In a dark office, a tall man with dark skin and raven-black hair sat in a burgundy leather armchair. His attention was focused entirely on the papers before him when a breathless messenger burst into the room. The man raised his eyes and raised his hand in a gesture of begging. The boy turned, startled, and ran out the door, closing it behind him with a loud bang. The brunette glanced around the office, clearly pleased with his position. The mahogany desk, exquisite wallpaper, and antique furniture lined the wall were fitting. Less than twenty seconds later, a knock sounded. "
Come in!" he ordered. The messenger, now visibly calmer, entered the office. "
Excuse me, but it's very important. It's from the top, so I couldn't wait," the boy apologized. "
Okay, then tell me."
"A 19-year-old boy gave his life for his friend," he briefly told his boss. "Getting to the point... They want him in heaven.
" "Hehehe," the man laughed. "No way. Pass it on."
"But... there's one problem," the flustered messenger said. "Your father filed the pardon application."
Incredible anger contorted the brunette's face. With a swift movement of his hand, he swept everything standing or lying on the desk off it. He approached the messenger and looked into his terrified green eyes. He smiled, running his hand through his fringe.
"Tell him that's out of the question. If he wants something, let him come himself.
" "But..." the boy wanted to explain the gravity of his words. He knew he'd get a hard time if he returned without a reply.
"Hermes, listen. You probably know that in ancient Greece, messengers who brought bad news were beheaded. Get lost while I'm relatively calm."
The man sat back down in his chair. He tilted his head back and tried to calm himself. His father, despite the agreement not to interfere in his affairs, after nearly two thousand years once again wanted to show who was truly in charge. It wouldn't work. This time, he wouldn't bow. This time, there would be war. He had to demonstrate his power. He focused and, after a few seconds, vanished from the atelier
.
The white office dazzled the eyes with its brightness. An old man in a white suit sat on the corner of the desk. His son stood before him. The exact opposite. Young, dark-skinned, and wearing a black suit. A stranger seeing them for the first time might have missed the connection entirely. However, after a longer acquaintance, one could tell they had identical eyes. Blue, full of light and mystery. Permeated with arrogance. They were talking loudly. The young man's voice was laced with reproach and dissatisfaction. He was trying desperately to show his father his independence. He knew he had grown to be considered, and his own opinion in his own affairs was final. But the old man clearly felt differently.
"Listen," he said. "I rarely ask you to do such things, but you know yourself that this boy gave his life to save someone he loved. I don't see why he should be punished for that."
"No, you listen," his son shouted. "You didn't intercede for Judas, even though he gave his soul and paid for his role in your plan with suffering. What's more, you forced it on him with your temptation." He was outraged. "I don't know if you've ever felt any remorse. Why should this boy be rewarded for sinning by breaking some of your stupid commandments, which you always—" he emphasized in a firm voice—"follow without exception."
"Son, it's not like that. He did it himself, I didn't tell you so, but he chose this path." He looked into his son's eyes with the sadness you see in the eyes of a parent accused by a child of failing to raise him properly. "I didn't tempt him. I don't know what rumors are circulating in hell, but it was his will."
"I won't change my mind. After breaking the Ten Commandments, he's mine." He turned and, as he left, said only, "If you want him, take him by force."
He slammed the white door behind him. From behind it, God heard another loud curse. He feared this matter might not end peacefully. But he also knew he couldn't let it go. Because He had the final say. No one and nothing would change that.
***
"Bloody hell," Lucifer cursed, sitting down in his chair. He closed his eyes and thought that what he had been waiting for for centuries might happen. It wasn't about that soul. It was just a pawn. The only way to seize power was through war. And you couldn't start this like that. You had to find a reason. And this one was perfect. He looked at the painting hanging behind his desk, a gift he'd once received from someone close to him. It depicted a silver-winged angel, sitting and crying fiery tears. Behind him was the landscape of a purple desert. He had to go to that desert and heed the advice of the wisest of winged ones. Only this angel could help him win this war. A war that will leave its mark on the fat asses of the Heavenly Lords.
