#you cannot remove what has already infested the mind and soul once it reaches their dreams

[kclenhartnovels]

Brimstone and Stardust

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“That went well.”

Michael couldn't help the intense feeling of disdain when he slid awkwardly into the diner's booth, tucking his oversized wings as closely as he could to his body. He couldn't quite pick out what made him feel more revolted—the diner that sported retro neon signs and bright red uniforms, the uncomfortable tightness of the booth with its shiny plastic seats puckering against his thighs, or the self-satisfied smirk of the demon who sat across from him. Of course Razi would have picked a place so bright and overdone, and probably insisted on a booth knowing that the archangel would hate it.

Demons were such a fucking infestation.

“Fletcher has served his purpose,” Michael snapped impatiently. “He wasn't supposed to succeed. You said you were picking a weak demon specifically to help Merrick look good.”

Razi wrinkled his nose, and decided to ignore Michael a moment longer in favor of flashing the waitress a toothy smile. “Hello, beautiful. Can I get a burger, cooked rare, fries, and one of those Samoas milkshakes?”

“Of course, sir. Thank you for supporting our local Girl Scout troop. And for you?”

Michael pulled a face when the waitress turned brightly to him, too busy glaring at Razi. “I'm not hungry.”

“He'll take a cup of hot water,” Razi suggested, his smile sweet. “He'll need it for the enema to get the stick out of his ass.”

“Don't push your luck, scum,” Michael growled. “I came here to talk business with you. If you think you wish to sit there and insult me, I would be glad to introduce you to new worlds of pain.”

“You know, I can't decide who is more intense, you or my boss,” the demon remarked, watching the waitress hurry away. When she returned with his milkshake, he offered her another smile. “Thanks, babe.” He let Michael fume on the other side of the booth, taking a flask from his jacket and adding it to the milkshake.

The archangel watched him incredulously. “What on earth are you drinking?”

“Coconut rum really gives it the proper kick. Do you want to try?”

Michael looked at the tall, slender glass, topped with a heap of whipped cream and crushed cookies, and grimaced. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You really need to learn to unwind, dude.” Razi stuck his straw into his milkshake with a sense of finality. “There are so many wonders on earth, and you ignore them in favor of preening your high Heaven.”

The archangel snarled, and the lights above them flickered, causing everyone in the diner to quiet for a few moments, glancing around nervously. Outside, thick clouds rolled in from the south, covering the sun with the promise of driving rain. “I know this is hard for your narrow little brain, but focus. You are not holding up your end of the bargain. This demon was supposed to fail at attacking Merrick, and instead he pulled him away from his job. We agreed that it was supposed to look natural.”

“Well, he naturally got too distracted by Fletcher's hips. Don't worry about it,” he assured, taking a long drink, purposefully sucking at the straw so it made as much noise as possible. He could see Michael's jaw pulse from his gritted teeth. Thunder rumbled. “I'll get the fledgling out of the way. I've already got something in mind. Then your little angel can have his rousing success, and we can finish our deal, yeah?”

“Our deal,” Michael repeated tightly.

Razi leaned back when the waitress came bearing a plate. “Ah, thank you my love! If the cow is still mooing in this burger, I'll leave an extra tip.”

At his exaggerated wink, she smiled awkwardly. “Are you sure you don't want anything to eat or drink?” she asked to Michael.

“He decided that he was going to do his enema later,” Razi answered for him. The lights flickered. The demon smiled disarmingly. “But thank you. Maybe hot water in a to-go cup?”

She hurried away to another table.

“So, about that deal,” Razi went on, before Michael could break any light fixtures. “I want this in writing. Between the two of us, I've got a hell of a lot more to lose.”

“Like your breath,” the archangel warned, but he seemed calmer now that Razi had finally turned back to business. “Typical crossroads demon. Everything is contracts.”

The demon's smile was all sugar and fangs. He bit into his burger, chewing thoughtfully before he answered. “Really, feathers, you need to eat something. The world is your oyster, and you're letting it go unsucked.” He paused, setting down the burger slowly. “Unless, that's what you want Merrick for?”

Rain began to pummel the side of the diner, and the lights all went out.

