I got bored


I felt the need to try and be creative today. So I wrote the first part of a short story. Let em know what you think.

I present for your reading pleasure the story of Oscar.

Oscar stepped outside, the familiar scent of the pungent moss and decaying leaves noted and barely registered in the back of his mind. It all seemed so alien to him now. His surroundings that once held his world and fragile concept of self in a reassuring embrace, now twisted into a unintended mockery of who he was just a hour ago. He looked at his left hand, noting a fresh cut across the meaty part of his strangely fleshy hand. Was it really his hand, he wondered. Was the blood that seeped slowly, almost lazily form a self inflicted cut really HIS blood? He closed his hand and opened it several times, each time amazed that it responded to his mental commands. The feeling of this body moving was both familiar and unfamiliar to him, as if he had both always been in this body and also never had been.

Oscar slowly turned so as not to stumble and fall while in a mental haze, and began to walk inside towards his bathroom, towards a mirror. The joy of experiencing this new sensation of walking almost overcame his urgent need to see what he looked like. He wanted to know how he looked. He could almost remember, he had…blonde hair, no that wasn’t right, it was black…it had to be. Maybe he had green eyes…maybe not. He tried to remember, as he passed through his small living room. He made it to his mirror after what seemed like hours, walking was strange, he had to move these stiff and ganagly legs. One in front of the other, oh shit this was going to take a while, he had thought. But now he was there with his prize… his mirror, his oracle that would answer the burning question he had about his identity.

He took a quick look, almost unable to contain his excitement as he turned this strange mass of flesh he called a head to face the mirror. Black hair, he got that right! Brown eyes, okay…wild unkempt beard…was he a vagabond? he certainly looked like one. He studied his features in the mirror and noted that he was indeed a strange looking fellow. He was almost able to grab faint memories of who he is, or was. But the memories danced just beyond his reach, mocking him.

The confused man stumbled back into is living room. He noted that all of the furniture had been pushed back against the walls giving space in the center of the room. And in that center stood a small table with candles still lit, illuminating an other wise dark room. Something pulled Oscar’s attention to the table, something was on that table and Oscar NEEDED to see it. With more enthusiasm than he had for the mirror Oscar made his way to the table.

Once he arrived at his destination he looked eagerly at what had drawn him to the table. On the table was a sheet of paper with strange squiggles on it. They looked almost…funny. Oscar could almost remember that these random squiggles were words, written in English by his own hand. Now they just looked amusing. There was blood pressed into the paper in two places, one right by some squiggles that read “Oscar Buhler” an obviously made up name of a fictional entity. The other blood pressing was by a much more real name. A name that resonated with power, and name that Oscar identified with. This was his name, it always had been, and always would be. There was nothing alien or unfamiliar with these squiggles, this name read “Belial”

…and part two.


Where once there was freedom there was now only restriction. Once able to feel the whole of creation, to experience wonder and light that surpassed even the most enlighten mind, now there was only a finite prison almost devoid of life.

At first Belial had no idea what to think. He had heard a faint voice calling out to him. This was not unusual as he hears many voice calling out to him. The cacophony of creation screaming for someone to put things right was a constant reminder that the Demon existed in a universe that was fundamentally flawed. Unlike all the other universes he had be born, lived and died in this one was designed to be flawed. It was a test of course, or so his brother Azazel believed.

“We are being tested, to see if we can handle the power of the Gods. To wield it as our own and to teach others to do the same. And in time raise Gods and Goddesses up to ourselves.” Azazel said with excitement
"Or this place is just fucked up. Maybe there isn’t a reason behind everything little brother." Retorted Amaymon, the eldest and most jaded of his siblings.
The two began to argue as they always did. Belail thought that they secretly liked to bicker, after all they did it ALL the time. Rolling his eyes the demon began to search for his youngest, and oddly enough biggest sibling. It didn’t take Belial long to find Abaddon, his younger sibling. Belial was after all a demon and as such was connected to everything in creation so he knew right where to look. Abaddon had settled on a planet that was closest to its sun, his massive figure dwarfing even the tallest mountain on the planet. Abaddon had sit down on the rocky scorched planet and gazed off into space. As Belial approached his sibling he had to stifle a laugh. The planet looked like a rocky brown thrown with his oversized brother on it.
“Come brother.” Belail called to Abaddon “It is about time we get to work.”
“Time has no meaning to us” Abaddon’s booming voice called back "We are demons, able to see and affect all of creation at once. We needn’t move to do anything."
Belial knew that his brother was right, the demon could feel the universe flowing all around and within him. Belial’s mere presence was already changing the cosmos and setting things right, or at least setting them on the right path so the universe may become perfected. But the demon was in love with symbolism, the act of physically moving, walking, running, or jumping fascinated Belial. indeed he didn’t even need to move towards Abaddon to contact and converse with his brother, Belial could merely just will his thought’s into his sibling’s head, but there was something almost quaint about having to physically move to accomplish something.
“Alright, well you sit here and I wil-” Something cut the Belial’s words off. A pulling feeling, and suddenly he was being flung through the cosmos. It was a blur, not just to Belial’s eyes but his senses as well. He could no longer tell where he was or where he was going.

Then restriction.

All Belial felt was restriction. He was in a dark dimly lit place. He could no longer feel the flow of the imperfect universe that he had set out to correct. He did feel movement, but it was not the easy flow he felt as he usually traveled but a series of sharp jarring movements.

“Black hair, I was right!” He heard a shrill and shaky voice exclaim. Then more jarring movement, am I walking thought the demon. Mercifully the movement stopped and Belial decided to extend his senses as far as he could, instead of seeing everything at once, as he was accustomed to the demon was forced to look straight ahead, instead of experiencing everything in its totality he was forced to survey his surroundings with only four…no wait five senses. Belial looked down and saw a piece of paper, there was some form of archaic writing on it that was just coming into view. And…wait…was that…was that blood? A cold chill went down Belial’s spine.

“No…” he said as the shrill voice he heard earlier repeated his words in an unintended mockery.
“No…no…NO, FUCK!” He and the voice said simultaneously.

He had heard of this before in the past universes he had lived in. It was something called “possession” Amayon had explained it to him. It was a process in which a weaker being trapped a stronger being inside themselves for knowledge or power. Belial was trapped, and Belial was pissed.

“You FOOL!” Belial bellowed out
"Wait" the shaky voice replied “I thought-”
“DID YOU? DID YOU REALLY THINK?” Belial demanded, cutting off the owner of the other voice.

A new sensation hit Belial, a horrible and painful ache in his head. Amaymon was right, maybe this universe was just fucked up.