***
I sat in a bar, sipping wine. It was bitter, like the memory of you. Music poured from the speakers, but I could only catch a few words. Seemingly unrelated, without any real significance, they helped me understand the world. I watched people rushing past the shiny, flower-scented window, beneath newspapers and umbrella domes. Rain came from nowhere, only intensifying my depression. No clouds, no raging wind, nothing. And suddenly, a gray, wet day. A beautiful blonde sat at the table next to me. Not long ago, I would have seized the opportunity and probably ended up in bed with her. But now... I have no idea what was going on. I never remembered any of my women. I was the one handing out baskets, never receiving them. I wonder if each of them hurt as much as I did. I didn't want to toy with anyone. Or hurt anyone. You learn from your mistakes? It's a shame the mistake came so late. I don't remember their names or faces, but now more than ever, I want to apologize to them. I even blame myself for leaving you. You were the only person I cared about. And for whom I was ready to change the world. I don't know where I went wrong, if I did at all. But it's so hard to say it's you. You're flawless. I thought you were a diamond that even I couldn't scratch. Maybe that was the point, to make me realize how much pain I cause.
Now I wander around the city sadly, looking at people from under my hood and imagining you holding my hand. No one else gave me as much joy as you gave me. Why do the most beautiful moments slip away so quickly?
This is the second time I've seen a guy in a red Opel Vectra. And this is the second time he's been driving over 100 km/h in the city. It's strange, because I wouldn't have noticed it before. Funny, but it reminds me of you again. Walking along the shop windows, full of colorful clothes, shoes, and life-saving medications, I try to paint your face in my mind. And although I remember every detail, I can't recall the whole thing. A little girl is jumping in a puddle. Water splashing in all directions, staining her white tights, growing like little birch trees from her yellow wellies. She looked at me. Right in the eyes, as if trying to understand what I was thinking. She smiled. For a moment, it seemed to me that her pupils held the answers to all my questions. She turned, spraying water at a man passing by. She ran out into the street. She stopped in the middle of the left lane and stared at me. Jesus, what is she doing? Behind her, the streamlined shape of a red Vectra loomed. I lunge forward, knocking over a woman in light jeans who was just leaving the store. I don't know when I hit the ground. I'm flying, free from worries. And it feels like this has been going on for a very long time. Suddenly, all my thoughts are deafened by an incredible pain in my chest. I feel my ribs pierce my skin, and my face is covered in hot, thick blood. The impact on the asphalt sears my entire body. With the last of my strength and consciousness, I raise my head. And I can no longer see anything.
***
The man in the brown leather jacket watched the accident from behind the barrier. A throng of people had gathered around the victim. Curses and cries could be discerned from the voices in the crowd. It's strange that these creatures enjoy watching others suffer so much, he thought. He had never liked the sight of blood or human corpses. And he must have been in places full of corpses. A young boy emerged from the crowd, as if made of human flesh. He looked back with an uncertain expression. He reached the barrier and stood in front of the man watching him. He immediately understood who he was and what he was doing here.
"So, is this the end?" he asked.
"Unfortunately." He cast a mysterious glance from behind his long blond hair. "But I guess it was worth it." He
lifted his head toward the other people. A little girl in yellow rubber boots was sitting on the wet street.
A torch dimly illuminated the cave's interior. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, almost touching the ground. They must have been a thousand years old. On the floor lay a worn beige rug, on which an angel sat with his legs folded. Enormous silver wings protruded from behind his gray tunic-covered shoulders. The torchlight seemed to trace a separate flame on each feather. The angel's eyes, partially obscured by his black hair, were dazzlingly white. Despite his seemingly youthful appearance, pride and wisdom radiated from him. He folded his hands across his lower abdomen, his thumbs raised. His lips moved gently, probably in rhythm with some mantra, revealing snow-white teeth. He was peaceful, knowing that here in the Wasteland he was alone and would not be disturbed. He sat and thought about times gone by. About how he had been God's right hand. How he had first descended to earth and fallen in love with a shy girl. These were the most beautiful moments of his existence. She gave him her entire self, and that was enough for him. He wanted to return the favor. Meanwhile, God had selfishly called him and cast him away. A punishment for love. Strange and ironic. Someone who claims to love his creations punishes them for it. He had come to live here after the death of his beloved. And he would stay here forever. He had no idea how wrong he was.
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