This are the first few lines to come out of an idea I had once...
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It was raining the day Lucifer fell from Heaven. I remember it more clearly than any other night in all my life. I remember the way the rain fell, hard and angry. It was a rain mixed with rage and sorrow. The rage and sorrow of God. I remember too the silence that descended over Heaven. It was a silence of the most painful kind imaginable. I remember the way the fires burned, despite the downpouring rain. Worst of all, I remember the way blood flowed across the hills. The way my brothers and sisters, Faithful and Renegade both, lay dead and butchered in the fields. I remember looking out at the battleground and hoping it would never stop raining until all the blood had been washed away. Hoping it, but knowing the truth. Though it rain for the rest of time, the blood would never be washed away. Heaven would never again be clean. That was the only moment that I can recall truling hating Lucifer.
I had fought against him and his followers for 140 days. I had personally led the final charge against him and it had been I who, in the end, had put my sword to his head and forced his surrender. But even through all that, I could not hate him. He was my brother, my comrade, my friend. It was he who I had looked up to, for as long as I can remember. I could not hate him. Not even when I sought to kill him. But that night, after he had been banished from Heaven, looking out over the bloodsoaked landscapeÖI wished I had made the killing blow. I hated him then, and only then. I hated him.
I hated him for the war, for everything. He was my friend and he had done so much damage. So much death had been wrought in his name. I didnít understand, I couldnít. My hatred and my rage would not allow me to. I stood there, looking at the ruin that had befallen Heaven, seething with hatred and reeling with confusion.
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and immediately the tears began to flow. I could not stop crying. For minutes or hours it didnít matter. I felt all ther age and confusion and hatred well up within me and pour out through my tears. At the end it left me weak, almost unable to stand. And throughout it all, that hand remained on my shoulder. The owner of the hand had yet to speak, but He didnít have to. The feeling of His presence was enough. After my eyes had dried He said to me, ďItís over now.Ē
I turned and He was gone. But still I felt Him with me. It was then that I noticed the rain had stopped and the clouds had broken. The night sky was visible above, and it gave me strength. I found my hatred had vanished. I no longer hated my friend. All that was left was sorrow. But it was over. He spoke truly, as He always does. It was over.