[ WP ] Much more rare , potentially powerful and dangerous than selling your soul to the Devil is selling your soul to God

I had asked for amnesty repeatedly. I had asked for salvation when there was no one to give it to me, I had asked for a cool hand on my hot forehead, I had asked for a warm embrace when I shivered, I had asked for relief from split lips and thirst. 
 
 
 
 I had also asked often for death. 
 
 
 
 One might think an office cubicle to be a cage, but to be literally within a cage as a human creature stuffed tight against bars, that's another feeling. And we were slowly starting to overcrowd. The sullen teenager to my left was a new one, with freckles on her cheeks and bright blue eyes. She was shoved in roughly, her shock of pink dyed hair tangled up in dirt and leaves. 
 
 
 
 He must have dragged her in the dirt. 
 
 
 
 At first, we never know why we were taken. All we know is that he was cruel, and spent particular time to remind us that we had sinned, with ire, restriction of necessities, or worse. In this case, I was well aware of why I was here. The girl next to me had no verifiable idea; or perhaps she did not know yet. Perhaps her memories had been landscaped in apropos. 
 
 
 
 `` You got ta figure it out, or he wo n't feed you,'' I offered. 
 
 `` Fuck that! I'd rather starve!'' she spat. 
 
 
 
 
 I had been like that too, once. Culled from my office job one night after drinking a fair bit too much. Barbara from accounting was flirting with me, and I, as any hedonistic worshipper of the flesh, had gone down that split path. My fiance did n't know. It was n't like I did n't love her, it was just that my longing for my own pleasures was immense. 
 
 
 
 This was why I was here. And I had accepted it long ago. Now lean, no longer muscled, face gaunt and pale to match my own pale hair. I had wished often for death. But it would not come. 
 
 
 
 
 And then I received a choice, in hushed words from the blank eyed man that kept us caged. On this day, the girl next to me named Olivia -- I had learned as she sobbed out her life story in gasps and tremors -- quaked once more. She found my hand through the bars and I held it. She was barely over sixteen. And she also heard the words, the choice. 
 
 
 
 `` You are allowed one. Either the light and grace of Him, our Lord and savior, God almighty.'' 
 `` Or, the darkness and deceit of the Liar's tongue -- Satan.'' 
 
 
 `` Which do you choose?'' 
 
 
 
 
 I did n't understand. 
 
 `` W..what?'' 
 
 `` You must pick one. You have suffered as a martyr for your sins. Do you wish to absolve yourself of sin, wash it clean away, or live in sin eternal?'' 
 
 
 
 He was out of his fucking mind, and his hot breath on my face as he knelt was a reminder of how sick he was, inside, and out. His heavy mouth sucked his lips and teeth and asked again. 
 
 
 `` What do you choose?'' 
 
 
 
 ``... God. God, I guess.'' 
 
 
 
 
 
 `` Are you sure?'' 
 
 
 I tossed a look at Olive who held my hand tight and sobbed. The others began to flutter and cry and I stared up under heavy brows as I grasped her hand. This man must have spoken for God as he preached about sin relentlessly, and the cross upon his neck had caught my attention on more than one occassion. I'd play this game. 
 
 
 
 `` No. I choose Satan.'' 
 
 
 
 The man tossed a grin and waited for pale, fragile Olive's response. Her pink hair was matted and she had n't eaten in a week. 
 
 
 
 
 ``...... God?'' 
 
 `` Are you sure?'' 
 
 ``.....yes....'' 
 
 
 
 
 
 He ripped her cage open and tried to drag her out. My hand latched to her's and I scrambled to keep ahold as she cried and scratched to stay by my side, but he had taken her. She screamed out as he took her away and then slammed the door. My hand was empty but I still held it out. I still felt her grip and her weight. 
 
 
 
 She was gone. 
 
 
 
 
 When she returned later, she was not herself. Her eyes seemed dull, and a spit of blood trailed from her eye socket. A popped blood vessel. She sat outside of her cage. She sat in a plain wooden chair and stared into nothingness. 
 
 
 
 `` She has been purified.'' 
 
 `` What the fuck does that mean?'' 
 
 ``....she is of God now.'' 
 
 
 
 
 I stared, my mouth raw and blistered. 
 
 
 
 
 `` She is of miracles now. Watch,'' he said simply, smacking his rough lips together. Olive stood gently and touched my face. Without emotion affect or words, she blessed my forehead and I felt full and happy....this was real. This was actually happening. 
 
 
 
 ``....that's... amazing.'' 
 
 
 `` Can she hear us?'' 
 
 
 `` No.'' 
 
 
 
 
 `` Never again will she talk as mortals do. She is an angel.'' 
 
 
 
 
 
 God had given her the gift to fill the hungry, quench the thirsty, heal the wounded, and potentially raise the dead. But she was not herself. There was no life in that miracle. A strain of red fell from her eyesocket and she cried tears as the statues of Mary had. 
 
 
 
 
 
 ``... what is my gift then?'' 
 
 `` Excuse me?'' 
 
 `` My gift. She has miracles, what do I have?'' 
 
 
 `` Damnations. You judge the sinners, as I do now. And take them, as I have... you have a power they do not. It is to harm, as her's are to heal.'' 
 
 
 
 
 
 I took it to mean I judged sinners. Every sinner. And with this, seeing her shallow form, waifish, pale, but glowing, pink hair alight with an internal goodness -- but knowing she was no longer sentient, but lobotomized by God's light, I judged... that this man here, was a sinner. 
 
 
 
 
 The cage flew open without much thought and I pressed out of it, to finally stand, as I had n't been able to in weeks. 
 
 
 
 ``... I will train you.'' 
 
 
 
 `` No, you wo n't.'' 
 
 
 
 
 With less than an intake of breath I had stabbed him through the chest with my fist. The others cried, some cheered, others wretched into their own cells. The rest of the cells split open with my pale blue gaze. He stood with my fist clutching his heart, perfectly still. 
 
 
 ``..w... why have you forsaken me, Father?'' 
 
 
 
 
 `` I can judge anyone as a sinner, right? If God does this, then he too, has sinned. Man was n't meant to live in a cage. Not in his own body, and certainly,'' I ripped. `` Not behind metal.'' 
 
 
 
 
 
 He slammed into the ground as the others escaped and huddled, crying. Olive sat staring at me and dropped the man's dead meat onto the ground, bloodied hands now on her face. She said nothing, but I kissed her forehead and she managed to blink. 
 
 
 
 `` Let's go, pepto.'' 
 
 
 
 She complied, and we left. The authorities scooped up the others and I took off with my little miracle in the passenger seat of a car I lifted. It had been easy. The air whipped her pink hair and I glanced at her, bloody hands finding a cigarette. She saw nothing, really. But did she understand? 
 
 
 
 
 ``... can you hear me?'' 
 
 
 
 
 She passed a gentle hand to my shoulder and I felt a crack. She had fixed the pressure of the punch, pulled apart and reorganized tendons. We would do this ourselves. 
 
 
 
 The way it was meant to be done. 
 

