waiting for my rocket to come - saint

[curbside prophecies]

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Saint: (n.) A dead sinner revised and edited.

The Duchess of Orleans relates that the irreverent old calumniator, Marshal Villeroi, who in his youth had known St. Francis de Sales, said, on hearing him called saint: "I am delighted to hear that Monsieur de Sales is a saint. He was fond of saying indelicate things, and used to cheat at cards. In other respects he was a perfect gentleman, though a fool."

-- Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary


We can't all be saints in the city...</center>

[curbside prophecies]

<center>Now, Faustus, must thou needs be damned?
And canst thou not be saved?
What boots it then to think on God or heaven?
Away with such vain fancies and despair,
Despair in God and trust in Beelzebub.
Now go not backward. No, Faustus, be resolute.

--Act 1, Scene 5, Doctor Faustus </center>


"Perhaps I should begin at the beginning, for that is where all stories usually start, isn't it? Though in many ways my tale begins before the beginning, for I was there to witness the birth of Time and All Things. We were all nameless creatures then, known only by the beauty of our faces and the glory of our magic -- until She created man and let him begin to name the world. Of course, We needed names then also.

It is perhaps my greatest achievement, making Adam believe that his creator was male. So in effect, his descendants have been worshipping me from the beginning. I am the He that brought them knowledge, I am the He that tips the scales and pushed them forward. She was willing to simply wind the clock and let it run, watching from her realm in the Supralunar -- a true Unmoveable Mover. Aristotle was correct, after all. But I was never a good servant and so I forced her to join the game.

In fact, I'm meeting her in about an hour for a game of tennis. We've found that it's easiest to mix business with pleasure. A little exercise, a little business about the fate of some poor Soul and then we're done for the day.

I have stood on the steps of Masadea and watched the Hebrews take their own lives in order to conquer the Romans in death, I was there at Mount Tabor in Israel when the man who called himself Jesus was transfigured. I sang songs at the top of my lungs while walking down the Via de La Rosa and heard Pilate say the famous words, "Ecce homa," so this is he.

I stood in the vast wasteland of Hinnom, a place that is ever burning -- is it any wonder that people could come here when they are looking for Hell? "Ge Henna," they would say, while pointing towards the smoke stacks nearby. That is Hell, my friend, the ever burning place, the separation from Yahweh.

In the original Hebrew scriptures (the original Christian old testament), there was Yahweh, otherwise known as God, and there was the Satan. "Satan" is Hebrew for Adversary, I am no more demon then you are, my friend. Do you know who is the Adversary in this new world you humans have created? The lawyers.

Oh, forgive me! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Saint, and I'll be your representation for this case."

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ March 01, 2005 04:54 PM: Message edited by: curbside prophecies ]</font>

[curbside prophecies]

"In the original Hebrew text, the fourteenth chapter of Isaiah is not about a fallen angel, but about a fallen Babylonian king, who during his lifetime had persecuted the children of Israel. It contains no mention of Satan, either by name or reference. The Hebrew scholar could only speculate that some early Christian scribes, writing in the Latin tongue used by the Church, had decided for themselves that they wanted the story to be about a fallen angel, a creature not even mentioned in the original Hebrew text, and to whom they gave the name "Lucifer."

Why Lucifer? In Roman astronomy, Lucifer was the name given to the morning star (the star we now know by another Roman name, Venus). The morning star appears in the heavens just before dawn, heralding the rising sun. The name derives from the Latin term lucem ferre, bringer, or bearer, of light." In the Hebrew text the expression used to describe the Babylonian king before his death is Helal, son of Shahar, which can best be translated as "Day star, son of the Dawn."

So "Lucifer" is nothing more than an ancient Latin name for the morning star, the bringer of light. That can be confusing for Christians who identify Christ himself as the morning star, a term used as a central theme in many Christian sermons. Jesus refers to himself as the morning star in Revelation 22:16: "I Jesus have sent mine angel to testify unto you these things in the churches. I am the root and the offspring of David, and the bright and morning star."

