The Cage, No point ... only the Cage Options

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Sensation of falling, feeling of impact.

Pain, awareness.

Awakening.

                          ---------                     ------------                    ------------

“A new one. Always new ones. But why? More prisoners, more … toys? I see long and deep, but I see no reason.”

What?

An insistent jabbing into his ribs.

“Fresh meat or rotting flesh, it matters not, berk. Can’t just lay there in the middle of the street for eternity. Get up!”

More prodding. He slowly brought himself up to a sitting position and the prodding stopped. Opened his eyes to a dimly-lit landscape of dark structures somehow menacing in their silence.

He looked up, searching for the source of this pale light, tinged with scarlet. Was it a blood moon that shone down on these shadow-loving demesnes? But far too bright for any lunar luminance. Within that cloud-haunted expanse lay no sun or moon, but a great spiraling maelstrom – shedding carmine illumination on this quiet land like tears of blood.

Where?

A snide snort from his left. “Oh, don’t tell me; let me guess. Your next question is ‘Where am I?’ Am I right, meat bag?”

The querulous voice had been emanating from an ancient, time-grayed man, wispy white hair twisting and undulating in a non-existent breeze. Yellowed teeth like neglected tombstones resting within a mouth set in a dirty, sardonic grin.

But what caught his vision was the blank stretch of skin from crooked nose to balding pate – it was not as if the venerable curmudgeon had had his eyes put out, but they had never been. Even without such necessary organs, the old man’s dirty grin grew wider to witness this newcomer’s confusion. Tapping the places where his eyes should have been, the old man let out a hacking, phlegmy laugh. “Boy, if my eyes are the strangest sight you’ll see in your existence here, consider yourself lucky. There’s a lot worse here in the Cage.”

“This … place … is the Cage?”

A quick nod. The dirty grin shifting to a smile of grim delight. “I’ll answer your other question; everyone asks it, there’s no sense breaking tradition, now. You won’t be the first to ask it, and you definitely won’t be the last. Say it with me.”

The malevolent ancient spoke truly, matching his slowly uttered question word for word.

“Why do they call it the Cage?”

Another nod, a slow, satisfied one this time. Then the practiced, nigh-rote response.

“Because there’s absolutely no escape.”

                ------------                       ----------------                  ---------------

The decrepit jester allowed him a moment for the news to sink in, then gestured him forward. “Come now, to a place of safety. Come now, and meet some of your fellow prisoners.”

“Safety? Is this place unsafe? Are there thieves, bandits, monsters that would harm us?”

The aged fellow’s words drifted back as his charge attempted to catch up – old he may have been, but he set a wicked pace. “Physically? No. It is not permitted. Therefore, it cannot happen.” He said this with ineffable certainty. “But sometimes, time in the Cage unhinges a soul’s sanity; they bash themselves bodily at the bars, attempting to escape their prison. Some seek to spread their madness to others, infect them with their ‘logic’ – which may as well be the Maiden’s logic; no logic at all.”

The Maiden. As the crotchety geezer continued to mutter imprecations, the most recent addition to the Cage contemplated. When he had heard the mention of this ‘Maiden’, it was if he had recalled a memory, deep-seated and up to now, hereto forgotten. All he could retrieve was an impression of wonder and awe and of unspeakable, alien beauty. No more than that – it was almost as if he had a memory of the future, nostalgia of a meeting that hadn’t happened yet.

“Who is the Maiden?”

His mentor within this realm looked about furtively with his blank, eyeless visage and whispered. “The Maiden rules the Cage. Some say She created it, some say She IS the Cage. Others say She is just a custodian of those trapped here. Yet still other say She is trapped here and draws us here for Her own amusement. She is known as the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone.”

“Like the Fates? Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos?”

“A very well-read piece of worm-bait, you are. But still WRONG, very WRONG.” Cackle. “The Fates were spoken of that they controlled every aspect of Life, and beyond. Predestination. But She? She would tear the tapestry of such a thing asunder. Everything has a dark reflection, dirt-napper, and She’s as far removed from those Greek ladies as you can get.”

