Cradle’s Mercy

She keeps souls in a skull she wears around her neck. It’s not many, mind you. She may save only a chosen few without being discovered. Cradle, she was named, but why, by whom, she’d long since forgotten.

For time eternal, she stood in governance at the Fourth Gate. Those whom negligence caught resided within. Automobiles held majority stake here. She tidied here and there, re-positioning a tire, twisting a wheel, as cars caught fire, rolled down embankments and ran into countless trees.

Through endless nights, she bore witness. Her claws grasped the iron tightly as she watched each hateful loop. Born from fire, she had no soul, but she had formed compassion over thousands of years. It was tucked away from the fiery glint of his Majesty’s eye, and it had flourished in private. And so it was that once every few years she stole one burnt offering for herself.

One soul intrigued her now. She watched this former man, Jim, flip his Pontiac Sunfire end over end countless times. He suffered more than most in the never-ending night. He touched her, as did the other truly repentant, tugging at her time-built heart, because there was no absolution in hell. His self-hating soul was forever trapped in Cradle’s dominion.

On fate-night, he had suffered only minor injuries – the Devil wrapped drunks in his protection, for they were ever useful – but his three children and his wife had been smashed. His twin boys survived the car, but died on the side of the rain-slicked road. His wife suspected Jim was cheating, but Tequila shots were his only companion at the bar that evening. Jim was keeping odd hours of late because he had been fired from his job and couldn’t admit it to Jenny. So it was that he was hiding tears when he pulled up outside the theatre to collect them.

This Jim-of-everlasting had long since become self-aware, losing his private battle each night. Cradle watched him cut off his hand and sew up his mouth, but of course The Darke would not be thwarted by such. Each night at 8:45 pm, he would sprout a new hand, his lips would spring open and the pain would begin again. He never dulled to the pain, in fact, it grew more insistent every night, each recitation of his punishment, each blood and rain soaked episode bringing him freshly exceeded barriers of despair.

Cradle saw Jim-soul’s beautiful upturned eyes, watched him swallow shot after shot through gritted teeth, watched him as he placed one hand on the wheel, neck cords standing out from the strain, trying not to shut the door, trying in vain to shout a warning to Jenny. Forever trying and failing.

Cradle saw him lift the keys and start the car, calmly tapping the wheel to the beat of the music, while his eyes reeled in their sockets like an animal with its paw in a snare. Jenny strapped the twins in their carseats and Annie, his girl, scooped the last of the movie popcorn into her mouth. All the while he brimmed, almost exploded with exceeded effort to change the past, forever locked into who he was and wanting what he could never have again.

Every movement, every word, was a contortion of pain, not only for Jim, but also for Cradle. Through the floating bars, her blood-red eyes held his wild blue orbs. Tonight, she knew, he would again swerve into traffic and skid, his reflexes soft from the drink, and the skid would turn into a roll and the roll would crush skulls and he would sit stupidly, hands limp by his sides as bystanders pulled his twin boys from the backseat through a trail of his wife’s blood. And his daughter’s long black hair, Annie-that-was, was far from where it should be, too far from the rest of her…

Enough! she thought. Her decision made, she had to move quickly. She passed in smoke through the gates, with a rusted squeal. One nod of her horned brow and the scene evaporated, leaving only Jim, a shucked husk of a soul. With one huge rust-colored palm, she tugged roughly at the filament that tethered his soul to her level, deftly rolled it into a meatball-sized shadow and placed it into her skull locket.

He would not be free, not yet, but she would take him to swim in the Abshe, where wrung out souls that had lost their humanity were tossed to feed the beasts. A great ocean of grief, it met the Skye at the very end – a time eternal of sunset. Cradle had been told long ago that if a soul could transverse the black waves, spider-crabs, wailing serpents and other sea haunts, they would be granted passage to the other side.

Cradle peered out through the haze of fire and the wail of screeching tires. No one bore notice, so she unfurled charred wings, stamped her feet and thrust upward, rising fast. Passing through hazy barriers, she heard the screaming of billions of souls, twisting and writhing with eternal agony. She shook her head to lose the cacophony and broke through the filmy barrier, thrusting her hooves down hard, landing in tar-like mud at the edge of the great sea.

It was night here too, but stars shone, which they were never allowed to do below. They were breathtaking, too low by half, making the air thin. Cradle breathed deep and although she missed the taste of smoke, it was pleasant enough air – purer than her level. She checked that she was alone, then tucked her wings back self-consciously and opened her locket.

Jim-that-was poured forth in a silver stream, materializing in an inch of gruesome water, the foam teeming with sea-lice. His figure shone in the murky darkness. Cradle smiled at him - a toothless, terrifying sight.

He looked up at her blinking slowly, then behind him at the vast filth. “What new torture is this?”, he asked, bewildered, but not scared. He was past that now. Cradle had not spoken in a very long time and her voice was scratchy from disuse, like grating metal.

“No trick, my Jim. You can see them again.” With a wave of one huge hand, she showed him his family in the car in the moment before it all changed. The image hung there a moment above them, then faded into the darkness. “Whole, like you are now.” She pointed over his shoulder and his eyes followed her hand. “Swim hard to the end. It will be long with many beasts.” She breathed in deep and flung her enormous arms wide to take in the ocean ahead. “I gift this to you. A chance.” She spoke the last word with reverence. It didn’t exist on her plane, not for her, not for anyone save those few souls she carried in her locket.

Wanting to believe, Jim-soul said, “Why? Why would you do this?” Cradle leaned down, her large black and red form dwarfing his own and touched his cheek. It burned where her crusted forefinger lay, but he ignored it. “You fight for them still.” Cradle paused, considering, then added, “Now fight for yourself.”

At that, she rose and motioned with her hand, giving him a hard push deeper into the water without touching him. He looked around quickly and hoisted a slimy black rock the size of his fist from just beneath the scummy surface. He nodded at Cradle, took a deep breath and dove in.

She hoped he was ready to fight the beasts ahead for his salvation. She had no idea how many of her souls had made it, she hoped all of them had, but she would never see for herself. Those born below were terminally possessed.

She watched him swim away, worrying and then, chewing on one fire-blackened lip, cheated a bit. With another wave of her hand, she pulled a tusked tuna from the water and clawed open it’s belly. She tossed it far to Jim’s right and watched the razor sharks frenzy towards the unexpected feast. She stared at his receding figure for a few minutes more. He was strong, she thought. He might just... Hot tears ran down her cracked skin as, staring up at the stars now, she began to sink.

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Challenge

Write a micropoem to describe the feeling of rage/anger without using those words.

zazi in Micropoetry

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