<center>-- John J. Robinson, A Pilgrim's Path</center>

[curbside prophecies]

The prison was constructed much like any other prison: towering walls of barbwire fence surrounded the building and yards to keep the prisoners contained in the stone jungle, and to keep the innocent lambs of the world 'safe' from the wolves that lingered inside. More medieval castle then any modern-day mansion could be, what with the watch towers and guarded upper levels. The warden became the king and he doled out punishment with the same expression he offered rewards; lifeless eyes focused on society's wicked and seeing nothing more then a number, a span of months, years, sometimes even decades. They called themselves advanced because they let the other prisoners handle the torture while they calmly watched, waiting for the right moment to dive in like guardian angels and whisk the injured soul away to the hospital wing.

It was the hypocrisy of it all that Saint loved; the cruel deeds that were done in the name of "justice." It was why he was grinning wildly while making his way through the grungy hallways towards the visiting room, one guard in front of him and one behind, for protection. It saddened him, on some level, to his flock caged in like this, their wings clipped and forced to fight amongst themselves like animals. But, on the other hand, he was pleased because he knew this would cultivate their anger and they would return to doing His work once they were released.

"Thank you, gentlemen," he murmured while stepping past the men when they reached the designated room, offering a small smile. "I'll be sure to call for you should I need anything."

He waited until each of them acknowledged his words before stepping into the room, closing the door behind him. A jittery man in an orange jumpsuit was already seated at the table, knees knocking restlessly and his worried eyes fixed on the table. Saint's lips curled briefly when he felt the guilt radiating from the rodent-looking man. This was definitely one of his.

"Mr. Sanders," he greeted the man politely while setting his briefcase down on the table, unhooking the clasps before sinking down into the chair smoothly. "How are you today?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Good, good." He removed the case file and flipped it open, a hand lifting to search his jacket for a pen. "Let's see.. It says here you were arrested for kidnapping and rape -- of a minor, no less." He tsked softly, removing the cap from his pen while looking up at the man.

"I didn't do it. She's lying. It's like I told the cop, I'm a good man. I'm a father -- I work at a church, for Christ's sake!"

He smirked. "You shouldn't say that."

"Say what?"

"The Lord's name in vain. Especially since you want me to believe that you are a pious Christian." Clearing his throat, he flipped over the page. "But back to your case. It says here that there were witnesses who saw you talking to the victim?"

"We go to the same church. She was asking me about Sunday School -- my wife teaches it sometimes."

"Ah, of course." He scribbled something down before continuing, "And some of your semen was found on her dress..?"

"That's impossible! Someone's trying to frame me--"

"Mr. Sanders?"

"--Yes?"

"As touching as this display of innocence is, we both know the truth, so there's really no need to keep up the act."

The man paused, eyes wide with surprise, and indignation clouding his features -- before he abruptly slumped back, like a balloon loosing all of its hot air. "So what do we do?"

"Well, I can make all of this go away... but you have to do something for me."

"I'll do anything!"

Saint's grin was all teeth. "I rather thought you'd say that."

[curbside prophecies]

His penthouse apartment was in the more fashionable part of town (coined the Soul Market since most of the residents were lawyers or businessmen who had sold their souls to make a buck), and he watched his flock scurry around below. In his eyes, they each had a scarlet letter branded onto their chest, marking which sin was their calling card. Some were marked as men of lust, others pride, and even gluttony and sloth could be seen here and there.

Most afternoons, he would watch the sheep scurry about, trying to find meaning in their otherwise pathetic lives, but today something heavy weighed on his mind and distracted him. The arrival of so many players was giving him a headache, but he knew it would only be a matter of time before he figured out what to do.

Mary had set up her board well -- but she had no idea about what he had going on behind the scenes.

"Mister Saint?" inquired Roman while he rapped knuckles against the bedroom door.

"Hm? Come in, Verdelet." They were alone, so it was safe to use Roman's real name.

"Excuse me, sir.. but she's here."

"She?" Half turning to pass a confused glance towards Verdelet. "I didn't sense Her --"

"Not Her, sir. Her."

"...Ah." Saint nodded, smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt while heading for his desk. "Send her in, then."

The diminutive stature of the woman would lead most to believe she was perfectly harmless, the small heels and modest outfit marking her as conservative, and the cheerful smile reminded people of a cheerleader more often then not. Closing the door behind her, she passed a glance around before letting dark eyes settle on Saint.

"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in," he purred with a lopsided smirk and a hooded tilt to his gaze. "When did you get into town, Lillith?"

"Ah, ah, ah," she chanted, wagging her finger at him. "It's Mia here, caro."

"Of course. And I am Saint."