“So, She’s a sort of ‘anti-Fate’?”

The withered one spoke to him now with a tone of mild approval – as if he was a rather dumb dog that had learned a simple trick. “Yes, that’s a good way of putting it, boy. Yes, I’ll have to remember that.”

“Anyway – we have spoken of that one enough.” His companion hissed sharply, mood changing once again. “Let us get you somewhere you can call ‘home’ for your stay here.”

“Why are you doing this? You’ve done this before for other newcomers, right? But why?”

The elder harrumphed. “It’s always what I’ve done. Now everyone knows me as the Guide, I’ve been doing it for so long. You know what they say; the strongest force is force of habit!” The cackling again, ending in a cough – a solid sound like a shotgun’s discharge.

They came to a campfire in a narrow alley, nestled between the decaying buildings. Hard to make out the flames in the oppressive reddish light. But the night (?) was cold, and the nigh invisible flames were warm. The newcomer huddled closer.

To witness another prisoner huddling by the fire – a hunched, yet still huge, dusky bat-winged form. He started to flee, but the Guide’s iron-like manacle of a grip shackled him in place.

The demon had noticed his discomfiture, turning his face slowly towards his. Those great eyes, glowing with infernal radiance shone dim – the hell-fires banked.

“Fear not, mortal.” The creature’s voice was low and maudlin. “If we were truly upon the ‘real’ world, I would attempt to corrupt you and send your eternal soul to be tormented by the legions of Hell.” A note of pride entered its defeated tone. “I could have, you know. I was very skilled – thousands of mortals were damned forever by my influence.” The hell-spawn’s tone grew somber once again. “But home is so far away, its essence; my essence fades from me. Evil does not reside within me anymore, only …”

“… despair.” Another voice finished the creature’s sentiment.

The angel’s tone was hardly lighter than the demon’s. His visage had none of the supposed Heavenly light attributed to his kind; his feathered wings were ragged with missing pinions. As the demon had lost its unholy flame, so had the angel lost his aura of purity. He seemed off-white and somehow a grubby grey – an over-washed and worn angel.

“I was made, created by the Most Holy, the Creator – to inspire hope within the mortal realm. To battle evil,” he flicked a finger in the demon’s direction, “wherever I found it. But how can I inspire hope in others, when I have none of my own? Why must I battle evil when we cannot even die? There is no point; there is only the Cage.”

The other beings clustered around the fire murmured their assent. “No point … only the Cage …”

Perhaps it was his fresh perspective, or perhaps his naivety, but he kept on making connections between different pieces of information.

“Maybe the Cage is the point?”

Confused muttering from the onlookers, as the jaded angel spread his weathered hands in bewilderment.

“Perhaps the Maiden -”

He got no further, as the collected assemblage scattered like cockroaches in sunlight. Then the Guide scolded him roundly.

“Fool boy, just when I thought you had sense! Didn’t I TELL YOU that we do NOT speak of Her often?” Grim tone, low and dangerous. “Do you know what happens to those who think of Her, speak of Her overmuch? Or those who – Heaven and Hell forefend – seek Her out?”

“Lacerated. Diced. Torn apart. Scattered and shattered. Those who draw the Maiden’s attention always end up DEAD!”

Was it perhaps that the forbidden line of inquiry called him, as if the truth was thorny and hard-won; that he felt driven to disobey the Guide?

Or was it a gasp of childish rebellion, which would just result in his own death?

The heavens balanced on a razor-edge of choice. Did he dare to turn his back upon his only companion within the Cage?

So be it. His life was in his hands. As it had always been.

He walked onward, into the tenebrous maw of the dark city. The Guide’s harsh-barked words hounded him with every step.

“You’re a dead man, berk. A walking corpse and you don’t even know it.”

He ignored the words and walked onwards.

