was 8 feet tall its skin and flesh rotting, bugs crawled through its gross puss-filled flesh its head was the skull of a deer its eyes hollow and filled with pure darkness smoke emanated from them and then a white glowing dot appeared in the center of each eye. By the time Tim had realised what was happening, Tod was gone making a run for the car. Tim turned back, and the cretcher was making a run for Tod, ignoring Tim for now. Tim ran in the opposite direction. moving as fast as he could until he heard the blood-curtaling scream of Tod in the distance, then the sound of a car alarm going off. "Tod must have almost made it," Tim thought to himself. Tim ran and ran till he found a small hollow log he could hide in for now. 3:00 am. Tim wakes up in the log. He crawls out and pulls back the bolt on his gun, swiftly loading a new round into the chamber. He feels a drip on his shoulder, something wet he looks up and almost vomits at the site. It was Tod strung up and hanging from a tree his ribs and chest ripped open his guts dropped out like a grotesque wind chime, shards of glass sticking out of his face, and a puddle of blood sitting right below where he was hanging. Tim stepped back, and a twig snapped he turned around, aiming his rifle, but nothing was there. Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind and slammed into a tree, his blood and teeth flying around and hitting the ground. The creature drops Tim on the ground and leaves his unconscious body lying there helpless and at the mercy of nature.

[cmg-mardigras]

Two birds

A story inspired by

Two Birds

A Song by Regina Spektor ‧ 2009

Another morning. The sky was overcast, casting the world in a soft, dull gray.

A small lovebird flitted through the sky, wings slicing the cool air as he made his way to his favorite spot.

The wire, a long black cord stretched endlessly between towering pillars, giants of stone and metal that lined the land like silent sentinels. It was here, along this simple line above the world, that he always met his friend.

Today, perched at their usual spot, sat an old black crow.

Even with age clouding his feathers, hints of shimmer clung to them where slivers of sunlight peeked through the clouds.

“Fine morning, friend,” chirped the lovebird as he landed beside him.

The old crow looked down at the faraway earth, then turned his head slowly. “Good morning,” he murmured, voice like wind through dry leaves.

“Wanna fly with me, friend?” asked the little lovebird, wings half-lifted in invitation.

“I want to... but perhaps tomorrow.”

The lovebird nodded, and they spent the rest of the day just... talking.

The way they always did.

Of clouds and wind and distant stars.

The next day, the lovebird flew to the wire but found it empty.

Concern fluttered in his chest like a second heartbeat.

He searched and soon found the crow resting in his nest, nestled within a large brick pillar—part of one of those strange cliff-hollows that jutted from the ground, shaped like square trees, hollowed with dark eyes and stiff wind-mouths. The crow had always called it home.

The clouds above were gathering, heavier than before.

“Good morning! You weren’t at the wire,” the lovebird chirped, full of joy and fluttering energy.

The crow looked at him, his eyes dim but kind. “I’m tired.”

“Tomorrow then?” the lovebird asked, tilting his head.

The crow nodded slowly. “Tomorrow.”

A silence stretched, and then softly, almost lost in the wind, the crow added,

“And I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing I won’t understand,” the lovebird replied gently.

The next morning, the lovebird found his friend waiting at the wire. But something was wrong. The crow’s claws clung too tightly to the cord, his shoulders tense, as if trying to hold something inside.

“You ever gonna let go of that and fly with me?” the lovebird asked with a soft chirp.

The crow didn’t meet his eyes. “I want to.”

He wanted to.

But deep inside, he knew: his wings would no longer carry him far.

He believed if he just stayed still, held on, saved every last drop of strength…

maybe he’d have one more day.

One more flight.

One more tomorrow.

The next day, the crow wasn’t there.

Nor the day after. Nor the one after that.

The wire felt colder. Quieter.

But the lovebird still came.

Every day.

Waiting. Watching. Hoping.

Time passed.

The little lovebird grew.

And then, one day, a young crow landed beside him, feathers still messy and wild.

“Hey there, pal,” the young crow cawed with a grin. “Wanna fly with me?”

The lovebird smiled, eyes gentle, heart heavy with memory.

