Worse things

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."