Anne’s No Rules Friday 03



A/N: I’m going into the Vaults again to post a story I wrote when I was eighteen. (And look at that, it fit this month’s prompt. Also, I might have a thing for Lucifer and fallen angels in general.) It’s heavily influenced by Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles and Todd McFarlane’s “Spawn” comic featuring the angel Angela — like I totes stole her name. All grammatical and spelling errors have been preserved for posterity … and hilarity.

Angel in Perdition

I bring death on silent wings and turn the hearts of mortals away from the light. I am Nathus of the First Breed. But I have not come to talk of men … I have come to talk of ‘The Battle’ and the small part I play. This ‘Battle’ has been fought for ages. No one ever claims victory, if that happened, this senseless violence would have ended long ago.

I’m sure you know of the angel’s fall to his own domain, if not, become educated. I was a witness to those final moments. The ‘silent watcher’, always the silent watcher. As I saw the events unfold before me, I rationalized both of the arguments. His way was the pure and good way, but Lucifer’s arguments puzzled me. I found myself being lured into his illusions. When I followed him into those dark caverns, it was I whose outward appearance had changed monsterous. Lucifer became even more beautiful than any of the other angels who had stayed in heaven.

I had been an admired angel in my own right, but now I was feared by all above. My new body ripped through the old one and my hands grew long, scaly, and clawed. My back burst and two giant wings cracked through the surface. My face became elongated and my eyes burned. When I awoke from the lessening of pain, I could bearly recognize the reflection that stood before me. I was now a hideous red-eyed dragon. My skin was a dark muted green. Maybe I was majestic and beautiful in the eyes of mortals, but to my own eyes I was repulsive and dark.

continue reading …

Anne’s No Rules Friday (Poetry Edition)

A/N: I’m going into the vaults to share a poem this month. I wrote this when I was sixteen and wanted to feel grown up by talking about a thing I’d never experienced, which is probably why there are so many awesome clichés.


My body aches for you.
It cries out to breathe
In your scent once again.
Fingers long to brush
Against tender flesh.


I pray for nothing more
Than to see you burn.
I would gladly dance on
The smoldering pyre
Of my wasted love.


While you hold her tightly
Naked against you,
I reach out for empty space.
I touch the cold face
Of Death, as you kiss
Her warm lips like Life.


Don’t ever come back here
With new promises
To lure me back into
Your dark filthy bed.
My heart is empty.
My love’s long expir’d.


You turned me away to
Taste forbidden fruit
From another’s body.
Your little goddess
Lies where I once slept.


Under the moon’s cold light
You betrayed my trust.
I’ve become another
Fucking notch on your
Bedpost full of them.


Crumpled sordid blankets
Attest to my sins.
Blood & sweat stain my sheets.
Innocence lost on
A sullied pillow,
And you without guilt.


Still I desire you.
Your kiss burned my lips.
Sweet fingers bruised my skin.
Your eyes adored me.
I’m everything and
Nothing without you.

A/N 2: Poetry is a talent that I never have possessed. I would, however, like to point out the AMAZING symmetry and mathematics involved in this poem. Because math matters. Also, I love how I capitalized random words. “IIII” is actually how the Romans wrote “4”, and I was taking Latin at the time, so it seemed like a good idea. Please share your bad poetry with me. We’ll laugh. We’ll cry with laughter. It will be cathartic.


Stay tuned for Julie’s No Rules Friday in two weeks.