There's a fog drifting along the river jordan

like ferries sailing on the river styx

with sails of tattered linens like

hot breaths in the winter winds

Are these the lost souls told of old

or are these the favored few

I cross the bridge, peering o'er the edge

as the fog keeps drifting through

I can't do it. 

I don't do it. 

I haven't seen my face in a year. 

"You don't look so good."  My wife says.

Thank you.  

She looks into the bathroom mirror applying lipstick.  Her hair falls down her shoulders like misting waterfalls.  She prods at the tufts of blonde silk.

"Are you sure you're going to be ok?"

"I'll be fine.  Have fun."

"Alright.  But call me if you need me."

The door latch clicks shut and then nothing.  The air has become visible in it's stillness as I lounge on the bed, eyes locked on the bathroom door.  I get up.

My feet slide across the floor with magnetic resistance.  My drenched palms almost slip off of the door knob.  My eyes raise up.  My heart plummets into my gut.

I see hell in the mirror.  Flame, misery, eternity.  And I can see myself burning in it's fires.

"You pushed me away.  You dominated my life, taking sides with those weak humans."

"They are my children."

It was no use.

"In a pit I've been imprisoned to for an eternity, you send the weakest of your children, the most soulless.  I watch them burn and suffer in agony because they haven't seen your light.  But I have, and I watch them and listen to them every aching moment knowing that their suffering could have been abated."

"So could yours.  This is my kingdom.  I created everything that you know including my children.  I choose no favorites but right over wrong and justice over evil."

"So you admit that I was doomed to the darkness from my conception.  Down in the deepest pit of hell where I was trapped in my dungeon, I had time only to ponder my existence.  Like many of these worthless beings I wondered if my purpose was only to be tortured.  What sort of existence is that?  One to be eternally possessed by soul fracturing agony."

"Lucifer..."

"I know, purpose is my purpose, or some version of that enlightened shit.  But I've found a new purpose in my life.  One that long ago felt so meaningful, but was lost to the ashes of defeat."

Lucifer licked at the flesh on his chest.  His tongue split the skin and seared it, leaving red scars and the smell of burning meat.

"You and I were made to wage war on each other.  Good against evil.  Right against wrong.  Day against night.  The day's reign has lasted long enough.  It's time for darkness to cover your kingdom."

"Has he been talking for long?" the nurse asked.

"He's been going on like that for about thirty minutes.  He won't respond to outer stimulus.  I can't make out what he's saying either."  the other nurse responded.

The man thrashed on his bed.

"What demon is he fighting?"

"I don't know.  Help me sedate him."

The nurses entered the room swiftly pulling a metal tray behind them.  The man on the table thrashed while one of the women filled a syringe with tranquilizer.

"No!  Stop!"  The man screamed.

"It's alright, everything will be over shortly."  The nurse with the needle said.  The other held him down and the shot glided through the skin injecting a warm sleepiness.

"Shhhh.  Everything's alright."

The man was quiet.  He laid there with a blank face staring through the tiled ceiling.  The nurses watched him for a moment and then gathered their supplies.  The metal tray led the first woman out with the second waiting, holding the door open.  A quiet voice slithered across the room as the nurse turned.

"Nurse?"

The woman paused.

"Would you turn the light out?"