In my Beginning is my End

Bleary blue eyes on the radio. He looks longingly across Oxford Road at rows of hospital windows blind to the Dark Angel's urgent, anonymous sex with one of the nurses they met last night. Not long now before the shattering witness of Lucifer's fall to earth, the extinguishing of his light, the failure of his god-like virility. 

Constricted, creakingly new, his boyish energy already waning, and utterly unable to anchor the moon, he can only look helplessly on as the student union sails away, grows smaller, and falls off the edge of the world. Heartbroken tears in their warm plastic beers. Two fallen angels share a desperate Saturday night bench. 

At the wintery top of a cold northern town. He crashed into the glass so hard, so explosively, that it was hard to tell which of the razor sharp shards hurtling into space were slices of the shattered glass itself, which of them were torn screaming, horribly bloody from his smooth marble body, and which were torn from his purehard, quillwhite, softfeather wings. 

First Betrayal

"Do you remember reading Keats and Yeats to our little Sixth Form group? Our excited girlish faces all lit up. Lost in wonder before your heavenward-yearning eyes, your suffering saintly smile. Spellbound by your pure bell-like voice", She bravely and brightly confides.

"I didn't know him, it wasn't me, I wasn't there", he sneers behind his bitter glass. Already palely fading, shrinking to a shame-filled shadow. Belittled. Crippled. By the pain and confusion of the brutal Gormenghastly beatings. He slurs down beneath the table. Which begins to grow incredibly tall. To rise up black and huge.

Poor blind mouse skitters away into a dark corner. Bends low, fumbles his wooden cross, loses his foothold, and falls into the swirling inky blackness of the pit.