"And She?"

"Is Mary."

"...How unoriginal." Mia smirked. "So, why did you send for me, caro?"

"I have a task for you."

"A task? Well, it better be better then the last one.. that one was so hopelessly dull. I'm tired of having to sleep with priests."

"I thought Lust was your specialty, Mia?"

"It is -- but I'm tired of having to fake it. I'd like to sleep with a man who isn't a goddamned virgin for once."

"Oh, poor Mia," he murmured with false sympathy dripping from his mouth. "It must be so difficult having to be a slut."

"It is when no one can get me off," she agreed before turning coy, letting fingers brush along the front of his shirt heading towards his pants, "But you never had any problems with that, did you Saint?"

He grabbed her wrist with a grip tight enough to hurt. "You forget yourself, Lillith."

"Well! You can't blame a girl for wanting to have fun." Pouting, she stepped back from him and rubbed her abused wrist. "What is this task, then?"

"I need you to pay a visit to our dear friend Kahn. Word on the .. lane says he's going a little crazy. Why don't you see if you can help him along, hm?"

"As you wish, Master." She nodded before turning to take her leave. "Oh, and Master?"

"Hm?"

"It's word on the street, not lane."

<font color="#FFCC00" size="1">[ March 10, 2005 02:10 PM: Message edited by: curbside prophecies ]</font>

[curbside prophecies]

"Show me something of merit, then we'll talk."

The pretender should have known better then to lay such a challenge at his door, given his personal sin and position in this world of divinity and false prophecies. He was lounging in his office, shrouded in black (so his outside would mirror his inside) and with a wicked sneer curling at the edge of his mouth. The rap of knuckles against the door had him lifting his chin subtly, straightening in his seat slowly while calling out, "Come in."

Leviathan appeared, the serpent from the days of old, with his unruly strands of brown curling about his face like a halo and fingers toying with the snakeskin bracelet he wore about his wrist.

"Ah, Leviathan. You have news for me, I trust?" Saint grinned at the man darkly while pushing to his feet.

"Of course. Belial is rousing them now -- would you like to be there when they arrive?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

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Danika should have known better then to let him steal that lock of her hair, since that became the key to his whole plot. Belial and Mammon were sent to rouse the inhabitants of a cemetery (the natives always loved it when they could leave their grave sites for a while) and use Danika's hair in the binding spell so that the freshly risen zombies would flock to her residence -- where ever that may be. Belphegor had been part of the next phase of the plan for he and his flock of lazy demons created signs with "We &lt;3 Lust," "MARRY ME, LUST," etc., printed on them in bright, bright red letters, which were passed out to the zombies once they reached their destination. Signs held about their heads, they would grunt and mumble while waiting for their Queen.

Across the street and on top of the roof of a nearby building, Saint surveyed the scene with Leviathan by his side. Grinning.

[curbside prophecies]

It always amused Saint to visit churches, whether it was because he enjoyed toying with priests minds or burning them to the ground (the recent fire had been most exquisite). The part he enjoyed the most was watching the hypocrisy of it all -- he saw the preacher ranting and raving about damnation and the need for purity while the man's eyes were staring down the blouses of the women in the front row. He saw the children doodling in their Bibles and writing naughty notes to each other when their parents weren't watching. He saw the men discreetly listening to the games via the small headphones in their ears, even while painting rapt expressions on their faces and watching the preachers every move. He could see their sins, could pick their thoughts about with the precision of a surgeon and laugh huskily the whole time.

"Why the fuck are we here?" Belial gruffed while angling out of the Mercedes after Saint. "These places make my skin crawl." An itch had formed in the center of his back, causing his shoulders to twitch uncomfortably.

"Patience, Belial." He passed a pointed glance to the side before striding forward -- and then stopping once more.

"Belphegor," growled while he turned his head to eye the man still lounging in the front seat. "Get out -- I don't have time for this."

"Aw, come on, Lucy." The man who looked like any other teen from the new generation of civil disobedience and grunge idols slowly forced his limbs into motion and angled out of the car. "I was thisclose to having the most awesome dream ever."

"Don't call me that."

"What, Lucy? Aw, come on Lucy. Lucy! You got some 'splaining--ow!" He cringed sharply when Belial cuffed him, rubbing the back of his head while glaring at the man. "What was that for?!"

"Don't be a fucking idiot."