                          ----------                     ----------                -----------

He walked for days in those blood-lit streets, upon his quest, hunting for rumor-crumbs of knowledge.

Of the Maiden.

Many flatly refused to answer his incessant, hungry questions, scampering away from his dangerous curiosity – as if they would share his inexorable fate.

“But there is no Fate here – there is only the Maiden.” He spoke to himself while waiting for a hag-like harridan’s response. After hearing this baffling nonsequitor, she announced “Yer barmy. Ye need te git yerself over te other barmies. Git awae frum me naw.” She shooed him angrily away, as if he was some lazy cat sunning himself on her door-stoop.

As random as this piece of wisdom was, triggered by yet another random incident, it struck him as a remarkably inspired idea. Like him, the ‘barmies’, as they were called, attempted to plumb the well of possibility within the Cage. Seeking such life-threatening and hazardous truths, at the very risk of existence and sanity.

Nothing else was working within his journeys through the rotting metropolis. What else did he have to lose?

Yet still with some trepidation, he entered the district known as ‘Bedlam’.

The unstoppable susurration enveloped him first – he was watched by a thousand eyes, and still more perceived him with senses beyond mortal ken. Through their network of quasi-communication, they responded to his presence. Opening up their ranks selectively, they herded him deeper within Bedlam’s embrace. Beckoning, cooing to him in nigh-human sounds. He was expected, it seemed – and he was being made welcome. He walked onwards.

The gathering of loons drew him further within, to a large, shoddily built, but still secure, cage. There was no door or lock, it was if the cage had been created around its prisoner, and the only possible escape would be its destruction.

The man within smiled at him as he approached, amused at his bewilderment. “I had it built around me; it is a focus for my mind to grasp, to understand the TRUTH!” The last word was exultant, drenching him with the caged one’s joy.

Still grinning, the barmy questioned him. “I have waited for you, seeker – delayed the process that I may help you. What do you seek?”

“What do you know about the Maiden?”

The barmy’s tone grew pained and concerned. “She is a prisoner in the Cage. She cannot escape while the bars,” tapping the rusted iron of his own prison, “hold Her. But one day,” and his eyes flashed as he spoke, with a maddened hope, “She shall be free, and the tyranny for all shall cease.”

“How can we free Her? How can we free ourselves from the Cage?” The seeker asked of the imprisoned savant.

The nameless barmy shook his head in violent negation. “No no no. You don’t understand ANYTHING. You don’t truly know what the Cage is, or where the Maiden resides. You are inside the Cage, so you cannot even SEE it.”

Extending one pale yet dirty hand from the bars, the savant attempted an expansive gesture encompassing all environs. “You think this is the Cage? No, that’s why I reside here; it reminds me of reality, in this illusion.”

The reaching hand sharpened to a point; an accusing finger right at him.

“You. You are the Cage. You are Her jailer. She is inside you and you WON’T LET HER OUT!”

A tattered, desperate laugh after this pronouncement. “Me too, She is within me, and I chain Her.” A slight sob. “We are the Cage, holding Her and ourselves in bondage.”

The sobbing retreated as determination steeled his tone. “But chain Her, chain myself, no longer. I have found Her, and She has found me.” Conspiratorial grin. “She comes soon, seeker. Bear witness to my apotheosis and learn.”

He was confused. “But to draw Her attention is to die?”

Another negation from the caged one. “No – but how would you know? You are dead – why would you fear it, or expect it of Her?”

Numbing shock. “I’m dead? My time in the Cage has been my dying? Am I a ghost in the Underworld?”

“Seeker, you have never lived – you remember your past ‘life’ and try to return to it – but it was NEVER THERE. Your ‘life’ is an illusion – you were never born.”

He could feel a presence all about, a sensation as of being immersed in a pool of shadows. The ruby light blocked out by an invisible silhouette. All the assorted crazies grew quiet in their murmurs, looking to the maelstrom, eyes filled with holy fear.

