Saviours (Narrative Poem)

When he was sent to Hell, he knew he belonged there.

For his cruel deeds of murder and theft,

he deserved that fatal bullet wound to his chest.

The worst, or maybe best, part was that he was glad he got sent to Hell.

He would have been driven nuts by the goody two shoes angels,

who preached empty words of faux chivalry and kindness.

All the white clouds and bright lights would have been blinding.

The smiles and cheeriness and laughter all too revolting for him.

He couldn't stand angels and good people because they felt fake to him.

People who tried to be kind to cover up the darkness that was humanity.

He knew how cold the world could be and he never wanted to be a part

of something that would cover up who he really was.

A realist.

Someone who saw the world for what it truly was.

He lounged on a red couch, smiling as he heard the cries of people

who didn't fully belong in Hell but were never angels.

A man came up to him.

"He wants to see you. You're needed."

He confused. The Devil? Satan wanted to see him?

He followed the man that came to him up to the top man's lair.

The journey up the staircases felt eternal, the clanking of their feet

against the metal spiral of stairs the only sound. It echoed in the cylindrical tower of cement they were walking to the top of.

When they entered the Devil's room, he was surprised.

Surprised at how his room fit the visions and labels the Devil was given.

His room was a stark red, the crimson colour of blood.

The floor was rough and hard, made of cement

and coloured the same as the rest of the room.

He was called upon because he was needed for a request.

A young girl named Claramond, or Clara for short,

must be sent on the fast track to Hell. He was a little appalled.

Clara is merely a teenager. What did she ever do to make

the Devil want her in Hell?

He nodded and without any objections, was sent back to Earth.

He looked like himself but he had immense jet wings that

got him about and around and into Hell.

When he got to Clara's house, he saw her and paled.

She was so young and full of life. She seemed happy.

She was laughing with her friends and seemed nice.

She seemed.... like she was meant to go to Heaven.

He was confused. Why her? Sure he hadn't met her,

but Clara did not deserve to go to Hell.

He walked up from behind her.

"Are you Claramond Delavie?"

She whirled around. "Depends... who are you?"

He sighed and explained himself, saying that he was a demon.

She laughed. "I don't think you're that bad of a man."

"No, I'm a real demon. I died and went to Hell."

She paled a little but remained somewhat composed.

"I don't believe in such things but if you claim so,

why did you come to me?"

Now was his turn to pale.

"The Devil wants you now. I don't know why or what for."

She scoffed but he caught a hint of her that believed him.

"Well you can tell the Devil that I don't want to go just yet."

That's when he knew that she did not belong in Hell.

Her defiance, her acceptance, her boldness but all for the right reasons.

She simply did not belong in a place of suffering and of cowards.

A place full of egotists and egoists.

She would stick out like a sore thumb.

She'd be the only circular piece to a jigsaw puzzle.

If he was the only one that could do anything about her

planned one-way ticket to Hell, he damn well would take that chance.

The Devil had set a marker on her, to ensure that she came.

"Listen. I don't want you to go to Hell. You don't belong there.

Someone like me, someone who's done unspeakable horrors,

I belong there. But not someone like you, especially not now."

He removed the marker from her and was about to leave

when she grabbed his arm. "Don't go just yet."

"Do you regret the things you've done? Those... unspeakable

horrors... do you regret them? Full-heartedly?"

He blinked at her, not knowing exactly how to reply.

But something in him flickered. Some feeling...

Of genuine regret. As if all of the previous stigmas

of goodness and Heaven had been washed away.

Her words...

had meaning. They were not empty.

"Yes...yes I regret my actions. Wholeheartedly."

Clara smiled.

"Then you're a good man. You are not the demon you claim to be."

A small smile came and her eyes seemed to twinkle.

"You don't belong in Hell in either."

White wings spread from her shoulders, the signature halo

of an angel appeared.

His cold, black wings disintegrated, and she grabbed his hand.

They drifted up into the clouds.