I’ve been in my shell for a long time. It’s cracked and bruised and torn and hurting, always. It’s bloody and broken and not even a shadow of what it used to be. I used to think I was beautiful until you came into the world. You were made to look like Him. The upgrade. If you are Windows 7 we are most definitely Vista.

  When you think of us you immediately imagine wings and beauty. The truth is you couldn’t be more wrong. If we fly we need a means, you think. But feathers? Seriously? We disregard any laws of science by our very existence yet you still apply worldly physics to our possibilities. How foolish, we think. How naive. Perhaps that was His greatest gift to you. Ignorance. Stupidity. Semantics. Take your pick.

  We soar. It’s hardly compensation. We are ugly. In a cruel, perhaps fitting twist, your approximation of demons are the closest you’ve come to visualizing us. Blackened husks of twisted flesh, created by a craftsman new at his trade. We were the buggy-beta. The glitch-ridden pre-release demo. Legend goes He ironed most of it out for you. Still, you kill and rape and defile and steal and hoard and fuck and debauch and dump on everything you touch. If you’re version two-point-zero, how screwed are we ?

  We have been relegated to janitors. The more optimistic among us dub ourselves preventers. We clean up after you before you’ve even made a mess. You, the younger generation. We’re the ones that sweep all your shit under the rug and shove a cork up your ass to stop you shitting anymore. The new baby brother that none of us wanted.

  My latest charge is a young man with a devil on his back. Dark thoughts hell-bent on a dark destiny. It’s my job to deliver him from evil. I’ll more than likely fail. We usually fail. Free will’s a bitch to work with. Or against.

  If I had fingers I’d cross them.


~ by Joseph Blame on July 20, 2010.

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