May, 1848

I was eleven years old when I made the acquaintance of Albert Wilcox. It was summer and the heat from inside the house had driven me outside. I was laying in the still dewy grass watching an army of ants march back to their little dirt hill carrying crumbs of bread upon their backs. Mother was sitting on the yellow, wooden swing, humming a song. Our garden was beautiful, really. To the left was mama's prize winning patch of red roses and to the right, there were small lemon and apple trees growing. They were still just saplings, but mama said they would grow soon. In the center, where I laid, there were, what I predicted to be, at least a billion blades of grass. At the end of our garden stood a tall golden gate separating us from, what mama called, a world of brutes and beggars. I had only ever seen parts of this mysterious world when papa came back from work and his hunting trips. He was always away on business and I missed him dearly.

"When will papa and Tommy be back from hunting?" I asked, sitting up.

"Hush, child. You talk too much." She replied, stepping off the swing. Mother never seemed to answer my questions and there were few times we maintained a conversation without her grabbing me by the ear and dragging me off to scold me.

As mama walked back inside, Buster, our beagle, ran through the small space between mother's legs and the door, pushing her to the side.

"Buster!" She shrieked.

As he came over to me, I sat back down and began petting him. His soft brown fur was still just as soft as it had been when he was a puppy. He was five now, but still as hyper and active as ever.

"Handshake!" I requested cheerfully, and sure enough he gave me one. Through our years of friendship I had taught him some tricks and it was finally paying off. It had taken some time, though, and many, many treats. Too many treats, I thought. He was a big dog, bigger than he should be and it was seemingly impossible to get him to lose weight. Truthfully, his weight never bothered me, but mama complained about it constantly, saying that one day if we were to somehow starve, he would be enough to last us for weeks.

"Don't worry, Buster," I said to him, shuddering at the thought, "I'll make sure you're always safe."

He had never purposely misbehaved, but the moment I promised him safety, I swear he must have really wanted to test me. As soon as the words of promise left my lips, he hopped off my lap and ran towards the gate.

"Buster! Stop!" I commanded.

He didn't stop. Instead, he found a hole in the gate that was just his size and managed to shimmy through it. And then he stopped and looked at me from the other side of the gate as if to taunt me! The little devil dog.

I gasped. I had never thought of Buster like that until now. "Buster! I swear, if you don't come back here this second you will never get another trea- no, you will never get another scrap of meat."

He stood there for a second or two longer as if to consider what I had just said, but instead of coming back like I had requested, he started to run down the gravel path that led to who knew where. Running to the gate, I watched as he slowly disappeared into the distance. I once heard that when you are about to die, you see your life flash before your eyes. Well, in that moment, all I could see was my mom scolding me while Tommy, my brother, watched and laughed. No, I could not allow that to happen. I had to quickly brainstorm a way to escape my confinement. Ah! And then it hit me. I could climb the gate. I had never climbed anything before; it was riveting. My heart had begun to beat faster as I placed my feet on two of the long, golden slants of the gate and placed my hands slightly above head level. Slowly bringing my feet and hands higher simultaneously, I could feel my blood rushing faster. And I think it was because of this excitement that I was able to muster the strength to maneuver myself onto the other side of the gate and hop down onto the ground.

Under my feet, I could feel the scorching  hot gravel road, but at that moment Buster was the only thing on my mind. Quickly recovering from my landing, I stood up, brushed myself off, and started to run in the direction I had seen him run in.

Surprisingly, the outside world was nothing like my mother had described it as being. If anything, it was actually beautiful. Each side of the small road was lined by oak trees, and to the left and beyond the trees extended a large grass field dotted with flowers. The air also seemed to smell sweeter than it had before.

"Buster?" I tried calling his name.

Nothing.

"Buster?!" I called again.

And sure enough, he barked in response. When I finally got to the location that I was sure the barks were coming from, I bent over in an attempt to catch my breath.