“Alright, fair, I overstepped my bounds.”

When the lights flickered back to life, people had their faces pressed against the glass to watch the raging storm. The waitress chewed on the end of her pen. Razi sucked noisily at his milkshake.

“Lay out what you want, demon. I don't have all day.”

Razi dug into his jacket pocket, unrolling a sheath of paper. “Do you want to read it, or do you want the reader's digest version?” He held it out, but pulled it back a touch when Michael reached for it. “Listen, I don't know how you angels normally work, but for us, a contract is binding. Binding. Do you understand that? No pulling your dick out last minute when you decide you want to change the rules again. I want this signed and sealed to both of our souls.”

“I think my soul has significantly more value than yours,” Michael snarled, snatching the papers from him.

“I am serious. If you won't bind yourself to this contract, you can forget our agreement.”

The archangel gave him no answer until he had read the contract from front to back. Surprisingly, Razi hadn't tried to slip anything in under the radar. It was exactly as they had agreed—Razi would help him claim not only Abby's soul and any possible advancements she made in any of her lifetimes, but Merrick would be the one to help her get to Heaven unmolested. In return, Michael would help Razi eliminate a few select demons and put him on the throne of Hell.

“You forgot a few things,” Michael said, setting down the papers at last. New pages appeared underneath the stack, written in gold ink. “Once you are in charge of Hell, the rules of souls change. Heaven gets every soul, unless I deem that they can go to you. You keep control of the demons you already possess, and we'll leave you alone as long as you abide by the new rules.”

“Yeah, I had a question about that,” Razi said, gesturing towards him with a french fry. “I mean, I'm cool with finally getting the throne I deserve, and the whole immortality thing means my peons will be around for awhile, but why do you want all the souls? What are you gonna do with all of them in Heaven? Seems like it'll get crowded pretty quick.”

“I want them because it is my right to have them,” Michael snarled, the air around him darkening for a moment. Thunder rumbled so deep it shook the building. “And I will not have that questioned by a parasite like you. You don't understand the way things are. I am the last of the original angels of Heaven, and none of the first demons are left alive. You all collect souls because you don't know what else to do. I need them. And it is my right to have them.”

Razi polished off his burger, sucking the juice off of his fingers with an unimpressed air. “Uh huh. You know what? That's cool. You do you, buddy. As long as you agree not to eliminate any more demons, we'll let you have all the souls. As soon as I take the throne of Hell.” He smiled, taking the new papers to look over them. “You know, I've been owed a crown for so long now. What do you think, should I go with the traditional gold and jewels, or maybe make something a little more hellish? A couple of broken skulls or something, maybe a bit of polished brimstone?” When Michael gave him no answer, he glanced at him over the top of the papers. The archangel was looking out the window at the storm, the blue light playing across the sharp angles of his face. His eyes were dark and endless, twinkling with inner stars and a calling void. Razi couldn't help the shiver that rippled down his spine.

“Maybe not brimstone,” he went on, still watching the archangel. “Maybe stardust.”

“There is plenty of that in Hell,” Michael agreed absently.

Razi lowered the papers to the table. For once, his voice was soft and low. “Are the stories true, then? You're the last of the First Ones. You're not of Earth.”

Michael smiled, resting his chin on the heel of his hand. The wind howled outside, throwing the rain against the glass. The neon glow of the diner's lights didn't seem to catch his skin. “My soul is made of different stars than yours, demon.”

“But you can bind contracts to it, yeah?”

The archangel produced a quill, its feather charred at the edges. “The kind that cannot be broken.” He flipped the papers around, then signed his name with a flourish at the bottom. The word glowed blue for a moment, then seemed to settle deep into the page. He offered the quill to Razi. “Don't sign your name as the King of Hell yet. You need to finish your end of the bargain first. Get that weak demon out of the way, and I will see about removing your obstacles as well.”

“Don't worry about the kid,” Razi assured, resting the tip of the quill against the contract for a long moment. He could feel Michael staring at him with the weight of the universe, and with a breath that struggled in his chest, Razi signed the paper at last. “I'll get you the list of demons in my way.”