“She comes. SHE COMES!” The mad one’s cry was triumphant, jubilant. But this prophet spoke once more to the seeker. “It is your choice, to accept the truths that you have been given. You can embrace the change, as I have, and join me in Life. Or you can remain the deluded corpse that you’ve always been. It is only your choice, it has always been.” Gesturing him close, he spoke softly.

“Infinity whispers, but you must listen.”

The lunatic fringe of huddled masses started to babble and gibber in almost unison, their cries forming a chaotic harmony. Pushing him quickly away, the barmy shouted “SHE’S HERE!”

His body shook and trembled, while his deranged eyes gleamed with glee. He opened his mouth and light boiled forth, pure and incandescent. Spreading to unleash from his eyes now, radiating the shadows, shining on the rapt features of his witnesses. Soon, his very skin was glowing bright, as he continued to shake and quiver. Strange shifts of luminescence moving under his skin as if they sought to escape his flesh.

And then with a sharp surprise of brilliance, the madman exploded. As the light echoes died away from their eyes, all could see the ground-zero of the conflagration, smoking and twisted metal festooned with charred, blackened bones.

The crowd dispersed, leaving the seeker to contemplate what he had witnessed.

                   ------------                             ------------                          ------------

None of the ‘normal’ denizens of the Cage tolerated him now, but he found sympathy with the barmies, who took him in. He did not create a cage for himself. It was not his way. He sat for days in the lotus position, meditating upon the entangled mystery of the Maiden and Her Cage.

“Ashes to ashes, I witnessed that with my own eyes. But dust to dust – from dust we were created, from dust we shall return – to be reborn.” In his mind he whispered, “I am ready.”

He focused on his dead body; his dead life that he’d foolishly believed had been ‘real.’ It was meaningless; he had accepted the truth that his body of animate dust, mixed with water, was gone.

He could feel Her – not approaching but beating against the bars of Her Cage. To free Her would free himself.

“Change.” She spoke this to him through his flesh, but he didn’t know if it was an admonition, a request or just a simple statement. But change he did, as Her essence blasted forth from his form, along with his soul, leaving only dust fluttering down within his clothes.

                 -------------                               -------------                               -----------

The Guide poked the empty clothes, shifting the grey dust. To all the curious prisoners, he announced, “See what happens when you seek knowledge of the Maiden? Let this be a warning to all of you.” Wagging his finger sternly as they nodded, puppet-like. But under his breath, he whispered “Good boy. Smart boy,” and grinned.

                 -------------                               -------------                               -----------

Sensation of falling, feeling of impact.

Pain, awareness.

Rebirth.

“The Cage”, © Cailean Darkwater, 2004.

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Cailean.

Ohhhh - interesting and I've only read the first few paras...

Is this a continuation of the 'Survivor' story? What is a 'berk'?

I'm going to print this one out and have a good read tomorrow (I hope to at least) SOOOOO many intriguing stories to read here in Stonehenge!

I WILL be back again soon...

Have a great day and let your imagination soar my friend.

Cleo

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Well, err ... I didn't write it as a sequel to Survivor, but interesting idea ... you seem to really have enjoyed that one :)

A berk is either a fool or an idiot, or general put down. It's actually English, I believe, from a rather obscure and foul piece of rhyming slang. Possibly in America it would be "dumbass".

I guess I'll have to explain it in context, but I hope in tone that people will find out what it means later in the text, since the old man refers to the protagonist as a berk a fair amount :)

Hope you enjoy the rest of it, Cleo ... very curious on feedback since this was an odd piece to write. In some respects, it reads like I wrote it on crack, and I don't do drugs at all! :)

Cailean.

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi Cailean,

I printed this out and skimmed it last week, but it's taken me until now to get back here with any comments.

This is a vast idea to paint in such a short piece - very well taken.  The ideas are wonderful and the story very tight: excellent pacing.

I do like the way you use dialogue to push the action along and enliven the narative; a counterpoint of normality against the backdrop of an alien existence. However, I didn't find I warmed much to the main character (and certainly not to any of the others, but I don't think we're supposed to).

