"Ya know. Four years ago I sold my son off to a man who wished for the body of a young boy. Money was tight, and with his mother passing, I felt that no authority could pull me from my decision. Alas, it only gained me a couple bottles, soon enough I was out again, scraggling for more. I had already sold off my wife's belongings, but even still, it garnered me not much. About a year after my decision, which even to death's day do I contemplate my choice. At my doorstep, though what most call a doorstep would not be applicable to what I had owned. A tall figure, with deep purple chains that clung to his throat and arms. A fedora slanted on his left side, from what I could make from his words showed he had quite the sharp teeth. In an uneventful noon, I could recall only barely that it be what he said, and that was, 'He is not worthy.' He gave it in a cherperly rude manner and staggered off, the only large feature besides what has been mentioned, was the fact he had a large pisces simple upon his back."
The man folded his arms, tears tried to came down his face, but they couldn't.
"From what was left was a large box, and so I would take it in. Once I opened it, a driving smell of putrid rust and faeces filled the air that I breathe. In the box was a white label that mentioned a used product. I wondered what used product could be given to someone of my prestige. Oh God if only I knew, if only."
A few lost souls stared at him in his grivances. A large booming voice then clamoured.
"Go on. You have just enough time to finish."
"Well anyway. Behind the label was a taped manual on reconstruction of the product, the scent was burning my eyes and the lack of windows gave me vomitile gags. I was never more happy in the time I lived, than to have had twenty/twenty vision. Below the styrofoam that squeaked like that of a rat drowning in bleach as their skull gets bashed in by a large dull shovel in a small ditch."
The man then as quietly as he could, clear his throat.
"I dug deep through the peanuts seeing a bag of bolts and screws lay to the side, nails and jars piled on top of eachother. Quietly below all that was seven frozen jars of my son's dismembered body. Even now, I know not what to think, it was beyond shock, behind fear or anger, sorrow or sadness. In this moment I had hope, for the wrongs that I committed, I felt like I could gain forgiveness. I followed the instructions to the letter, it took me days to get it right, but I did it. It was sickening truly sickening. As I looked at his face. It was hard for me to tell, every phoo of his mother and him were gone. I looked at his face for hours, not knowing if thatwas what he looked like. Upon his forhead were small holes scarred into his head. It was small and seemed to only penetrate past the skull not any further, there were a few of them, seven or nine I think. I look at whatever memory I have of it now, and I wonder, where did I go wrong, what trechory have I committed. The pain he must have gone through."
The man place his face into his palms.
"Once it was all over, I saw my son, he was close to the same, but needed time to properly come back to function, weeks would pass and the tension and guilt burned my very innards, I was dripping with pain. So pathetic, for in the last moments of my existence I saw a twitch in my son's arm, oh God how it frightened me, the dishonoured smell blackened my eyes and gave me the memory of betrayal. Maybe I was blinded, blinded by something I have no word to express, and it be that in the moments of possible life did I run. A simple belt and chair I thought, for if my son lived or not, it would not matter, for I am a sick, sick, man. As my neck felt a closing stretch and ragged peel of the skin, my eyes went blurry, as it all happened. I saw him, for if it was real or not I do not know, but the sounds of his footsteps and the abhorrent distraught look of someone who was no longer there. Bless it be, my death was a necessary one."
The man picked up his face, tears that weren't there felt as if they were, looking up to the figure overlooking tem all.
"So what do you think, a pitiful story indeed."
"All honesty I do not care, for my children are the same, though I use them in much more of a useful manner. Such a sorrowful simpleton you are, dreary isn't it," said a melodic voice, like an organ, but that of voices instead. It was soft, a level of natural beauty unlike any other, truly phenomenal.
"What will I be of now, for who knows if my son exists, and if it be that he has died. Place him in heaven, for I would be damned for more than I already am."
"Ugh, I swear, you're so damn dramatic, he ain't dead, for my youngest son has proven his existence. Though your child didn't achieve the ultimate goal anyway, truly… well you know how it is."
"Wait, you know of the things occurred to him. Say you know them, you know the existence of such devils."
"Hmm, what an ironic choice of words, fear it not, for I know them little. Just a descendent and his posse, descendant by the way of the very first god, quite disgusting if you ask me. First god, more like a waste of cosmic energy. Anyway, my goals align not with theirs, for my children are to help with that which is sealed."
"But even still you know of whom they are, at least let someone out there knows. I may not deserve the right to say, but to bring them down with me as well, truly is that not what they do not deserve?"
"Oh pity, pity, the more you whine, the less I care. Know this, where you are headed, worries such as yours, will of unneeded necessity."
"Please oh great Lucifer, please don't let it be for not. I plead to the, if by any sliver of soulful rejoice that you could part, please land well on those to be judged. I beg on my knees and face planted onto the coursing magma that scorns me."
"Well you truly know how to give another quite respectable play. Be at ease, for I am not God, nor does anything such as repentance exist either. You have cursed your soul, so all I can say is, welp if I'm bored, I may remember some words you possibly said. Goodbye O' saddened one, cherish your never to suffer."
The Father vanished in the crisp calm of the room, though the bubbling of flames and crackles of magma spewed everywhere, the room felt as if you were hearing someone speak underwater. A pit is where all lay, 'I Lucifer shall sit in the blanketed comfort of my future return, and grand revenge'.