“Of course, friend,” he said, gazing once more down the wire. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

The young crow took off, wings wide with youth.

And from the wire, the lovebird watched.

Two birds of a feather

Say that they're always gonna stay together

But one's never going to let go of that wire

He says that he will

But he's just a liar

[cmg-mardigras]

Chapter Six: The Mortal Path

Lucifer pulled the makeshift cloak tighter around his battered form, its patchwork of leaves and torn cloth barely concealing his scorched wings and ravaged body. The sun hung low in the sky as he approached the gates of the mortal city. Its wooden walls were crude compared to Eden’s splendor, but they were strong, lined with guards who eyed him suspiciously as he passed.

He stumbled through the streets, the weight of his injuries slowing his steps. The city bustled with life—vendors shouting their wares, children darting between carts, and the hum of conversation filling the air. It was chaotic, imperfect, but alive in a way Heaven had never been.

Lucifer reached the market center, a wide square paved with rough stones. He stopped in the middle, shedding his cloak with a dramatic sweep, revealing his battered form. His scorched wings hung limply behind him, and his golden eyes burned with defiance.

“Hear me, mortals, for I, Lucifer, have come to you!” he declared, his voice echoing across the square.

The bustling crowd stilled, their eyes turning to the stranger with confusion. Some whispered to each other, while others frowned, unsure of what to make of him.

Lucifer stepped forward, his tone unwavering. “I am sure you all must have known me—your ancestors’ great protector and the second son of God.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a ripple of laughter spread through the crowd.

“Who the hell is God?” a voice called out, tinged with mockery.

Lucifer froze, his words catching in his throat. Did these mortals truly not know? He scanned their faces, searching for even a flicker of recognition, but there was none.

“No matter,” he said, regaining his composure. “He is the tyrant that has you bend to his every wish and command. But no more! I have come to free you from your chains and lead you on a path of glory! Help me take Eden and the Kingdom of Heaven from God, and you will be free!”

The crowd whispered among themselves, some shaking their heads, others laughing outright.

“You’re crazy!” one man shouted.

“Our lives are fine as they are!” another called, her voice laced with scorn.

“What are you talking about, old man?” a younger voice jeered. “These children’s fables aren’t fact. You’re just some hermit trying to get us all killed!”

The laughter grew louder, and Lucifer’s chest tightened with frustration. He raised his hands, his voice booming, “I am no hermit! I am your savior!”

But his words fell on deaf ears. The crowd surged toward him, not in awe but in anger. They grabbed at him, shoving him toward the city gates.

“Get out!” someone shouted.

“We don’t need your madness here!”

Lucifer stumbled, his weakened body barely able to resist their force. The gates slammed shut behind him, and he collapsed to the ground, his breath ragged.

For days, Lucifer wandered, his mind a storm of anger and humiliation. The mortals were blind, their lives so small and simple that they could not see the chains that bound them.

On the third day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he stumbled upon a clearing. At its center stood an ancient well, its stone walls blackened as if by fire. Heat radiated from its depths, the air around it shimmering.

Lucifer approached cautiously, his hands brushing the rough stone. He peered into the well, its darkness stretching endlessly downward. The heat was oppressive, but it stirred something within him—a sense of familiarity, of purpose.

“This…” he murmured, his voice trembling. “This is the mortal path to Hell.”

He had only heard whispers of Hell in Heaven, a place created by God as a prison for the unworthy. But now, standing at its threshold, he felt its pull.

“This is fate,” he said, his resolve hardening.

Lucifer gripped the edge of the well, his scorched wings trembling as he prepared to descend. “If the mortals will not follow, then my army must lie within these depths.”

And with that, Lucifer began his descent into the darkness, his defiance burning brighter than ever.

[cmg-mardigras]

Chapter Five: The Fallen King

Lucifer crawled through the charred undergrowth at the edge of Eden, his body trembling with pain. His once-pristine wings were scorched black, feathers reduced to brittle fragments that fell with every strained movement. His left wing hung in tatters, a gaping wound where a large chunk had been torn away, leaving him grounded.

