Morningstar or Sympathy for the Devil

Lucifer closed his eyes.

When he opened them, nothing had changed. He stood atop the tallest building in London, looking out of the vast, plate-glass window of his office at the world spread out below him. The chaotic streets were already buzzing with early morning activity. Although he was above it all, he could hear everything, from the raucous blaring of cars horns and entitled business men shouting, to the soft sigh of a homeless man rolling over in his sleep. It was the same wherever he went, Britain, the Americas, Russia, Angola. All over the world, it was the same, and, as promised, it was all his, this dirty place. His own little kingdom.

Bile rising in his throat, Lucifer turned away. A kingdom, no matter the size, was small recompense for the price he’d had to pay.

He had once been the most favored of his Father’s first children, the highest of all the angels. He remembered standing by his Father’s left hand as He created the first man. He had been so fascinated by these small, fragile creatures, wondering at them. The Father’s gift to this new race was free will, the ability and desire to choose for themselves their faith, their destiny, their actions and very thoughts. He remembered so clearly the moment that he sealed his own fate to become the embodiment of all that was cruel and dark and vile. If he had known, he might have held his tongue on that day.

It didn’t matter. Even for an angel, the past was gone and done. Turning to the Father, he had asked in his innocence, “What is for them to choose? Your will is above all wills, and there are none to oppose you. How could they choose anything but you?”

It was not long before he had his answer.

                                                                         ****

Lucifer was called into the Lord’s throne room. He had swiftly walked the halls of Heaven, pleased to return once more to the Father’s presence, but when he arrived, he felt the first inklings of apprehension. The Great Hall was empty save for the Lord, who sat enshrouded in light at the far end. Lucifer fell to his knees, unable to stand under the weight of such glory, but his trembling was more in fear than in awe.

“My Morningstar,” the Father sighed, his voice a rolling thunder. There was affection in those words, and sorrow. “You are closer to me than any other of my creations, and you have read my thoughts more than any have dared.”

His forehead brushed the floor as Lucifer shook his head. “I could not hope to divine your thoughts, such as I am, for your wisdom runs beyond time and all knowledge.” His wings twitched as his trembling became greater.

Another rolling sigh. “I hope that you will remember this faith when many thousands of years have passed and your name will become as a curse on the earth that is below.”

Terror rising, Lucifer lifted his gaze to the feet of his Father. He did not have the courage to look higher. “I do not understand.”

“You had the right of it when you spoke to me in the garden. Man cannot follow that which does not exist. Their choice means nothing when only one choice is given. You have always followed my will, and now your task will be your greatest test.”

Comprehension began to dawn. Lucifer quailed.

“My will is that you would oppose me,” the Father pronounced. His voice was sorrow laden but stern.

Lucifer recoiled, shielding himself from that terrible command with his wing. “You ask the impossible of me, Father!” he cried. Tears, hot and bright, burned his face. “Please do not send me from your sight! Do not ask me this thing!”

“I do not ask. You will obey me in this, in becoming the choice. The darkness that you will cast will make the light shine brighter and clearer.”

Lucifer wailed, hiding his face in grief. Fear, panic and anger rose in his breast. In his mind, the Lord showed him his purpose, the design that he was a part of. His was a terrible part, and one that he did not want, but his wasn’t to choose, only to obey. He lay on the floor, curled tightly around this new pain. At last the Father rose from his throne and pulled him to his feet, gently and irresistibly.

“You now understand the fullness of what I ask as no other ever will. This one thing I can give you, for this burden is great even for the mightiest of my own. You shall not go alone into darkness. Choose a third of your brethren, those you can trust. You will depart once you have made your choice, and you will not return until my work is complete.”

Lucifer bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Is there no other way, my Lord?” he pleaded.

The Father returned to his throne and sat. “No,” he said with finality.

                                                                       ****

Lucifer screamed and swung his arm across his desk, knocking away everything that sat on it. Papers, pens and even a potted plant scattered on the floor. The ceramic pot shattered, and dirt was flung across the room. He sank slowly into the chair, resuming his stoic mask. Darkness was his lot, and darkness he had created. He was fulfilling his task to the best of his ability, doing everything his Lord asked of him. Though spoken in fear or revile, his name was legendary. He had succeeded in ways no other could ever have done.

He sank his head into his hands. All that was true. He did nothing but what his Father had willed, but then why was it that he hated himself so much?