The Obsidian Journal

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The Morning Star closed the Obsidian Journal that Lilith had given to him after their last tryst. She  had announced it with the O and J in a very capitalized way, and now he could not think of it otherwise. Lily was off doing what she did wickedly well, being the Mother of Demons, and he was  glad she was gone. “Great in the sack (well, we did it everywhere but in the sack; but who’s counting?), she was also a primal headache, second only to YOU KNOW WHO,” he thought.

Lucifer let out a great heavy sigh, a sigh that was burthen down with the weight of the world upon his winged shoulders. He touched the corners of the journal, the volcanic glass from Hell’s Half Acre rhyolitic lava field, letting the high viscosity and polymerization crystal play underneath his talons. If he would ever to admit to such a thing, the Lord of the Underworld was…happy.

The Obsidian Journal was the first one that he was able to write his thoughts in private, and keep them there. Yes, he had tried other bound annals: moleskin, calf skin, human skin. They all burst into hell’s cinders, and once aflame words would find their ways into the ears of demons (if they had had ears), and oh…what terrible pleasure they had in quoting the Lord of Flies. The petty gossips, jealousies and fears he so relished from others was poison to him when it was about him, and his wrath only grew, but it did not stop the quips.

“Did you hear the one about Lucifer and…” was often heard around the nine levels, with a different subject matter about who or what the “and” was depending on the level.

Ahh, but the Obsidian Journal, this was different. His reflections of the days’ damned deeds burned obscenely into the dark glass, the letters of flame dancing from the pain and shame of those he enticed. Lucifer chuckled, which caused many lesser demons to flee for their essence, as life is not what you would say they had.

“Time well spent at NYU,” he thought.” So many there, to be easily swayed my way. So many mine already before they entered.”

The dark glass echoed the Lord of Lie’s black smile. “It’s…ugh… good…to be a reflective practitioner!”

His laughter caused a moaning across Hell, and an exodus for the gates.

Heaven did not wait.

****************************

This is for Tom, for making an obsidian out of a moleskin.

SPECIAL NOTE: A Guest Blog Story by Yours Truly!

I was asked by Damyanti of Daily (W)rite for a guest blog story for her while she undertook a long trip during August. It’s one thing to write a guest blog, and it’s another to have someone ask you to write a guest blog STORY for them. I was doubly honored this way by a writer I respect.

She gave me a photo prompt, two words I must use (hourglass; pencil), and a 250 word limit. I did it, and called it “Under Pig and Duck.”  Leave a comment on her blog. I’ll respond there.

Also, just to keep you on tether hooks, the details for  The Rule of Three Fiction Writers Blogfest is coming soon. If you write fiction and write a blog, I hope you’ll join us on this very exciting journey. My first “teaser” story can be found here: Renaissance: Prissy’s Story

Thanks, Damyanti.

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10 responses »

  1. Pingback: Too Much, Succubus (The Obsidian Journal) « Tale Spinning

  2. Stu, I liked the choice of obsidian, black, and reflective, smooth and yet jaggedly sharp, a good stone for satan to use for such s purpose. You just gave me an idea for a story or poem, I’ll have to see what I can come up with.
    I liked this story you did here. I liked the reaction to Satan chuckling.
    Glad you accepted this invite from Damyanti.

    Like

    • Hi Jill: The story I wrote here is NOT from Damyanti; the guest blog I wrote for her is on her blog page. You have to click on that link and go there.

      Glad you liked this. I hope it does stir you on, and I’m curious as to what ti is. Thanks

      Like

  3. Yes, he had tried other bound annals: moleskin, calf skin, human skin. They all burst into hell’s cinders, and once aflame words would find their ways into the ears of demons (if they had had ears), and oh…what terrible pleasure they had in quoting the Lord of Flies. The petty gossips, jealousies and fears he so relished from others was poison to him when it was about him, and his wrath only grew, but it did not stop the quips.

    Wow…that’s very good writing, Stuart.

    Like

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