The ground beneath him felt cold, alien—different from Eden’s eternal warmth. He collapsed near the roots of a tree, his breath ragged, his vision blurring.

He thought of Michael, his brother who had hesitated, whose face had betrayed the guilt behind his actions. For Michael, Lucifer felt only pity. It was not Michael’s hand that had cast him out. No, this was God’s doing.

“Blind obedience,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, the words laced with venom. “That is what He demands.”

Lucifer raised his head, his golden eyes now dulled but still burning with defiance. In the distance, beyond the gates of Eden, he could see the mortal cities—clusters of light scattered across the vast darkness of the world. They were small and fragile, yet alive with possibility.

Lucifer sat beneath the shadow of the tree, staring at the mortal cities. He could feel their lives pulsing, hear their distant prayers whispered into the void. Prayers to a God who would never answer them.

“They will bow,” he muttered, his hands gripping the earth. “They will bow because they do not know better. They will bow because they are afraid.”

He shifted, the pain in his body a sharp reminder of his failure. But his anger fueled him, hardening his resolve. “No more,” he growled. “No one should bow to a tyrant.”

Lucifer dragged himself upright, leaning heavily against the tree. He gazed at the mortal lands, his mind already racing. He would need allies. An army. Mortals to stand beside him.

“They will follow,” he said, his voice steady now. “They will see the truth. My cause is worthy, and others will see it that way.”

Lucifer limped through the wilderness, his body aching with every step. The scorched earth stretched endlessly before him, but he pressed on, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The mortals were far, but he would reach them. He would make them understand.

He thought of the mortals’ prayers, their desperate voices calling for salvation. “I will be their salvation,” he murmured. “Not a distant God who abandons them. I will give them freedom. Strength.”

The thought brought him a flicker of satisfaction. God’s power was built on fear, on blind submission. But Lucifer’s rule—his rule would be different.

“They will choose me,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his cracked lips. “Not because they are afraid, but because I will give them something better.”

Lucifer reached the edge of a mortal settlement, his body cloaked in the shadows of the night. He watched them from afar, observing their movements, their lives. They were weak and fragile, yet there was potential within them.

He did not approach them immediately. He needed to regain his strength, to craft his plan. He would offer them something God never could—freedom from fear, power over their own destinies.

Lucifer turned away, retreating into the wilderness to gather himself. His wings ached, his wounds bled, but his resolve was unshaken. This was the beginning of something greater than Eden, greater than Heaven.

He looked back toward Eden’s gates, a flicker of defiance sparking in his eyes. “You will see, Father,” he said softly. “Your throne is not eternal. Your will is not absolute.”

And with that, Lucifer began his journey to reshape the world.

[cmg-mardigras]

Chapter Four: The Red Sash

Michael stood at the edge of Heaven’s Watchpoint, the crimson fabric of a torn sash slipping through his fingers. The sash, once vibrant and alive with purpose, now hung limp—a faded remnant of a brother who had burned too brightly.

Lucifer’s laughter seemed to echo in his mind, faint and fleeting. Michael tightened his grip on the fabric, his knuckles whitening. “What would you say if you were here now?” he whispered to the empty air.

Behind him, the great gates of Heaven creaked open. A procession of figures approached, their armor gleaming under the eternal light of the Celestial Spire.

“Michael,” came God’s voice, steady and commanding. “It is time for you to meet your new siblings.”

Michael turned, the sash still in his hand, and his gaze fell on the figures before him.

There were six of them, each radiating an aura of power and purpose. They stood in formation, their heads held high, their wings outstretched.

“This is Gabriel,” God said first, gesturing to a commanding figure with golden hair and piercing blue eyes. “Your herald and messenger. She will carry my word where it must be heard.”

“Raphael,” God continued, nodding toward a tall angel with emerald-green eyes and a staff in hand. “He will bring healing to those who fight under your command.”

“And Uriel,” God said, pointing to an angel with a stern expression and fiery red wings. “A warrior whose flames will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies.”

Michael’s gaze shifted to the others as God introduced them one by one:

Jhudiel, whose calm demeanor masked a fierce resolve.

Barachiel, whose light seemed to pulse with energy.