“I will send the Garrison after them,” Michael assured, taking the papers and rolling them again. “If I happen to lose one or two of them, it's no great loss. Just have your targets outside of the protection of Hell, and I will take care of the rest.”

The waitress came over at Razi's wave. She chewed the end of her pen lightly. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Just the check, doll. My friend here will be paying,” the demon said, gesturing towards Michael with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

“I don't carry money,” Michael drawled, his glance daring Razi to push it.

The demon sighed dramatically, pulling a wad of bills from his jacket pocket. “It was worth a shot.” He watched the archangel stand and walk out, the rain breaking as soon as he stepped out into the open air. The clouds rolled back, leaving bright sunlight glistening along the wet pavement. Razi stuck an unlit cigarette between his lips, dropping a few bills onto the table. “Fucking drama queen.”

[For more information about the characters, series, and more, click here.]

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[amrbokhari]

My Internal War

How do I start this without sounding melodramatic and erratic?

Let me try it this way,

this poem is nothing more than an anguished confession, quite problematic,

because this poem is merely a futile attempt to temporarily give me hope that I can attempt to be freed from my internal oppression.

Who is the oppressor, you wonder?

Its name is not in this title,

this poem will not be headlined with its name, it does not deserve that fame,

albeit my heart it has already succeeded to maim,

but I won't give it this title, this poem is for my words to tame,

for me to express my shame that came hand in hand with this suppression,

an antagonistic companion, an obsession,

I have nothing else to call it, so pardon me if this sounds inaccurate,

it is no infection,

it is the socially stigmatized unrecognized cancer of the soul, depression.

;

I know we all have our personal battles,

to each his own and he who unsaddles then skedaddles is blessed,

but there comes a different type of encounter, the deadliest of them all,

one that'll surely rip you apart and cause your downfall,

a nemesis whose genesis originates from deep within,

closer to you than your next of kin,

sticks to your heart and soul like a relentless pin,

feeds, evolves, and nourishes on your every sin.

It's a permanent uninvited guest,

here to forever infest and your mind congest,

every happy thought that stems, it will digest,

all this and it's not really doing its very best.

Inhales your soul and I don't know what for,

its embodiment and incarnation would be an amplified Dementor,

for it wouldn't be driven away with even a thousand Patronuses,

and that's not just simply a metaphor,

you're its Azkaban and its prisoner,

pardon that silly simile,

I'm only trying to make you understand just how sinister and similar.

It is the emotional equivalent to internal bleeding,

you don't feel it and you think you're healing, while it kills every joyful vivid bit of you,

wages livid war against you every morning and every night even though it's within you,

you're a stranger to your own body,

you're alienated, estranged,

it's a menacing enemy,

maleficent and malevolent, deranged,

yet its methodology is a sick prodigy and of magnificence,

for it inevitably and despicably unforgivably wrecks your entirety entirely then finds shelter within those broken bits like it prides itself on what it has done,

and it doesn't just stop there, there's more where that came from,

while you think it's gone and start to feel wholesome, you're not,

it knows it has won, it knows you're unwholesome,

inside your body, there can only be one,

and you'd never know it's there, quite unfair,

because these very broken bits are the last places you'd ever look or expect.

This is my desolate battle,

one that was selected for me, one I didn't select.

;

My inner self tells me to fight,

“You know you can, you know it's right.”

So I do; I battle, I conquer, I stride, I strive, I almost thrive, thinking I'm saved,

but it's only hiding in the backyard in its cave,

it's a tumor that travels where I cannot detect, a malignant insect,

it's not benign and I'm not fine,

mimics carcinoma and perfects metastasis,

I never know where its place is, and can't ever find its basis,

spreads invasively evasively and elusively abrasively,

and intermingles like annoying shoelaces,

it's absurd and outrageous, how it lets me be, then comes back to me, saying,

“Hello again, dweller, it is once again time I'm set free.”

;

Get out of my head, my heart, wherever you are,

my veins, my lungs, I am not your reservoir,

please just leave, I'm tired of being your vector,

find someplace else, I am not your shelter,

relieve me of this misadventure,

release me from this poisonous venomous venture.

It replies,

“I'm everywhere, I'm there and here, I'm the atmosphere.”

