Asmodeus
1500 Words
Asmodeus
/ləst/
A dead cold world is what I lived in. And you, who came from literal hell, ignited it. Deep down, I knew it will eventually burn me to ashes. Yet I threw all rationality aside and basked in the warmth of your heat. You, who will pain me to death, made me feel alive for the first time. What was made into an empty vessel suddenly had something to hold— a spark of your flame. So who could blame me for reaching out to you, my fire?
Sapphire Desidree
I. Aftermath
Breathe.
My footsteps loudly echoed in the narrow stairwell. In a hurry— desperate my steps were just to make it to the top. Sweat dripped profusely from my forehead. The thunderous beating of my heart rung inside my ears I almost felt deaf. But I paid no attention to all of it.
My grip was tight on the railing. Because of nausea, I could only hold on to the metal support to go upwards. My knees buckled and I nearly fell. I mentally cursed. s**t. My chest feels so tight.
Breathe. Breathe.
The metallic door opened with a harsh sound, a reverberating clang it went. Because of how forceful I was to push it open, it hit the wall. I ignored the possibility that I could have damaged it and hurriedly took off the medical mask and gloves that had been chaining and suffocating me ever since.
I threw it all away, not caring where it landed.
I then took a deep breath, taking in the fresh and cool air of the evening. My chest rose in satisfaction, lips agape for extra inhalation causing me to gasp from time to time. I pressed my palm at the doorway for support as I moved to the side to lean on the concrete wall.
As I calmed myself, I quietly trailed my gaze all over the scenery. A view that can only be seen from the rooftop of the hospital that I was currently working at. I couldn't enjoy it though; the sight of mesmerizing city lights and skyscrapers, not even the dazzling freckles of the sleeping sky nor the exquisite moon proud for its full form.
It's such a shame I'm still a bit dazed with my senses out of control—mind haywire, going back and forth. The fresh air, that distinctive scent of medicine. The noise from impatient cars, the wail of a mother. The cold touch of the night, the sting from my cheek. Salty tears, the metallic taste of blood. The moonlit night, the. . . the dead child. Dull eyes, pale skin. Cold, unmoving.
All my remaining strength finally left. I slowly fell down to my knees, my back sliding against the rough texture of the wall. I leaned my head on the concrete and tilted my head up to face the darkness of a night sky.
"Can you take back death?"
"I may be a god but mortality is beyond me," answered a particularly seductive voice. The voice of a certain god, one I knew who was watching me from the highest point of this tall building.
"Right." I let out a small smirk. "That's not your job," I continued. For you are the god that intervenes the life of a heart but not the heart of a life. Eros, that's what we called you. That was the name mere mortals gave you. I flutteedr my eyelids closed, feeling so, so tired.
"Then should I bargain with the devils instead?" Even with my eyes resting, I could visualize the way his expression darkened. A look unfit for the faces of ethereal beings like him. When anget finds its way to Eros, his thin white brows would furrow and his pale blue lips would frown.
"The underworld does nothing but cause pain," he hissed.
"I know." I softly laughed. Of course I know that. Out of all people, I should know the harm of horns and black feathers. Of pain along gold eyes and fangs. Of aching realization that grief don't drown but burn in nothing but deep lurching red.
"An eye for an eye," claws caressed my cheek.
"Desire for desire," the devil whispered just above my lips.
"But you know what, Eros?" I opened my eyes and saw the god of love standing right in front of me, looking down at my pitiful stance. I stared back at inhumane eyes; everything was painted in black, a darkness that pulls you in. His golden bow and arrow safely strapped around his pristine white robe and his laurel crown that sat comfortably on his white curly hair.
"I don't regret it." I smiled at him.
His frown deepened. "He hurt you," he reminded me, voice lower. I almost laughed again at how threatening it sounded.
"I know," I repeated.
"But people can only feel pain when they already felt happiness, and he made me happy." He made me feel. Feelings that I thought my young heart had buried. He made me feel alive. So I guess it's only right that he's the one who could take all of those away.
"That wasn't supposed to happen."
"And yet here we are." Eros heaved a deep sigh and glared at me. "This is the worst case of masochism I have ever encountered," the god of love lamented.
"Well, it's love." I chuckled.
Eros went silent for a moment as he took his time staring at me. His eyes were always hard to read so I stopped guessing years ago on what goes on inside his mind. I sat still and waited for him to speak. I blinked when he moved then sat next to me. The sweet scent of roses immediately pervaded my nose.
"It's not just love," he softly started. "You hurt yourself in other ways," he continued and motioned my uniform. I looked down on my white coat and the baby blue scrub underneath it. I brought back my gaze back to him. He raised his white brows at me, probably sensing the bullshit that I'm about to say.
"I'm not hurting."
"So we're just going to ignore the panic attack that you had a while back?" he sarcastically asked.
"Death is inevitable in my career," I countered.
"A career you never wanted," he immediately fired back.
It was my turn to went mum. Isn't that what financial instability does to young dreamers? Without a sure source of money, you have no choice but to throw passion for practicality. There's also the case of emotionally manipulative parents. So can you really blame me for not pursuing what I wanted?
The paintbrush felt heavier than ever in my hand. I gulped and my fingers trembled slightly as I continued painting. I'm at the studio today like every other free day that I can get.
Doing art was something that calmed me and in a way, made me forget. My hands were free of the tight feeling of medical gloves. Paint, although full of chemicals are almost odorless, so far from the suffocating antiseptic of the hospital. This was supposed to make me rest but I feel so uneasy right now.
Damn you, Eros.
"Sapphire, this is beautiful!" a bright voice snapped me out of my reverie. I smiled when I caught Mrs. Lilac eyeing my canvas with her jaw dropped. I was painting a picture of a wailing mother and her dead child in the middle of a field of blooming daisies.
"How is it that you keep surprising me even though you've been under my tutelage for years? And I still don't know why you refuse to use red. But then again, that is your charming point," she chattered her compliments.
"Well, sapphire occurs in a wide range of colors but they are never red. That makes it a ruby," someone interfered. I froze while Mrs. Lilac spun to where the voice came from.
That voice. . .
How can I ever forget a voice that carved its way to my soul?
"Oh, and you are?" Mrs. Lilac asked in confusiin. I want to turn around but for some reason, my body won't move.
"My bad," he laughed. "I thought the exhibition was today so. . ."
Hearing the word 'exhibition' made Mrs. Lilac grin. She loves it whenever her art studio is visited. It just shows how important and connected art is to her. "Oh, that's alright! You can still take a look around though I have to apologize because the place is quite the mess."
"Thank you." And even without looking at him, I can see the way the end of his lips tugging up a bit. A phone rang at halos mapatalon si Mrs. Lilac. She excused herself to answer the call and went out, leaving the both of us in the studio. In my mind, I can slowly feel it. The heat, the warmth, the fire.
"Sapphire," he called me and like back then, my world burned.
- Writer