"Miss?" I heard a voice say. It sounded like it could have come from a thirteen year old boy.

I raised my arm in the air to show that I had heard him, and didn't look up. "Give me a second."

"Of course. Would you like some water?"

I nodded and he ran off to fetch the water. Finally able to breathe normally, I sat down on a nearby fallen log. I looked around. The first thing I noticed was a small clearing where there stood a small wooden cabin-like building. The boy must live there. I could never imagine living in such a small home.

When the boy finally returned, Buster was right behind him.

"Here's your water." The boy said.

"Thank you." I replied, cautiously taking the canteen from him. After taking a sip, "I was just wondering. Where did you find that dog?"

"Oh, him?" He asked, pointing to Buster.

I nodded.

"He appeared out of nowhere just a few minutes ago. I reckoned he ran away from his owners, but no one has come to claim him." He bent down to scratch Buster's head.

"Buster doesn't like when people do that." I muttered as Buster attempted to nip the boy.

"Whoops. Hey, how did you know that?" He looked up at me.

"Well, he is my family's dog." I said matter-of-factly.

"Oh!" He smiled awkwardly, "Are you from around here?"

"Yeah, actually I am," I replied, pointing towards the direction of my house, "I live down the road."

"Surely you don't mean the Greene mansion?" He seemed a little fidgety at this point.

"Well, I don't know about mansion.."

"Oh! You must be Elizabeth Greene. I've heard a lot about you."

I looked at him, a little surprised and almost sure that whatever he must have heard could be nothing good. "How do you know me?"

"Didn't you know? I belong to the Wilcox family. My family serves your family."

"Oh. No, I didn't know that. What's your name?"

"Albert. Albert Wilcox. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Greene."

"As it is to make yours." I replied.

"Oh, but the honor is all mine." He gave me a rather charming smile that I will admit made my heart flutter a little.

***

By the time we had finished with the introductions, the sun had almost completely set and the sky was filling with an inky black. Strangely enough, exhaustion was the only feeling I was not feeling in that moment. But I knew that I had to leave or I would get in further trouble than I was already in. I shook his hand and told him that I had to leave.

"Do you want me to take you back?" He offered, standing up. He was actually quite tall, I realized, and the sun's reflection appeared perfectly in his pale blue eyes. For a moment I wondered if the ocean was just as blue.

"No, it's okay. I don't want you to get in trouble. Besides, it's not that far away." I bent down to pick up Buster. "You've gotten me into a lot of trouble today, little guy." I said to Buster.

"Huh?" Albert asked. He seemed a little dazed.

"I was talking to Buster," I replied, blushing. "I'll see you later, I guess."

"Goodbye Miss Greene. Get home safe."

"I will, thank you." I smiled.

When I finally got home, mama didn't even notice. She had fallen asleep, and nothing would wake her once she was out. Smiling, I walked up to her and pulled the blankets over her.

"Good night mama, I will see you in the morning." I whispered.

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

And that shall conclude my prologue. I promise this shall all be important in the future. Thank you so much for reading. I will be updating once or twice a week. Elizabeth's adventures are far from over; stick around to see what happens to our young heroine! I promise it will be an adventure. :)

Lucifer:

What did I ever do to you,

That you cast me out of heaven? 

Angels:

Be quiet now and go to sleep

And pray that in this world up high

There will be mercy for the merciless

Lucifer:

Father, if you hear me, please

Tell me why the doors to your kingdom are closed

And why I'm forced to dwell in this eternal darkness

Angels:

Be quiet now and go to sleep

And hope that your dreams will not be merged

With the demons of the twilight that haunt your days

Lucifer:

Angels, go away;

Father, why do you not speak?

Do you not hear my suffering? Do you not see?

Angels:

Go away we will gladly.

You are not worthy of this realm, you are a stormy day in autumn

And the anger you carry with you proliferates and grows just like a cancer

Do you really think your father would think to answer

Words spoken with such a fury, such a temperament, such rage?