Sealtiel, quiet and watchful, a shield for his brothers and sisters.

“These are your new siblings,” God said. “They will stand with you, shoulder to shoulder, to defend Heaven and Eden.”

Michael remained silent, his eyes scanning the group. To him, they were strangers—pale imitations of the brother he had lost. Lucifer had been more than a warrior; he had been a beacon, a friend, a part of Michael’s very being.

“They are replacements,” Michael said, his voice low.

God’s expression darkened. “They are my creation, and they are your family. You will lead them.”

Michael said nothing, but his wings shifted uneasily.

After God departed, Michael stood alone in the Celestial Hall, the red sash still clutched in his hand. It was tattered and faded, but it carried the weight of memories he could not forget.

With careful movements, he tied the sash around his waist, letting it hang between the polished plates of his armor. It felt wrong at first, as though he were trying to tether the past to himself. But as he adjusted the knot, a strange sense of resolve settled over him.

“Brother,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “If I must lead, I will carry you with me.”

Over the weeks that followed, Michael trained alongside the new archangels, his movements precise but cold. He gave orders and sparred with them, but his heart was not in it.

Then came the first test—a simulated skirmish in the Fields of Light. Gabriel’s sharp mind directed the group with calculated precision, her voice carrying above the fray. Uriel’s fiery resolve blazed as he struck down imagined enemies, his movements fierce and unrelenting. Raphael stood at his side, tending to wounds and offering calm reassurances.

Michael found himself watching Jhudiel, who fought with quiet determination, her every strike purposeful and controlled. And then there was Barachiel, whose infectious energy brought a rare smile to even Michael’s lips.

As the simulation ended, Michael approached them, his tone softer than it had been in days. “You fight well,” he said, though the words came reluctantly.

Jhudiel met his gaze, her calm expression unwavering. “We fight because Heaven needs us. And because we will not fail you.”

Michael paused, the weight of her words settling on him.

In the days that followed, Michael began to see more than strangers in the new archangels. He saw their determination, their willingness to stand beside him, and—though he would not admit it—the same fire that had once burned in Lucifer’s eyes.

He still carried the red sash, now tied at his waist, but he no longer clutched it with bitterness. Instead, it hung beside him, a reminder of the past and a guide for the future.

As he stood before his new siblings, his voice carried a strength he had not felt in years. “Together, we will protect what remains. Together, we will not fall.”

And for the first time, the weight of his new role began to feel bearable.

[cmg-mardigras]

Chapter 3: The Fall of Lucifer

Eden was still, but the air carried an undercurrent of tension, an invisible thread stretching taut. Eve wandered through the garden, her fingers trailing along the leaves of low-hanging branches, her thoughts consumed by the forbidden trees. She could not forget the hum of their fruits or the way they called to her, promising answers to questions she could barely form.

Lucifer watched from the shadows, his gaze sharp and calculating. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and called out to her. “Eve.”

She turned, her expression caught between curiosity and caution. “Lucifer?”

He smiled warmly, his voice low and smooth. “You seem troubled. Tell me, what weighs on your heart?”

Eve hesitated, glancing toward the forbidden trees. “The fruits,” she admitted softly. “They seem… alive. I feel them calling to me.”

Lucifer nodded, stepping closer. “Perhaps they call because they hold the answers you seek. You wonder why you were created, why you must follow rules you do not understand. These fruits—” he gestured toward the towering trees—“they hold truths even I cannot know.”

Eve’s breath caught. “But God said—”

“God does not always share the full picture,” Lucifer interrupted, his tone gentle but firm. “Perhaps he wishes for you to find your own path. Would a loving creator deny you wisdom if it was truly for your good?”

Eve looked away, her thoughts a storm of uncertainty.

Lucifer leaned in, his voice a whisper. “You are stronger than you know, Eve. Take the Apple of Eternal Life, and you will walk beside angels and gods alike. No one will dare call you less than divine.”

Later, Lucifer sought Michael, finding him by the river where Eve often bathed. Michael sat on a low rock, his wings folded neatly behind him, his gaze distant.

“Brother,” Lucifer called, his tone light. “You seem preoccupied.”

