Kind of dark, but powerful...
By Steve De'lano Garcia
"When she died, Heaven opened its gates for everyone she had
saved, but not for her; she stood alone between the clouds and the
mouth of Hell, barefoot, bruised, carrying the weight of every
person she had dragged through their darkness while they left her
to drown in hers. Her ancestors came first - women with tired
eyes and iron in their bones, mothers and daughters who
recognized the particular ruin of a girl taught that love meant
bleeding quietly - and her grandmother held her face as she
whispered, "I helped everyone," before collapsing into tears. "I
know, baby," her grandmother said, voice breaking, "and they
destroyed you for it." Below them, the Devil smiled from his
throne, certain that a broken woman belonged in his kingdom, but
she looked down at him through swollen eyes and gave him a laugh
so cold it made his flames tremble. "You think this is Hell?" she
asked. "Darling, I spent years being loved by people who needed me
alive only when I was useful." The Devil reached for her, but every
ancestor behind her stepped forward, and the air itself seemed to
bare its teeth. She wiped her face, stared at the monster in his
fancy chair, and whispered, "Keep your fire, sweetheart. I have
already survived worse things wearing human skin."