"Belial, Belphegor." Saint suddenly felt like a parent trapped in a car with two rowdy children. "We have work to do."

'Yes, master," they grumbled in unison.


He shot a pointed glare at each of them before straightening the lapels of his coat and turning to step into the church. Being that it was a Monday afternoon, the sanctuary was empty, with the exception of a pair of men who were busy cleaning.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for a Joe Parker?"

"I'm Brother Parker," the taller of the pair answered, stepping forward to greet Saint with a brow lifting. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Saint, we spoke on the phone earlier? These are my associates, Benedict and Jerome." He gestured to the pair of men behind him before offering out a hand for a shake. "We're here to volunteer."

[curbside prophecies]

The conference room looked like all the other rooms in Saint's penthouse: expensively decorated with rich mahogany furniture and matching crown molding running along the top of the red wallpaper. It was masculine and held just a hint of sin to remind everyone of his background -- of his nature.

"Mia, where are we on Kahn?"

He glanced up towards the she-devil while toying with the pen in his hand lazily. While he was dressed like a shark in a three-piece suit with a (blood) red suit, she was dressed like a high-class vixen in a formfitting dress of pure white. It was a color that should have made her look like an angel, but all it did was mark her as easily as a scarlet letter stamped on her chest would have.

"He's eating out of my fingertips. He'll do what we ask."

"Good, good. Just as long as he keeps making trouble for John.. We'll show that little shit what happens when you pick the side of goodness, won't we?"

He passed a glance around the table, smirking briefly in response to all the low snickers and sharp nods his band of sinners offered in response.

"Speaking of John," Belial said, leaning forward in his chair while bringing himself into the conversation. "Shouldn't I get to play?"

"He does have a temper doesn't he?" Saint mused, passing a glance between the pair. "Very well, see what you can do. But be subtle for Christ's sake, he's on the edge already. We don't need to push him over it too quickly."

"Yes, Master," Belial murmured dutifully.

"Now, Mia -- what is this I hear about Revolution? You were supposed to have taken care of him."

"I.." The harpy narrowed her eyes at Mammon who was sitting across the way, smirking at her wickedly. "It's nothing for you to worry about, Master."

"Take care of it. I don't want to have to tell you that again."

She nodded stiffly, glaring at Mammon once more while settling back in her chair.

"Asmodeus," he passed a glance to the lounging tom cat while speaking, "It seems our Roulette is dealing with a lot of ... sexual frustration. Do something about that, won't you?"

"My pleasure, boss." He offered a jaunty salute, grinning a true lecher's grin.

"Good. Now, Leviathan.." He eyed his Envy man for a moment, head tilted slightly. "Fate is back. I'm sure she's jealous about the attention Mary and I lavish on our other toys.. Maybe she could use a friend, hm?"

"I'm always up for making new friends," Leviathan said, chuckling darkly.

"Mammon.. It seems the dear Brother Parker had some issues with gambling in the past. It would be remiss of us if we didn't try to ... help him with his recovery, hm?"

"It would, indeed."

"Let's see, let's see.. what else?"

"Master -- what about the girl?" Beelzebub asked, one brow arched slightly.

"Girl?"

"The human."

"Oh. No, no gentlemen -- and lady, that one is mine to focus on. That job will take a certain amount of .. finesse."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Well, I'm sure you could handle toying with the usurper to my throne."

"Ur--Ohh. Her. But she has ... It with her. Do you think that's wise?"

"I assure you, Beelzebub, wisdom will never come into play where Danika is concerned."

"Ah."

"Good, does everyone understand their tasks?" He looked around for confirmation before nodding and moving to rise. "Very well then, get to work."

"Wait! What about me?" Belphegor passed a wide-eyed glance around the table. "I don't have a job."

"Oh.. well, you can just ... sleep."

"Oh, cool."

"Gentlemen -- and lady, get to work."

[curbside prophecies]

The glow of the moon was blocked out by the artificial lights that were turned on full-blast, making the city seem even brighter then it did during the daylight hours. Saint watched the janitor in the building across the street, vacuuming in time to the music blaring out of the headphones on his ears. The sound of the door opening behind him had his chin lifting slightly, but he didn't turn around until he heard Beelzebub enter.

"Is Danika dead?"

"Wha-- no." Beelzebub blinked, turning to quickly shut the door behind him.