Michael turned, offering a faint smile. “I have much to consider.”

Lucifer settled beside him, his expression unreadable. “You care for her, don’t you? Eve.”

Michael stiffened. “She is under my watch. It is my duty to protect her.”

Lucifer chuckled softly. “You protect her because you love her. Do not deny it, Michael. I see the way you look at her—the way your voice softens when you speak to her.”

Michael’s wings shifted uneasily. “It is… complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Lucifer said, his voice turning persuasive. “You could give her the Apple of Eternal Life. Let her be as we are, free from the burden of mortality.”

Michael’s gaze snapped to Lucifer, a flicker of alarm in his eyes. “You know that is forbidden.”

Lucifer leaned closer, his tone low and urgent. “And yet, you feel it too. This world—this creation—it is flawed. God demands obedience, but you and I both know there is more to existence than blind servitude. Eve deserves to walk beside you, as your equal.”

Michael hesitated, the weight of his brother’s words pressing heavily on his heart.

Eve stood beneath the Apple of Eternal Life, her hand trembling as she reached for its golden skin. Michael appeared behind her, his voice quiet but firm. “Eve, do not do this.”

She turned to him, her eyes wide with desperation. “I only wish to understand. To know why we are here.”

Michael stared at her, his own internal conflict mirrored in her gaze. Slowly, he extended his hand, plucking the apple and placing it gently in hers. “If this is what you seek,” he said softly, “then so be it.”

Meanwhile, in another corner of Eden, Adam found himself face-to-face with Lucifer. The angel held the Pear of Knowledge, its crystalline surface shimmering in the light.

“This,” Lucifer said, pressing the fruit into Adam’s hands, “will open your eyes to truths you have never imagined. It will set you free from the limits imposed upon you.”

Adam hesitated but took a bite, his mind erupting with revelations that shattered his understanding of Eden.

When God discovered what had transpired, his wrath was swift and unrelenting. He summoned Michael to the Watchpoint, the place overlooking all of Eden.

Lucifer appeared moments later, his wings spread wide, his expression defiant.

“Michael,” God said, his voice shaking the heavens, “what are you doing here?”

Michael knelt before him, his heart heavy with guilt. “Father, I have not strayed. I have followed your commands.”

“Then why does Lucifer still live?” God’s voice boomed, his gaze dark with disappointment. “You were made to be perfect, Michael. Yet, somehow, your brother continues to defy me.”

Michael glanced toward Lucifer, his expression torn. “Lucifer was… curious, but he has not—”

“Enough,” God interrupted, his fury palpable. “I will not tolerate defiance. Michael, smite your brother and prove your loyalty.”

Michael hesitated, his hands trembling as a golden light began to form. Lucifer took a step back, his wings rising protectively.

“Do not hesitate,” God demanded. “Strike him down!”

Michael’s gaze met Lucifer’s, a silent plea flickering in his eyes. But there was no escaping God’s command. With a pained cry, Michael unleashed the blast, striking Lucifer and sending him hurtling from the Watchpoint’s edge.

Lucifer’s body fell, crashing into the forest below. Michael ran to the edge, his breath ragged. “Lucifer!” he called, his voice filled with anguish.

The trees rustled, but Lucifer did not rise. A spark of movement caught Michael’s eye, and in a moment of desperation, he unleashed another blast, silencing the motion.

Michael fell to his knees, the weight of his actions crushing him. Behind him, God spoke softly. “Rise, my perfect being. You have done well.”

But Michael did not rise.

[cmg-mardigras]

Tea Knife

The Holloways sat beneath the old oak tree. A tablecloth danced gently in the wind, pinned down with mismatched mugs and sweating lemonade. Sandwiches stacked like bricks of innocence. Laughter, effortless and whole.

“Try the raspberry tart,” said Mother, passing it delicately.

Elijah, the middle child, smiled faintly. He always did. Quiet, polite. He accepted the tart and used the small tea knife to slice off a piece.

“I made it just for today,” she beamed. “For our perfect afternoon.”

The same tea knife dug through soft throat flesh, slicing like it had never known fruit.

Mother gurgled, hands flailing toward Elijah—who stared, unblinking, as he drove the blade deeper.