Lucifer:

Do not abandon me, God, I beg of you. I cannot bear this darkness, or this absence of the spoken word, or the wandering of the lost souls. I cannot bear the thoughts that quarrel in my mind, or the guilt; my skin feels inflamed with hatred, my hairs are electrified by fear, the doubt eats away from my heart. This is not living. How can you watch my suffering and not find mercy in your soul? 

Silence.

Lucifer:

Do not abandon me. I am just a woman now, I have fallen down; now I need you the most, God. If I have abandoned your ways it was not by choice, but by temptation. Please give me strength, father, as I call you in this darkest hour.

Silence.

Lucifer:

Oh, well, I gave you a chance, didn't I? I'll just have to make my own way again. Again. Goodbye, father.

He has got to be the stupidest most idiotic being in The Kingdom. Though, that is to be expected from a man, I suppose. I suggest that those who go to Earth should have to do right by Him and be good people. Then he has to go all passive-aggressive on me, because lo and behold Lil' Luci messed up...again. She messes up everything.

"Well now Lucifer," He scolds in that quiet, superior tone he uses every time he speaks to me, "we can't control everything. Those poor naive little souls that leave paradise for misery should be allowed to screw up, in fact we should give them every chance possible to fail." <em>Well Father, when you put it like that it sounds perfectly sane!&nbsp;

</em>&nbsp;

"I could run this show a thousand times better than Him. Hell, maybe even a million! We need a real woman in charge, like me, not some big, old, pompous, fat man who thinks he's better than me...I mean us! WHO'S WITH ME!?" I yell to my brothers.

I should have kept my mouth shut. I'm such an idiot. I guess I really do mess up everything.&nbsp;Why would they take my side against Him? Answer: They wouldn't. They wouldn't and they didn't. Now I'm naked on the cold, white marble floor. Hands and feet tied as if I were a pig. And the searing, agony of idiotic failure slicing into my back. Again and again and again until I fell almost numb. The pristine white marble floor is now stained with the silvery red of my blood and the black of&nbsp;my tears, a sinners tears,&nbsp;but there will be no repentance for me.

Thump! I scream as they throw my wings on the floor in front of me. My gorgeous, pure, shimmering white wings&nbsp;now streaked hideously by blood and the darkest hatred.&nbsp;I passed out.

He now stands above me on the edge of the ledge separating me from my fate below. He is telling me of my foolishness as well as His superiority. "Poor, stupid, little girl, you will never be nearly as grand as you think you are. Too bad, so sad. Good-bye Lucifer." He kicks me over the ledge and I feel my ribs shatter.

Now I'm falling. I'm Fallen. I'm Lucifer.

The sun was much, much brighter than her memories, searing its relentless signature upon everyone's weakened eyes. Cam froze on the steps, unsure of whether the eagerness to step out towards the courtyard would surpass the first few waves of pain. She wasn't alone, as all the patients in the group instinctively covered their eyes with trembling hands- yet, the sun seemed to shine only for her, the trees remained that verdant hue for her pleasure, the sky continued to be as blue as her heart desired. Only the rustle of the summer breeze brushing against her papery hospital scrubs brought her back to Willowbrook, and for the first time she noticed the courtyard. A rugged circle of broken pavement surrounded a basketball and tennis court enclosed in an intimidating black chain linked fence, a far cry from the manicured picture in the brochures. With a surreptitious glance she carefully observed the others in her group: a few overweight men in stained shirts muttering about, a once beautiful woman marred with the sure signs of meth abuse playing with the bottom of her tight shirt to the amusement of a man with many face tattoos, Mary in her long robe clutching her tattered bible, and a young boy with smug blue eyes and gray hair staring right back at her. She wasn't the only one observing her surroundings. She noticed his eyes taking in the patients slowly adjusting to the change in environment and gaining momentum as teams were called for a round of basketball and the subsequent group of loners banded together to sit on the grass a modest distance from one another.

