Figments and Things I'm Not Working On

Let's Make Sin Sound Good

Black hair kissed the night sky and left shivers trailing down it. His mere presence was a cold hand against the neck, a sharp kiss against the spine, a bliss of lust that bubbles and shifts between your soul. Urzon was a devil of a man if that can be truly said. The curves of his body were akin to the curves of a waxing moon. Urzon was hell incarnate--and he was hungry.

What can a demon eat? Oh, to spend years describing the toxicities that consume one in sinful lust and considerable, unmanageable, hunger. It starves as the desire to have overcomes the desire to do. It is not until a demon is able to fully give in to their carnal desires that they can eat, to dive into a gluttonous disaster that humans too often call sexual relations. They feed upon energy. Then, and only then, may a demon be full.

A human, young but not a child, old but not yet that of old-age, sits against the backdrop of a wide sea and a cliff that looms above them. The sand under their feet is soft, gentle, and seafoam lines the edges of his toes as he sits, his body stretched out, back pushed up against a large rock, hands behind his head, eyes watching the give and pull of the mystery before him too often described with the simple word 'ocean'.

"Long night?" Urzon's voice stretched across the expanse.

The human didn't seem bothered by his sudden presence. His gaze remained forward, and his voice was even and smooth when he responded. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Stretching on forever, never-ending? It's immortal in ways we could never be."

"Immortal, mm?"

"It's magical. I've always loved coming out here, spending the evening watching the tide...it's peaceful. Makes me almost think there's something worth saving about this world," he continued, unbothered by Urzon's comments. His voice was that of the wind in the night, breezing past and coming back to wind around his ankles and work up until it reached the inner corners of his soul. That is to say if demons truly have souls, which is another thing that Urzon, and most demons, would never get to find out.

"Do you normally not believe there is?" Urzon asked. The night drew to him and cloaked him in shadows, and the dark being watched as it formed into the visage of a man in his late thirties. Ruggedly handsome was the only way that could describe it, but when he stood behind the human staring loftily at the endless depths before him, Urzon knew more than a thousand words to describe his body, as though the man's thoughts had entered his head and started to consume him.

It was supposed to be the opposite--Urzon was supposed to be the one watching, the one waiting, the one with the thoughts that permeated throughout the human soul and ached until there was little more than endless sin and suffering. Instead, he felt something soft. Gentle. An ache, surely, but one that felt less like pain and more like a tender kiss.

"Do you come here often?"

The sound that came from his lips was less than a chuckle and more of a moan--the type of sound that normally left Urzon grinning ear to ear. Something sank inside his stomach, as though an apple had fallen to the bottom of the bag, sinking deep and resting between his legs.

"Often enough," Urzon said. His throat hurt when he spoke. He needed to consume, to feed his hunger, to drown in the eternities of pain resting within a human body, but something kept him from moving closer. Perhaps it was the way the man sat, his body at ease, watching the ocean with little concern for anything more than the wonders of the universe. He watched with eyes that knew all. Saw all. "And you? Do you come here often?"

"At night when the moon is high and the stars recoil from the touch of clouds and misty sea," the man said. Each word was bliss. "In the mornings, when the eastern sky is lit with pink and the mountain tips are white. In the evenings, when the mosquitoes gather around the fires placed against the ocean-sides, where the air has been cooled by the gathering of night and the sand is warmed by human feet. In my dreams, when the night is long and endless, and the world sits below me, and I can watch all. That's when I come here."

Nothing more than the waves could be heard for several seconds. Each little crash became louder than the next, slowly creeping higher to touch the man's feet, then his calves.

"You are here too, sometimes," the man continued. "You exist within each shadow that stretches across this beach. You exist within my own shadow, touching me every second of the day, always connected to me. We are side by side, yet we never touch. Never could, never would. When you watch from afar I am never seen, but when you are alone, I find myself accompanying you. I have longed for you to find me on this beach. It is something that cannot be tamed--your existence and mine are not to be, and yet," he turned, silver eyes glinting in the pale moonlight, "here you are."

To go forward was to die a million deaths, but to turn back was to die a coward.

Urzon stepped from solid sand into a millennium of doom. Petals of black expanded from his feet, moving with each step, clicking solid against the silver existence of the man before him. When he stopped, he looked down into a face he could not see, a glint of light and a sip of white wine. He was a goddess in his own right.

He was an angel, or something akin to that.

And his touch was fire against Urzon's. His hand reached out and grasped the demon's leg, pulling him down, reaching up with slow talons to touch each curve, to sample each inch of skin, to devour him whole. To say he was scared was an understatement. A demon lived for the luxurious feeding of the soul, to devour that which was impure, to defile what was clean. Sex was yet another part of that, a bit of fornication to brighten the mind, but this left shivers down his spine and aches within his chest.

"Who are you?" he found himself asking. He lay in the sand next to the man, the angel, the being of pure moonlight.

And, just as their lips met for the first time, his answer revealed itself in the passing space.

All that existed before him was a stretch of moonlight. A bit of stardust. A lonely drop of time that had dripped from the sky above and waited for him--to say hello, to say goodbye, and to leave him with a hollowness that came from something worse than that of death.

It was a longing--and Urzon knew that he'd found himself in the deepest pit of hell.