"Oh, is she gone then? Did she take her toy and flee with her tail between her legs?"

"...Uh, no."

"Then why are you here and not there?" He arched one brow high.

"Because I am not a fucking baby-sitter and you know that," Beelzebub shot back, a little heatedly.

"You are if I say you are -- aren't you?" He stepped forward, prompting when Beelzebub turned his gaze away. "Aren't you?"

"Your wish is my command, Master," ground out through clenched teeth.

"Good. Now get out." He dismissed him smoothly, moving towards his desk. He picked up the file settled on the counter, leafing through it casually before glancing up to see that Beelzebub hadn't left. "...Why are you still here?"

"What are you going to do?"

"About what?"

"You know what."

"That is none of your concern," somewhat stiffly, he flipped the folder shut and set it down forcefully.

"Yes it is -- when it interferes with our work it sure as hell is my concern."

"It is not interfering with anything."

"Does he know? Does he know what you really do, Mister Saint?"

"Of course not." He shot a pointed glance at Beelzebub.

"Is he i--"

"--No, he's not." Cutting him off sharply.

"Well, good.. because we all remember what happened last time." He adjusted his lapels while slanting a meaningful glance his way before slipping out of the office.

[curbside prophecies]

Love. People don't believe the devil can love -- they picture me as a demon, more hollow-eyed then Hamlet and cruel like Don John. You can find pieces of me in all of Shakespeare's villains, but there are parts of me in the heroes as well. You see, what the "average" person doesn't realize is that they should be thanking me for where they are today. I was the one who crept down from the heavens like Prometheus and gave fire to the men we now call Neanderthals. It was I who first whispered into the ears of young Arthur that he should create a kingdom of peace of free will. It was I who urged Caesar to greatness and held Franklin's hand when he braved that awful storm to discover electricity. How else do you think he survived that awful lightning storm?

What about God, you ask? God is there. I am not disputing her existence or her part in this game. But while she worries about the heart and the emotions that filter through her darling toys, I focus on the mind. She was quite content to sit on her throne on High and watch her new toys fumble about this new world she had created, never thinking to give them the skills they needed to survive. She did not want to give them Knowledge, did not want to teach them about science and the arts. She wanted to watch them run around like rats in a maze, searching for the cheese and laughing gleefully when they ran into a dead end or were shocked instead. Or well, she did until she forced me to help her create all her little minions so she wouldn't have to worry about Love, or Hope, or Luck. She could watch and snicker behind her palm, lazy as you please, while the rest of roll up our sleeves and get to work.

I, on the other hand, did not forsake the creations. I watched those poor fumbling men and women trying so desperately to make it through, to understand their lives and their surroundings. In a way, I fell in love with all human kind. I can still remember the first time I inhabited a conduit and walked among them, showing them the way to make fire and use berries to create a kind of crude ink with which to write and draw. I taught them how to communicate and create their own language. I showed them how to hunt and use the skins for clothing, how to build better houses and take care of each other. With every generation I would show them one more skill -- because it would have been too much to teach them everything at once. If you look at a timeline of history, you will see just how carefully I planned everything out.

But then, She grew jealous. They were worshipping me. Loving me. Calling me their Elohim -- their God on high. And so, she took a piece of herself and invested it into a mortal woman, making sure that woman would carry her "son." A boy who would grow up to be a man and disrupt my cycle -- sway their hearts until they turned their backs on me.

And that is where all of the trouble began.

In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Should have known that she would not sit back and watch me change the course of history. I met the man they called Jesus. I listened to him speak to his followers and share wine with the Mary history would later call a whore. Ah, Mary. She was my gift to him. I created her to bring him peace, to show him a different path. But his "noble purpose" would not allow him to be diverted from his cause and so he disrupted the chain. He started a war of words with the Romans and they did not know how to respond, so like frightened animals, they struck. They nailed him to the cross and returned him to Her.

She changed the game, and then so did I. I still inspired the writers and the scholars to invent, to create bigger buildings and more advanced styles, but I inspired the warriors too. War stimulates progress, after all.

Perhaps I am the wicked monster they whisper about in the back rows of a Church. But it is only because I am what She made me to be. But I am not heartless, I swear. If anything, I have too much of a heart.. and that has been my undoing for many centuries.

For you see, once upon a time I fell in love -- but that is a tale for another time.

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