"Walk by yourself in complete silence! Today's lesson is mindfulness. Be alive in one instant of a moment, hear the birds chirping, feel the sun on your face!"

A 4'10 pixie with spiky black hair and a degree in Buddhist meditations was in charge of the depression group for the day. Cam tried to stifle a laughter as the pixie turned red when no one followed her orders.

"Are you gonna walk with me, or are you actually into all that mindfulness shit?"

Even though he was behind her she could hear the smirk playing along his lips. Maybe this place isn't so bad after all.

The still night air slipping quietly around you. The rivers flow against the silence. Only us and the crickets and fireflies and the haunting fire as it crepitates through the stillness. Your lips purse as you take a sip. "This isn't sangria. "

I shake my head well aware. "You only like sangria because of the song." I say picking up my glass I look out above the ripples of Alum Ford. We've had an exceptionally stormy July and the River shows. The waterline is higher and the boat ramp is hidden beneath the deep black of her depth. I drink the wine quick and fast and I'm scolding myself in my head. But you still make me nervous and I'm still searching for a way to impress you. "it's decent, I guess. " I raise my brow and feel my lips purse. "it had better be" I laugh and refill my glass. I watch you take the bottle to your mouth and everything about who I am wants to reject it. But I can't. Something about the Armand de Brignac running freely down your chin makes me watch you. I'm hungry and drunk and the River calls me out. I want to make love to you. Too lap the Ace of Spades from your neck with my tongue to drink you inside of me.

"Will you take me home?" You say and your lips against my ear sends shivers down my spine. "Of course" I say and I'm thinking sex and drink and drugs. Until you snuggle in next to me in the truck. Your head resting peacefully in my lap as I drive...home. "you'll hold me? " it's more a drunken whisper, incoherent and high. I stroke your head and smile.

I'm not getting laid tonight and that's a $400 bottle of wine and you're in my arms.

The old man had had several lovers over the years, but none of which had he ever had to write letters for. And for that matter, none of his previous lovers failed to show any affection like this one did. Letter after letter he sent to this woman, but he never received one from her. It was difficult to write because he had arthritis in his hands.

All the old man knew was that love was all that mattered, and it was love that occupied his mind for he loved many women and many things. He loved probably until his death which hid and snickered at him in the dark corners of his little bedroom on the third story of the building.

Surrounding his little bedroom were other little bedrooms full of the elderly, just like him. And every once in a while, one of the elderly in one of the little bedrooms disappeared to be replaced by another.

The old man wrote letters to his unresponsive sweetheart because that was all he knew to do.

After two months of writing his letters, the old man received a letter from his sweetheart. It wrote: "Fight for me. M." That was all it said. And so he did. The old man fought for M. But he was tired. He had been tired for a long time. His hands hurt. Looking down on his writing desk, the skin on the old man's face drooped as if it was severely-pulled taffy. It looked as if his face might fall off of his head at any moment. But he continued to write. He kept her letter next to his writing paper.

Occasionally, other letters came for the old man from M. One wrote: "Try harder. M." Another said: "Love me. M." And yet another: "Love me more. M." And that was all they would say, and the old man grew ever more tired.

It was a summer afternoon, a month later, when another letter came from M. It wrote: "I'm outside. Jump for me. M." The old man opened his window and looked down to the expanse of grass that stretched out from all around the base of the building. Since his eyesight was not what it used to be, he was not able to see if anyone was down there waiting for him. He sighed.

It was not long until someone discovered that the old man had disappeared. His window was open, but also his writing paper and pencil were gone. So was the letter from M.

None knew if his tired love was enough. However, those who have gone have no use for paper, pencil, and a letter from their sweetheart.

The old man's little bedroom was later occupied by a sweet old lady who owned a cat who liked eating fruit, especially apples.