Fallen Angel

The city below me lives and thrives. Each person goes each day, each hour and minute, each second. The content of their days bore me. The humans themselves are no longer interesting. I wonder how much longer I'll be trapped in this Hell.

This planet is what Hell truly is. Being unseen by all eyes, being alone, and being degraded by the demons that plague this Earth-like sphere. God has plenty of these places. Such a narcissistic God that rules them.

I stare up at the Heavens, peering through the clouds and stratosphere and beyond, beyond Lucifer and the other planets around him, beyond the other legendary rebels littering the skies. And there, far far away are The Gates. Golden, silver, warm, welcoming. Locked.

I can almost reach it. I could fly just a few millennia, and I'd be there. It'd almost be as simple as jumping. But here I stand on the tallest structure on this wretched pit, and I can't even touch it. My wings, clipped and broken, unable to make the trip.

A beautiful, soul shattering noise rattles the ground and sky. I pretend to play my trumpet and  scream at the Heavens. I'll scream until God himself marches down and makes me stop. I'll scream for centuries beyond centuries until silence to the fragile souls that lie here is just a fairytale. I'll scream with the demons that seek freedom, with the angels that seek freedom, the old souls that are so ill reliving the cycle will join us. It'll be our own revolution. And as the son disappears, Lucifer will stand at The Gates, breaking his body with each try to enter. It'll be the most beautiful and disgusting act. It all starts with me.