I think my favourite description is of the angel - with ragged wings and somehow a grubby grey - I could see him sitting next to the sad demon very clearly in my imagination.

There are a few bits where you could be even tighter with the prose, for example in
The querulous voice had been emanating from an ancient, time-grayed man, wispy white hair twisting and undulating in a non-existent breeze.
I think that undulating detracts rather than adds to that phrase and could be cut.

A few more very minor comments:

He looked up, searching for the source of this pale light, tinged with scarlet. Was it a blood moon that shone down on these shadow-loving demesnes? But far too bright for any lunar luminance. Within that cloud-haunted expanse lay no sun or moon, but a great spiraling maelstrom – shedding carmine illumination on this quiet land like tears of blood

Blood has crept into this para twice, and I think you are, with this particular description, perhaps also getting a little close to over-writing, while quiet then seems a little gentle for the effect.

They came to a campfire in a narrow alley, nestled between the decaying buildings. Hard to make out the flames in the oppressive reddish light. But the night (?) was cold, and the nigh invisible flames were warm. The newcomer huddled closer.

The (?) stopped my reading abruptly. Is it supposed to be there? If he is querying whether the darkness is due to night time or the absence of a sun - a life - you could say
But the night - if it was indeed night - was cold
The (?) reads to me as if you have left a query on the work to return to later.

A wonderful, quite unnerving read - thanks,

Fran

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Thank you so much for your comments, Toumai :) I appreciate them, as you may guess, this is a piece I'm very enthused about.

The double blood - that definitely needs to be changed. But I want to keep the second blood, but I'm stumped to come up with a replacement for the first one without breaking the sentence. I might have to do a rewrite. No matter tho, coz you are right :) With the quiet, I like the contrast between it and blood. The overwriting, very possibly, I'll try and thin it down some with the rewrite.

Undulating. Gonna discuss that with my editor, and she may have already pegged it too. I like getting crits from MM and my editor, since sometimes things my editor misses and folks on MM catch. One error was around for almost 5 years until Tao spotted it.

I think you're right about the ? too. Maybe I'll just run with the narrator's presumption that it's actually night, although, by definition, the Cage is timeless. I guess that's what I wanted to hint, but a (?) in the middle doesn't work. I'm sure you'll have company in that assessment. I was a lil uncertain about it when I wrote it, and you've confirmed my suspicions :)

The angel description I worked a long time on, as you can appreciate, thank you. :) Angels have regular visits in my stories, notably "Journey Home", "Dark Waters" and "Caged Joy" (the last one you'll probably never see in print, however - it's dark even for me in some respects.)

With the connection to the characters, or lack thereof, the characters are mostly vehicles to drive the story along, more than anything else. It's more of a plot driven story rather than character driven, which is a departure for me. Like a Biblical parable or a Zen koan, it's the idea and precept that drives, the characters are merely there to assist that being expressed. And such is The Cage.

But you're right. I've not made any of the characters "connectable", although I do have a fond spot for the Guide. :) Perhaps I need to shore that up a little too, so that we actually care that our nameless narrator actually achieves his quest.

Much food for thought. Thank you again, Toumai :)

Cailean.

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi Cailean,

What an interesting discussion - to follow your fascinating story.

So do you get your stories published? Interesting that your editor and MM all pick up different points.

The ideas in The Cage are terrific, and, as I said, it takes considerable skill to bring them across so well in such a short piece.

In a class recently we read a whole bunch of short story first pages by well known short story writers (Katherine Mansfield etc) and we had great fun 'critting' them. Oh, the power! In every one, we could find nits - things that irritated.

Anyway, the only 'nit' in your story I felt strongly about was that question mark: it just stopped the narative flow dead for me (but of course, it might not for anyone else).

The guide certainly came over as a powerful character; good dialogue and a grusome visage (ugh! ).