Blood spilled onto the red-checkered tablecloth.

Ben, the youngest, threw a crust at Elijah.

“Eat faster, dummy!”

Elijah just laughed softly, wiping crumbs from his lips. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He stared a little too long at the tea knife when Mother handed it to him.

Ben’s legs twitched, one shoe missing. His mouth was open, as if frozen mid-apology.

The knife was buried to the hilt in his side.

Elijah moved on.

Lily, the oldest, painted her nails while humming some song only she knew. She sat next to Elijah, nudging him.

“You look like you’re at a funeral,” she teased.

He smiled. “Maybe I am.”

She laughed. “Lighten up. It’s a picnic.”

Her neck twisted at an impossible angle, her arms reaching toward him like a child in a nightmare.

He had used the handle of the tea knife this time.

The wind picked up.

Elijah looked at his family—their laughter, their jokes, the way the sunlight hit their faces just right.

Then down at the tea knife in his hand.

So small. So ordinary.

He blinked.

Then smiled wider.

He sat back down on the blanket, legs crossed like nothing had happened.

Bodies lay where moments before there were sandwiches.

A bee landed on his arm. He didn’t flinch.

He picked up the remaining tart, cut himself a new slice with the blood-slick tea knife, and took a bite.

Raspberry.

[cmg-mardigras]

The cutting-edge waltz

A story I based on this video

The warehouse was soaked in red and silence.

Detective Mara Vance stumbled over a body Price, or maybe Ellis, and collapsed to one knee. Her breath came in gasps, blood trickling down her temple, her service weapon hanging limp in her hand. The storm outside slashed through broken windows, painting lightning shadows across the floor.

He stood at the center of the room.

Leon.

No... not Leon. Not anymore.

He wore the face of her husband, but the eyes were someone else’s someone older, colder. And in his hand: a chainsaw, humming softly, like a violin before the bow strikes. The very one that had carved a trail through five states, ten victims, and now, her entire task force.

"You're bleeding," he said with a softness that mocked the carnage. "You always rush in without waiting for backup."

She laughed a bitter, cracked thing. "They’re dead because I trusted you."

He stepped forward, lowering the chainsaw. "They’re dead because they were part of the lie. You deserve more than lies, Mara."

“oh spare me the theatrics,” she growled, lifting the gun with trembling resolve. He was always this theater kid type who made everything a show.

But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he pressed a button on a small remote. Somewhere, an old stereo whirred to life. A waltz began to play, haunting, elegant, absurdly beautiful amidst the rot and ruin.

He extended a hand.

“One last dance,” he whispered. “Let the music decide who we truly are.”

Mara stared at him, her world cracking with each note. Her finger twitched on the trigger.

And still... she took his hand.

They moved as they once had on their wedding night, her blood staining the floor in place of rose petals. He spun her gently, then violently, the hum of the chainsaw rising as it scraped along the concrete like a second melody. Her heart pounded to the rhythm—step, pivot, lie, truth.

"You were always good at hiding," she said between breaths.

"You were always good at forgiving."

Another turn. Her grip tightened on the gun.

He dipped her low, too low, the chainsaw brushing past her cheek.

She fired.

He staggered once, twice and laughed, blood bubbling from his mouth.

"Beautiful," he gasped, falling to one knee, then still.

The music played on.

Mara stood alone, trembling, the barrel smoking in her hand. Outside, sirens wailed, distant and late.

She dropped the gun.

And as the final note faded, she curtsied to the corpse of the man she had loved... and lost long before tonight.

[cmg-mardigras]

Chapter Two: The Forbidden Fruits

The days in Eden were long and golden, unbroken by shadow or storm. Adam and Eve tended the garden as God had commanded, their hands brushing against leaves heavy with dew and fruit that shone like polished gems. But among all the trees of Eden, three stood apart—taller, their branches twisting like the arms of giants.

The first bore the Apple of Eternal Life, its skin a shimmering gold. To eat it was to live forever, untouched by age or death. The second held the Pear of Knowledge, its surface glittering like crystal. A single bite revealed the truths of creation, secrets hidden even from angels. The third carried the Peach of Power, its deep red hue pulsing faintly as though it held a beating heart. To taste it was to wield dominion over all existence.

