Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was created like any other thing. Like stars and gardens and people and time and ducks. They had been given assignments and marveled at the elegance of the respective concept designs, proud to be entrusted bring something so important and marvelous to fruition. Some worked for illimitable and immeasurable time to design the pseudopodia of tiny amoeba, or the sheen of a raven wing, or the sound of water falling, the unique lattice structure of a crystal, the orbitals of electrons, the invisible forces that governed the universe. Every angel had a purpose, and every purpose given by the Almighty was Good. There was so much to Creation and everything had a place, a form, and function in Her perfect design.

No one took credit for designing Hell.

Demons gossiped it was the one thing the Almighty had designed by Herself without the aid of angels. She must be so proud of the abject cruelty of her Creation that She would not let any lesser being share in the terrible glory of its creation. Angels pretended it had sprung from the twisted mind and song of Satan—his abject evil was so great and pungent that casting him down had created a festering rot in the bowels of nothing and from that cancerous putrescence sprung Hell itself. Crawly had a different theory.

He supposed his situation gave him a unique perspective. He knew he was not the only one, but in Hell no one cared and no one asked. It was all burned away like melted wings and irradiated grace. Searing, chilling, toxic all at the same time. Perhaps he had known at one point, just as he was sure he knew why stars were spheres, why light was both wave and particle, why there was a limit to how fast it could travel, and how gravity created fields that bent space.

“Why why why…”

Those whys were all right. He did not understand the delineation an acceptable and unacceptable why. But that’s why…didn’t matter anyways. It was pointless. What was the point? He lost the thread in the echoing emptiness.

What did memories matter without a name anyways?

The angels they had been had been wiped away like the ocean surf swallowed a message written in sand without delivering it. Names were erased from records and memories. The string of syllables could not be reproduced in any human tongue, animal chittering, or demonic snarling. The mastery of a human symphony, the haunting song of whales, nor even light translated into sound could not come close to replicating a forgotten, discarded, trampled Enochian name. Better to forget than to add more fuel to the fire that burned everything all away in time.

Time. See, that is how he knew. Time was different and that was easier to tell when he wasn’t falling. Did he fall at the speed of light? If so, did it take him a million years? The laws of the universe were different now. Non-applicable. That’s how he knew. Demons were apart—riven, cut asunder. Severed. Forsaken. Just like Hell. It was a place—the only place—where She did not exist. Hell was an absence. It was not just a pit, but a literal lacuna in the fabric of reality where the Almighty was not. In that hole, everything rotted and festered. It wasn’t designed. It just was where She was not.

Not empty anymore, unfortunately. There was the wailing. Oh, the pain, yes yes. The physical pain, yes. Former angelic choirs so used to singing endless praises of God’s power and perfection were left to create their own songs. Everyone was out of tune and out of sync but at least they had the right theme.

“Please! Please, God, what did I do to deserve this? Please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I take it back.”

“Save me! Lift me from this place and into Your arms. Please, oh God, I beg of you, Almighty.”

“I will be good! I promise I will be Your perfect and Good servant. I was tricked. I was tricked and I did not mean it!”

“Almighty Creator, She who knows all, Is All, my most beloved Mother. Remember Your compassion and mercy. Forgive all my sins and renew Your love and trust in me, Your humble servant. Have mercy on me! Save me from this Pit of Despair. Lift me from Hell and free me from sin. Purify my heart. Restore my grace and I shall be Your child of Light.”

“Save me!”

“Why?”

The others were better with words than Crawly, although they all gave up eventually and descended into cursing hysterics.

“I’ll show you! You think you can abandon me?! You think you can burn and hurt me without consequence?”

“I hate you! Do you hear me, God?! I hate you and your angels and your Creation and your humans. I hate it all!”

“Do you think you have chastised me?! You have not begun to glean the mistake you made casting me aside. I will make them all pay. I will destroy everything you ever showed favor to. I will rip it all apart. I will make them hurt as much as me.”

“You will regret this!”

“We will make your beloved humans just like us.”

 “We will twist every beautiful thing you ever intended, and you will be the one to wail and hurt.”

“I hate you!”

They even gave up their cursing after their blasphemy and sacrilege did not merit even a look of disapproval, much less sorrow or regret. God did not react. God simply did not care. God did not hate them. God simply did not give one single fuck about the lot of them. God was absolutely, undeniably, 100% apathetic about her twisted angels, cast into Hell. It was worse than disgust, worse than derision, worse than hatred.

 It was nothing.

 Crawly had not stopped his particular song yet. He still looked up into the darkness, looking for dots of light and seeing nothing. No light. No love. Nothing.

This was the only plea he could muster, and it damned him further. He knew this, but he could not stop.

“Why why why why why why?”

The longer he looked up, the worse the darkness became. Even the luminescence of eternal burning fires died a slow death in the endless darkness. His eyes burned and filmed over with tears that obstructed his vision further.

“…whywhywhywhywhywhywhy…”

He did not know how long it took before he even forgot what a star looked like…or its purpose…or what it was made of, why they burned. He was burning. He was burningburningburning.

“Why?”

He received no response.