A grand read.
Thanks,
Fran

[Guest_Cailean_*]

*ahem* please excuse the lateness of my reply, there was just a rash of new pieces that appeared in Stonehenge, and I try and be the first up with crits when I can.

I do have a fair few things published in print and online, and my editor isn't trained as such, she's just got a great command of the English language and willing to read my stories and give me an impression of not only word structure, but flow, plot feasibility and other story concepts, which I appreciate. Often I'll chat with her about a future piece and sketch some of the groundwork out with her. She's honest enough to give me the straight scoop, and she knows what she's talking about - she may not be a writer, but she's a reader, and she knows what readers want. Too many times, I think that publishers, editors and other such literary folk (including writers), lose the track of what readers want. I'm sure you've produced a story that lots and lots of normal people LOVE, and urge you, honestly, to publish it, but a publisher will give you a tired yawn and not be interested.

I find this unjustified. Nowadays, much of the time, we get books that marketers and publishers think should sell and they don't, or they're just badly written and bought for gimmick reasons or because there's not that much available. Some writers I've read, really should be replaced with posters here from MM, since our posters here really outshine 'em.

*rant off* :)

As to the studying literature greats, no one is perfect, but some folk will take no umbrage to their writing heroes! :P But hey, everyone's capable of making a nit. In our humanity, we are beautiful. And that includes the ability to make mistakes!

Glad you enjoyed the story, my editor was curious about what you'd written, I'll have to report in more detail another day to her - take notes :)

Cailean.

[Guest_Toumai_*]

Hi Cailean,

No problem at all with any delay - great that Stonehenge has been a little busier recently.  :pharoah2

Your editor sounds like a very great help. Is it Steven King who mentions he writes imagining his 'ideal reader' - the person he knows would appreciate his work and also help?

I'm sure you've produced a story that lots and lots of normal people LOVE, and urge you, honestly, to publish it, but a publisher will give you a tired yawn and not be interested

LOL  Thanks for the ego-boost. I have written very little so far, and though the publishers did indeed disdain my novel, I'm not sure they even considered it worthy of a yawn. But, thanks to practice and feedback, I hope I have learned a lot in the last couple of years.  Thanks for all your help.
Maybe one day ....

Best wishes,
Fran

[Guest_jayjay_*]

Fantastic.  The ideas are overwhelming, at least for the while, and the characterisation of the demon and the angel are superb.  I can imagine Bob Hoskins as the down-at-heel Angel and Ray Winstone as the lugubrious Demon spouting his power but curiously reluctant to wield it.

This bursts with insight and a justifiably jaundiced view of humanity, Cailean.  I am a reluctant critic of anyone's work and, anyway, I am only lost in admiration for the audacity of your imagination.

JJ

[Guest_Cailean_*]

High praise indeed, jayjay. Thank you.

Jaundiced view of humanity? I am ultimately an optimist, but sometimes I can also be terribly cynical, haha :) Some moments of humanity and human creation allows me to feel something beyond the flesh and ascend, some moments I wonder if we are raised higher than slugs upon the earth for our ways. You could say I have a love/hate relationship with the human condition.

Bob Hoskins? Interesting idea, but I concur - I just saw Brazil for the first time last week, and I can see him being a rather grubby angel. I'm not acquainted with the other fellow, however, but "lugubrious" is a very appropriate term for the demon, so if this Ray Winstone is this, then he suits the part :)

As to grubby angels, I've also got a mild idea to do a "garbage man angel" story. Angels are meant to be high and mighty and inspiring and such ... how about a low-brow angel that drinks as he works, has a large beer gut and speaks with a rather thick local accent? Common as muck and twice as dirty? :)

Glad you enjoyed the visual nature of the piece, I think it would make a great short film! Especially an animated one. Someone send it down to an anime producer, haha :)

Oh yes, as to audacity, a friend said "In this story, you say something that could be construed as offensive. You should take it out." I refused. "I don't give a damn if they find it offensive, I like it the way it is, because it's suitable. I don't care what my readers think. I write for myself." "That's an unbelievably arrogant thing to say!"

