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Playing God
Regius Monumentum :: Writing :: Fiction
Page 1 of 1
Playing God
You are not, nor will you ever will be her.
But who is she, really?
You brought me here, you did this to me.
The girl whose hand you've kissed, whose pedestal you've polished in Heaven's innocence and beauty is nothing more than a little rich girl. You dip all her sins in the sweet nectar of forgiveness and blot the access in glory, giving it that ever-so-sweet and smooth Divine polish. This girl is your everything; the daughter you always dreamed of, the one you think of as you lay down to sleep.
But I, I dream of the times your words were so high and mighty that her name was Mary, and she'd been blessed by Cherubs and carrying the next Messiah. But not so. I, I dream of the vast shadow your taloned hands cast upon my Heaven; my world. With the most simple, effortless swipes, you can cast shadows and grief upon me as wicked as the Devil himself.
You may have missed some things I do regret, Mistress. And I can list them all thusly. Monsters in shadows they say are more scared of you than you are of them; but maybe not. I do not fear you and I daresay I love and hate you on the most wicked and lovely of all days, when either storm or sun arise in the morn and progress until the moon is up.
When you become a creator and play God, you must be very careful that your creations do not gain superior knowledge and outrank you. You have given suck and threw it all away once you found another that seemed much superior. Did you not think about the one you'd raised, you'd loved, you taught and trained? How she would feel when you traded your very creation for another? Her revenge was bittersweet, mind you. She did what all aborted projects could do; and gained a superior knowledge of both the Creator and the Other.
The Creator lived life brainwashed and tainted; and the Other spoiled and supposedly plagued with a sea of troubles. The Other grew up and befriended myself for twelve years without a trace of my residing in a Valley of Shadows.
I held Satan's hand for years while you skipped along a path of clouds. But you never knew. Raised and loved by the devil, I stay faithful and pretend that I too am an angel. Your little angel. But I am a mere pawn in the Devil's wicked game, and you'll fall to your death in the pit of flames before I. But fear not, Mistress; Satan will hold your hand and whisper my story to you for years to come as I take my rightful place in the sun. But for now, your ignorance possesses you. And you'll never know who's hand I truly hold.
You'll never know.
But who is she, really?
You brought me here, you did this to me.
The girl whose hand you've kissed, whose pedestal you've polished in Heaven's innocence and beauty is nothing more than a little rich girl. You dip all her sins in the sweet nectar of forgiveness and blot the access in glory, giving it that ever-so-sweet and smooth Divine polish. This girl is your everything; the daughter you always dreamed of, the one you think of as you lay down to sleep.
But I, I dream of the times your words were so high and mighty that her name was Mary, and she'd been blessed by Cherubs and carrying the next Messiah. But not so. I, I dream of the vast shadow your taloned hands cast upon my Heaven; my world. With the most simple, effortless swipes, you can cast shadows and grief upon me as wicked as the Devil himself.
You may have missed some things I do regret, Mistress. And I can list them all thusly. Monsters in shadows they say are more scared of you than you are of them; but maybe not. I do not fear you and I daresay I love and hate you on the most wicked and lovely of all days, when either storm or sun arise in the morn and progress until the moon is up.
When you become a creator and play God, you must be very careful that your creations do not gain superior knowledge and outrank you. You have given suck and threw it all away once you found another that seemed much superior. Did you not think about the one you'd raised, you'd loved, you taught and trained? How she would feel when you traded your very creation for another? Her revenge was bittersweet, mind you. She did what all aborted projects could do; and gained a superior knowledge of both the Creator and the Other.
The Creator lived life brainwashed and tainted; and the Other spoiled and supposedly plagued with a sea of troubles. The Other grew up and befriended myself for twelve years without a trace of my residing in a Valley of Shadows.
I held Satan's hand for years while you skipped along a path of clouds. But you never knew. Raised and loved by the devil, I stay faithful and pretend that I too am an angel. Your little angel. But I am a mere pawn in the Devil's wicked game, and you'll fall to your death in the pit of flames before I. But fear not, Mistress; Satan will hold your hand and whisper my story to you for years to come as I take my rightful place in the sun. But for now, your ignorance possesses you. And you'll never know who's hand I truly hold.
You'll never know.
Regius Monumentum :: Writing :: Fiction
Page 1 of 1
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