Thomas Sniegoski - A Hundred Words for Hate

And the soul.

A spark of the Almighty present in each and every one of them.

Malachi had balked at the concept, but was overruled by a much higher authority.

God wished it, and so it was. He believed they would be His greatest creation, that this tiniest piece of His essence would enable them to do great things in His name.

Malachi remembered how Lucifer had laughed, telling the Lord God that these creatures . . . these newest creations of His . . . would only bring Him sorrow.

And the Almighty had said if that was what they wished to do, so be it. He would give them the ability to make decisions on their own; they would be the masters of their own existence.

Free will, a magnificent gift that Lucifer was certain would be squandered by these hairless monkeys that had so captured the Allfather’s eyes.

Malachi had been there when the first had been placed in the Garden created for them. The elder had felt his disdain grow as he watched the creature move through the lush jungle, asserting its mastery over the lesser life that already lived there.

And then there were two, male and female, with the ability to create more of their own kind, to propagate a species in their garden habitat.

Oh, how the Lord God had loved them, but Lucifer’s warnings had left their mark. The idea that these creatures would bring Him great sadness must have worried the Creator. And so to prove a point, He fashioned a test.

In the Garden the Almighty had grown a Tree; and in this Tree He had infused His knowledge, and He forbade His creations from feeding from this Tree, telling them that no other fruit would be forbidden them—except for the bounty of this Tree.

This Tree of Knowledge.

Malachi was amused; having observed the humans and their innate curiosity, he knew it was only a matter of time before they disobeyed their Creator. But they did not partake of the Tree’s fruit, choosing instead to avoid the tree that God had forbidden them to feast upon.

The elder angel wasn’t sure when the obsession had taken root, but he soon found himself thinking of the Tree, and the fruit that hung swollen and ripe from its branches. He could feel the power radiating from the Tree, and he could have sworn that it called out to him, tempting him with its ripened promise of forbidden knowledge.

Malachi knew that it was not only the humans who were forbidden to partake, but his kind as well.

But try as he might, he could not forget the Tree’s promise, and became consumed with the idea of partaking of the fruit.

Lucifer fit the plan that Malachi eventually formulated. Of course, he told the Son of the Morning about the Almighty’s test for His newest creations. Lucifer’s jealousy of God’s new humans made him desperate to have his prediction come true, and so, armed with Malachi’s tale of the Tree of Knowledge, the Morningstar walked the Garden in search of the humans. Clothed in his finest armor of Heaven-forged scale mail, the Morningstar found the pair—this Adam and Eve—and enticed them with a promise of godhood.

He drew them to the Tree, telling them that they could sit at the right hand of God—all they needed to do was ignore His command.

The humans were afraid of their God, and what might happen if they were to disobey Him, but the silver-tongued Lucifer reassured them that He would be unable to do anything, for they would be like Him.

They would be His equals.

Malachi remembered the joy he felt as he watched the female approach the Tree, reaching up with trembling hands to grab hold of one of the fruits, swollen with knowledge of God.

Will she do it? he wondered. Had Lucifer managed to convince them to disobey their most Holy Father?

He had.

The fruit came away in her hands, and she stared at it with great longing before bringing it to her mouth. Adam was soon beside her, fear in his gaze, but her confidence won him over, so desperate was their desire to be like Him whom they loved so very much.

So Adam joined his mate, and both partook of the forbidden fruit.

The Lord God Almighty was not pleased.

The Garden of Eden was besieged by a terrible storm reflecting God’s anger with His rebellious creations.

The humans ran away in fear, chased by the fury of God’s wrath, dropping what remained of the special fruit.

And in all the excitement, while no one was watching, Malachi retrieved that piece of fruit from the storm-swept ground, holding what he believed to be his destiny in his hands.

As the humans were tempted, so was he. The elder angel brought the future to his mouth, and tasted it.

And he saw.

Hell

“I saw as He saw,” Malachi said aloud, twisting the blade of his scalpel ever so carefully within Francis’s brain.

The former Guardian cried out, straining against the straps that held him to the stone table.

“I gazed into a future of chaos, and the inevitable end of all things.”

Malachi stepped back, his surgical tool in hand.

“How could I allow something like that to occur, I ask you?” he said, seeming to confide in his captive. “The fall of the humans and their banishment from Eden was just the beginning . . . the catalyst for the nightmare to follow.”

Malachi stopped for a moment and listened to the sounds of a world changing outside the caves.

“It wasn’t long after that we were at war,” the elder continued.

“The humans’ failure proved that Lucifer was right—that humanity was not the answer—but the Allfather did not listen, still faithful to what He perceived to be His greatest creations.”

Malachi looked down at the suffering Guardian’s glazed and unfocused eyes. He wasn’t sure how much more the fallen angel could withstand, but he had to find it.

He had to find what had been so expertly hidden away for just this precise time.

“The war, as horrible as it was, provided me with the perfect cover,” Malachi said. “The perfect distraction to set my own plans for the future— for my destiny —in motion.”

He leaned in close again, tenderly stroking the Guardian’s sweatsoaked brow.

“I just want you to know how important you are to the coming future, and how much I appreciate all that you’ve done, and what you are about to sacrifice.”

“I . . . I don’t have a . . . a fucking clue . . . what . . . you’re . . . talking about,” Francis managed.

“Which is how it was supposed to be,” Malachi said, pressing his hand more firmly against Francis’s brow, holding his head steady on the stone table. “It was all part of the plan.”

Malachi placed the blade in the corner of Francis’s left eye and slowly pushed it into his brain.

“You’ve been holding something for me,” the elder said, twisting the blade and making Francis shriek.

“Now all I have to do is find it.”

Remy and Jon sat by the wood-burning stove so that their clothes might dry.

“How do you like your coffee?” Izzy asked from the tiny kitchenette.

“Black is good,” Remy said.

“Do you have any cream?” Jon asked, trembling from the dampness.

“Got no cream,” Izzy snarled, handing Remy his cup.

“Then black is good,” Jon said.

“It sure is,” Izzy muttered as she returned to the stove for Jon’s cup and her own.

She handed Jon his coffee and sat down in a lounge chair across from them. “I hate to break it to you, but you two almost got yourselves killed for nothing.”

“How so?” Remy asked after taking a sip of the scalding hot brew. It was good, or maybe it wasn’t; maybe it was just because he hadn’t had a cup of coffee in a while.

“You’re looking for my mama, and I don’t have a clue as to where she is.”