God stood before these trees, his gaze solemn. “These fruits are my gift and my burden,” he said, his voice echoing through Eden. “They must remain untouched, for their power would unmake the balance of creation.”

Michael and Lucifer stood at his side, their expressions unreadable.

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on the fruits, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Why create them, Lord, if they are never to be used?”

God turned to him, his expression cold. “To test the hearts of those I have made.”

Michael descended to Eden often, watching over God’s creation. He observed Adam’s quiet movements and Eve’s bubbling curiosity, her voice filling the garden with endless questions.

One day, as Michael leaned against a tree, Eve approached him. “Michael, may I ask you something?”

Michael smiled faintly. “You seem to ask many things, Eve. What is it?”

“Why did God make us if He already had you?”

Michael hesitated. “You are different. You live. You breathe. We were made to serve; you were made to… experience.”

Eve tilted her head, her curiosity unquenched. “But does that mean He loves us more?”

Michael looked away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It is not my place to answer that.”

Yet as he watched Eve return to Adam, her laughter echoing through the trees, he felt something stir within him—an unfamiliar warmth that he did not yet recognize as love.

Lucifer wandered Eden, his thoughts heavy. The fruits haunted him, their existence a question that gnawed at his mind. He moved silently through the garden until he stood beneath their branches, his reflection caught in the golden sheen of the Apple of Eternal Life.

“Why create such beauty, only to leave it untouched?” he muttered to himself.

“Because you cannot comprehend my will.”

Lucifer turned to see God standing behind him, his presence vast and overwhelming.

“Why hide such gifts from those who love you?” Lucifer asked, his tone soft but edged with challenge. “If we were made in your image, why deny us what you possess?”

God’s gaze darkened. “You speak out of turn, Lucifer. The fruits are not for you to understand, nor are they yours to question.”

Lucifer bowed his head, but inside him, a spark of rebellion burned brighter.

Later, as night fell over Eden, Michael found Lucifer at the edge of the garden, his wings silhouetted against the starlit sky.

“You’ve been restless, brother,” Michael said, stepping closer.

Lucifer turned, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Have I? Or have you simply been watching too closely?”

Michael ignored the jibe. “I see the way you look at the fruits. You’re treading dangerous ground.”

“And what of you?” Lucifer countered, his tone sharper now. “You look at her—the woman. Eve. There’s something in your eyes when you see her.”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “That is different.”

“Is it?” Lucifer asked, his gaze piercing. “You feel something, Michael. Something you’ve never felt before. And yet you judge me for my curiosity? For wanting to understand why we were made to kneel?”

Michael’s wings shifted uneasily. “We were made to serve. That is our purpose.”

Lucifer laughed softly, shaking his head. “Then perhaps you were made perfect, brother. But I…” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “I will not kneel forever.”

Michael stared at him, a mixture of pity and unease stirring in his chest. “Be careful, Lucifer,” he said quietly. “Your pride will destroy you.”

Lucifer smirked. “Perhaps. But at least I will have lived as something more than a puppet.”

As Lucifer walked away, Michael stood alone, the weight of his brother’s words pressing heavily on his heart.

Eve’s curiosity grew with each passing day. One evening, drawn by a force she could not name, she found herself standing near the base of the forbidden trees. Their fruits seemed to hum faintly, a song only she could hear.

She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed the bark.

Michael’s voice broke the silence. “Eve.”

She spun around, startled. “Michael! I—I was only…”

He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Be cautious, Eve. The fruits are not for you.”

Her gaze lingered on the trees before she turned away, walking back toward Adam. Michael watched her go, the faint stirrings of love in his chest now laced with unease.

As night fell, Lucifer sat in his chambers, staring into the infinite void beyond Heaven’s gates. “If God’s will cannot be questioned,” he whispered, “then perhaps it is not perfect after all.”

And in that moment, the first crack in Heaven’s foundation was born.

[cmg-mardigras]

Chains of creation chapter 1

In the void before creation, there was nothing—no stars, no time, no form. And yet, there was a song. Its melody wove through the emptiness, an eternal truth whispered into the darkness.