“Don't look for me though, I'm a devious foe.”

“I come and go, I go to and fro, whenever wherever I please.”

“Try slitting your wrists, I won't be bled.”

“You can shoot yourself, I'm still in your head.”

“Try hanging yourself, try choking me out, I'll never ascend.”

“Don't trouble yourself, I'm disorderly order.”

“You're no longer you, I've taken over.”

“You're just a vessel, I am the controller.”

;

Depression has overcome me,

overpowered, overwhelmed, and overthrown me,

it suffocates me and drowns me yet still dehydrates me,

while I undermined and underestimated,

Depression has definitively defined and become me.

There is no peace in this head of mine, no treaty within my heart,

myself within myself I confine, as I watch my life fall apart.

I am rage, I am dire,

I am a conquered empire,

I am locked in a crate surrounded by water bound by hellfire.

Depression is my sea and I am its wave,

I am its refuge and it is my cave,

it is the whip and I am the slave,

I am the bird and it is my cage,

it is my mind and I am the sage,

it is my creation, and I, its abomination.

;

My family doesn't understand,

they ask why I'm doing this, for an answer they demand,

and I try telling them this isn't something I can command,

yet they continue to rebuke and reprimand,

while I weep and try to explain in the most unconvincing way an explanation could ever be explained.

They take me to the side and say,

“Why are you being this way?”

“This isn't what a man should do, this isn't you.”

“There's so much to be thankful for and people have it worse nearly everywhere.”

I tell them it isn't me I swear,

I can't help it and I don't decide.

What do they want me to do? Hide?

I've already cried,

to every breath I take, I have sighed,

with each day I awaken, I have died,

you know what, maybe I should've just lied,

smile to each face,

because otherwise, they'd all perceive me as a disgrace and distaste,

and dismiss my complaints in haste.

“It's just a mood swing,” they'd claim.

Okay well here's the thing, it's not the same,

it's more of a mood roller coaster that won't stop no matter what you say or how loud you screech,

it's never over.

I'll just go back to hiding my frown,

viscerally yelp, call for help, and soundlessly drown,

be brought down by Depression's gravity savagely yet still run out of breath like I'm being skyrocketed towards a galaxy.

;

I then come to think,

Depression is my only friend,

whenever I'm lonely, it would be there,

whenever I'm down, it would share the despair.

Depression whispers,

“I am your friend, I am no fiend.”

“When all else abandoned, I intervened.”

Okay, Depression, come take me away,

you are my hideous beast, a defiant giant I cannot slay,

I am your deceased, silently compliant, I'll forever stay.

;

To those who go through what I do, who go through the same,

I'm sorry this isn't as simple as a flu,

I'm sorry for the monster you became,

I'm sorry for your pain and self-disdain,

but be sure that you are not to blame,

you are sane, your struggle will not go in vain,

just consider this a removable smudge on your soul, a washable stain.

I wish I had some solution to this internal pollution,

or a magical potion that wouldn't be washed away by this vast ocean,

but I don't,

I can only pray you are endowed with strength to fight this with your heart, with the fullest devotion,

you can withstand this erosion,

just know, friend, you are not alone,

let us hope this is simply just another emotion.

;

So if you ever see a smile across my face with such grace,

be fooled for a while then consider that I might be trying to escape this enclosed space,

reaching out to you shouting,

“Pull me out of me.”

“I'm trapped within this entity.”

“I beg you for a key to my tragedy.”

And if you ever see me laugh,

excuse my contradiction to this poem's words,

just know that I am alternating between giggles as guns and these words as swords.

And if you ever see me being goofy and hectic, don't be skeptic,

this is my battalion and stallion,

this is how I wield my shield,

how I equip myself with weaponry and chivalry,

and I mean that quite literally,

it may draw infamy extensively and excessively but this is my source of longanimity.

I am fighting insanity with insanity,

for I have been failed time and time again by my own sanity,

recruited unwillingly, unrightfully, and taken from my family to take part in this constant ongoing battle for salvation and liberation from this godforsaken damnation,

I'm surviving the battle for my infernal core,

I'm battling myself in my internal war.

;;;;;;;;;

Amr