Audacious - definitely, arrogant, probably not :) (at least I hope not!)

Thank you for your comment, I really appreciate it. This is one of my fave pieces, so I'm trying to refine it as much as I can :)

Blessed be, jayjay,

Cailean.

[Guest_jayjay_*]

You are right to have this as a favourite, Cailean.  It is replete with ideas and stunning imagery.  

As Abba said,  'I believe in Angels.'

Yours are good, bad , scruffy and somehow I think I may have met them.

Excellento!

JJ

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Cailean!  :nazgul:

WOW! This was excellent! Multi-meanings R Us!  :saruman:

I read this one on the plane last night and found myself looking around afterwards...  I agree with Fran's assessment of your piece in that I didn't really warm up to the main character, but it wasn't a deterrant.

A few notes I made for you to think on:

Unless you are trying to emphasize the word & action to 'see', might I suggest a change here:

“A new one. Always new ones. But why? More prisoners, more … toys? I see long and deep, but I see no reason.” Perhaps you could say: "I see long and deep, but there is no reason."

More prodding. He slowly brought himself up to a sitting position and the prodding stopped. Opened his eyes to a dimly-lit landscape of dark structures somehow menacing in their silence.

I would make a change to the sentences as follows;
More prodding. He slowly brought himself up to a sitting position and the prodding stopped, opening his eyes to a dimly-lit landscape of dark structures somehow menacing in their silence.

In this part, I think you need to change resting to rest?
The querulous voice had been emanating from an ancient, time-grayed man, wispy white hair twisting and undulating in a non-existent breeze. Yellowed teeth like neglected tombstones resting restwithin a mouth set in a dirty, sardonic grin.

His mentor within this realm looked about furtively with his blank, eyeless visage and whispered. “The Maiden rules the Cage. Some say She created it, some say She IS the Cage. Others say She is just a custodian of those trapped here. Yet still others say She is trapped here and draws us here for Her own amusement. She is known as the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone.”

They came to a campfire in a narrow alley, nestled between the decaying buildings. It was hard to make out the flames in the oppressive reddish light. But the night (?) was cold, and the nigh invisible flames were warm. The newcomer huddled closer.

>>Why do you have a question mark above?

The demon had noticed his discomfiture, turning his face slowly towards his.

As the demon had lost its unholy flame, so had the angel lost his aura of purity. He seemed off-white and somehow a grubby grey – an over-washed and worn angel.

>>I like this sentence! Might I suggest a slight change to:
He seemed off-white, a grubby grey – a washed out, worn angel.

“I was made, created by the Most Holy, the Creator – to inspire hope within the mortal realm. To battle evil,” he flicked a finger in the demon’s direction, “wherever I found it. But how can I inspire hope in others, when I have none of my own? Why must I battle evil when we cannot even die? There is no point; there is only the Cage.”
How about:
“But how can I inspire hope in others, when I have none of my own for myself? Why must I battle evil when we cannot even  can never die? There is no point; there is only the Cage.”

“But there is no Fate here – there is only the Maiden.” He spoke to himself chided while waiting for a hag-like harridan’s response.

Soon, his very skin was glowing bright, as he continued to shake and quiver. Strange shifts of luminescence moving  moved under his skin as if they sought to escape his flesh.

And then with a sharp surprise of brilliance, the madman exploded. As the light lit echoes died away from their eyes, all could see the ground-zero of the conflagration, smoking and twisted metal festooned with charred, blackened bones.

I really enjoyed this one Cailean! Your 'almost' repeat of beginning and ending work very well here!

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Thanks for your feedback, Cleo, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. Some of the edits my editor brought up already, and some Tao spotted too. So it becomes more and more refined every incarnation :)

This will probably be a flagship piece due to the amount of positive feedback I've received about it.

Thank you again, and expect a PM soon relating to the books :) Work is busy, busy. :)

Cailean.