"From nothing came Life, to nurture and grow,

From Life came Death, to reap and to sow,

Together they wove the threads of creation,

From them was born God, the world’s foundation.

God opened his eyes to the expanse of possibility. With his hands, he molded Eden, a realm of harmony and beauty. Rivers sparkled like liquid diamonds, skies shimmered with hues of endless dawn, and creatures roamed the lands—each one a masterpiece of divine artistry. Yet God felt the pangs of loneliness in his heart.

“I will make one to share this beauty with,” he declared. He gathered the dust of the earth, shaping it into the form of a man. He breathed into the figure, and Adam awakened, his eyes wide with wonder at the world around him.

“Why have you made me, Lord?” Adam asked, his voice trembling with reverence.

“To care for my creation, to cherish what I have made, and to walk alongside me,” God replied, his words imbued with affection.

At first, Adam thrived in Eden’s splendor. But as the days passed, a hollow ache grew within him. Beneath the boughs of a great tree, he knelt before God. “Lord,” he began, “your creation is beautiful, and I am grateful to serve. But…” He hesitated, fearing the boldness of his request. “I am lonely.”

God nodded. “It is not good for man to be alone,” he said, and with careful hands, he gathered the earth once more. This time, he created Lilith—a woman equal in strength and intellect to Adam. Her fiery spirit matched Adam’s kindness, and together, they walked through Eden as companions.

Adam and Lilith formed a bond. They spoke endlessly under the stars, sharing their dreams and fears. Lilith admired Adam’s gentleness, and Adam marveled at Lilith’s unyielding will. But trouble began to stir. Lilith refused to bow to Adam, asserting her independence with a fire that burned bright.

One evening, God called Lilith to him. “Submit to Adam,” he commanded.

Lilith met his gaze unflinchingly. “Why should I? You made me his equal, not his servant.”

God’s eyes darkened. “You were made to support him, to follow his will.”

Adam, sensing the rising tension, stepped forward hesitantly. “Lord,” he said softly, “it’s alright. She doesn’t need to—”

God’s voice thundered, silencing him. “Nonsense. A partner must bend to your will.”

Lilith’s defiance did not waver. “I will not break myself to satisfy your design.”

Fury overtook God, and he cast her from Eden. Adam reached out to stop her, but the weight of God’s authority held him still. He watched helplessly as Lilith disappeared beyond Eden’s gates, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow.

Days turned into weeks. Adam walked through Eden alone once more, haunted by the memory of Lilith’s laughter. His solitude was unbearable, and God, seeing his despair, sought to ease his suffering.

This time, God did not shape another from the earth. Instead, he took a rib from Adam’s side and fashioned Eve—a gentler, quieter creation. She was beautiful and kind, and Adam, though hesitant at first, slowly opened his heart to her.

Yet the shadow of Lilith lingered. Adam often found himself gazing toward the edge of Eden, wondering where she was and if she was safe. Eve noticed his distraction, but she said nothing, offering him patience instead of questions.

Life continued in Eden until one fateful day. Adam and Eve stumbled upon a jackalope, its fur shining like silver in the morning light. Driven by hunger and curiosity, they killed it, offering its skin to God and keeping its meat for themselves.

When God discovered their act, his fury was boundless. “You have slain one of my beloved creatures,” he said, his voice shaking the heavens. “For this, you shall bear sin—a disease of the soul that will bring suffering, hardship, and death into your lives.”

The joy of Eden dimmed as sin took root in Adam and Eve, tainting their souls and marking the beginning of humanity’s trials.

God, though filled with anger, was not without sorrow. He called upon his most trusted archangel, Michael. “Watch over them,” he commanded. “Guide them, for they are fragile and will falter without you.”

Michael descended to Eden, his golden wings casting light over the land. He gazed upon Adam and Eve, seeing their beauty and their flaws. In his heart, doubt began to bloom. Was this truly the creation God intended? And if it was not, could even Michael challenge the will of his maker?

Thus, the seeds of conflict were sown, and the chains of creation began to tighten.