He fell. He, the most perfect creation in existence, fell. Dusting himself off, he viewed his reflection in a nearby window. The image that greeted him, the dazzlingly charming smile, the regal nose, the most sparkling intelligent eyes, was simply perfect. Dressed in simple white wool robes, he shivered in the city's winter night air. He tried to remember who he was, what he was doing here, but it was all so hazy-

"Hey! What are you doing?! Get away from the window, you worthless vagrant!" Beyond the window, a man carrying a silver platter of lobster shouted at him.

Unknown to him, he was dirtying the window of the city's largest restaurant. Looking beyond his reflection, he noticed handsome men in black suits and stunning women in elegant dresses, all gathered laughing around a lavish feast. The sight sparked a new pang in his stomach; he was famished. He entered the building and approached the apparent happiness and warmth of the group.

"Excuse me, may I please join you?” His voice was musical, almost magical, instantly attracting the attention of his audience.

The atmosphere froze at once, as the social elites each turned their head to inspect the newcomer, dressed in simple white robes. The warmth was now gone, replaced by the icy look of each person's disapproval, prejudice evident upon their handsome faces. Deafening laughter broke the silence, as they scorned and insulted the ragged newcomer. The mysterious stranger retreated to the relative warmth of the city's winter nightscape.

Wandering the streets and taking in the nightlife, he tried to recall his name. He now had an inkling; one of the letters was F. The memory haze allowed no more. Satisfied with that for now, he concentrated to remember his purpose. Something came back to him; he was here to learn, to learn-

"You lose, fool! Go home." The mocking tone interrupted his thoughts; his wandering had taken him to a street gambling table, where a man had just been tricked out of his money.

"You cheated! Give me my money back or else...” The loser, a small man with rage in his eyes, proclaimed his indignation at being tricked by street level clowns.

"Or else what, runt?" The dealer, a large man with tattooed arms, stood and flexed his muscular physique. The smaller man turned away, anger still smouldering like a furnace within him. Seeing a stranger in white robes smiling at him, he found a vent for his anger.

"What're you laughing at, punk?!" Viciously punching the stranger in the face, giving him a blood nose, he smiled. It felt good. He stalked off into the night, still muttering over his lost money.

There lay the mysterious stranger, blood streaming down his face. He lay shocked, his very first experience of pain. As the bleeding began to cease, his thoughts again turned to his identity and purpose. He remembered with more clarity now; another of the letters of his name was E, and he was here to learn, to learn the error of his ways.

Loud footsteps resounded from somewhere above his head.

"Sir, would you please help me?" he called. A woman carrying a package, with the words FedEx sprawled across her shirt, swam into his field of vision. "Oh, I am terribly sorry for my mistake. Would you please help me madam?” Again, the same musical, almost magical voice.

"If I put this package down, it could get damaged and I would lose pay," she replied stiffly.

"Oh. Money. What is that for again?" He was interested in the concept of money, an unfamiliar topic to him.

“It’s what makes the world go round. It is the sun, and the moon,” she replied theatrically.

“Isn’t it just paper? What is so good about paper?” The musical voice played the tune of confusion. Indeed, it was just a piece of paper, wasn’t it?

“It buys you everything you’d ever want. Food, clothe and shelter”. Her tone was slightly impatient now. It was like dealing with a child.

“Do you not have food, clothing and shelter?” His puzzlement grew. “Why work for more money than is necessary?”

“I do, but I need more. I want more things. I want to be rich.” She realised that she was losing money over this pointless conversation, and so, without a second glance at the man bleeding upon the sidewalk, she walked away.

He groaned, and using all the force of his will, lifted himself to his feet. Wiping his face with his sleeve, he continued his walk, and consequently his introspection.

The haze had further lifted, and he remembered the letter I, but nothing more. F-E-I, sent here to learn the error of his ways. Who was he? What was he doing here? The load grumbling of his stomach interrupted his thoughts. He had forgotten; he was absolutely ravenous. In the distance, he spotted a fat bald man sitting on a café table, with quite a sumptuous meal. Perhaps he would share some.

"Hello, would you mind sharing some of that with me?” he requested politely. "You seem to have ordered for more than one person, and it would be a shame to waste this food"

The fat man stared at him with beady black eyes. "I am eating this myself, go away", he responded indignantly, before turning to his food, attention to the stranger with the bloody sleeve all replaced by his desire to feed, to taste those forbidden delights.

“Please, I’m starvi-“ His voice wavered as he began to feel faint. The fat man's image grew blurry; the blood loss, hunger and cold finally taking its toll on the stranger's body. His final thought before he fainted was that his name also had a C.

--------------------------------------------------------------

He sat, no longer dressed in a white robe, but still the same perfect features and magical voice. This time, however, he was in a locked room with padded white walls, and he was parched. Today’s lunch had been heavily salted.

"Sir, may I please have a glass of water? I'm terribly thirsty and would greatly appreciate it", he requested politely.

"I can't be stuffed getting it. Shut up!" the guard drawled lazily.

Disappointed, he shook his head and tried to ignore the thirst. Going back to his unsolved predicament, he realised he now remembered another letter: R. With newfound knowledge he concentrated to remember more of his purpose. He was here to learn, to learn the error of his ways. This is his second chance, a chance to understand and redeem himself for-

His thoughts were interrupted by a seductive voice: "Hey Artie, if you get me a glass of water I'll let you see me naked, or maybe even more..." It was Maya, the attractive patient in the cell next to his. Footsteps could be heard moving away down the corridor; "Thank you, sexy!" she called after the guard.

Disappointment echoing through his thoughts, he found it unable to concentrate anymore. It would soon be 3:00, time for recreation. He looked forward to recreation time, he liked to paint, seemed to have a latent skill at it. In fact, the doctors had complimented him on it, saying he was the "most skilled artist" they had ever seen.

The footsteps returned, Artie had returned with Maya's glass of water. Feeling the uncontrollable emotion surge through him, the single letter U formed in his head. U? His name had a U? He was given no more time to ponder, as the bell rang and the locked doors were released for recreation time. He made his way to the corridor where they let him paint the walls, such beautiful walls adorned with creative art. However, as he turned the corner, the sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks.

White paint, splattered all over his works of art. The words "WHO'S THE MOST SKILLED ARTIST NOW?" were sprawled all over his largest piece, a picture of white clouds and winged beings. The vandalism struck him strongly, such hatred, such jealous hatred...and then, in a flash, his memory returned.

"I was sent here to learn, learn the error of my ways. This is my second chance, a chance to understand and redeem myself for my rebellion, for my questioning. Why did he love them more then us? I was sent here to experience why." He finally remembered. As he remembered, he recalled his experiences; what had he learnt? Realisation suddenly dawning in his mind, his anger knew no bounds.

He screamed, he shouted, he thrashed, the rage within him growing ever stronger. Patients, doctors and guards alike all rushed to see what the noise was. They arrived just in time to see the first traces of fire to appear around him; the fiery rage of his emotion now overflowing, it began to subconsciously feed the latent powers within. As he looked at them, the humans, his hatred intensified and his eyes became a deep, even red. Two great wings emerged from his back: the right one pure white and feathered, the left one jet-black and clawed. They gave a great beat, and he rose in the air. By now all eyes within the mental hospital were on him, and he composed, with his beautiful voice, the poem only his voice would do justice, the most beautiful and terrible poem to ever grace human ears:

"Pride, Anger, Greed, Gluttony, Sloth, Lust, Envy,

The true nature of

Humankind.

There are no virtues, and still You love them more than us.

We, Your

Perfect Creations, the sons of fire

Play second fiddle to flawed beasts, mere sons of clay.

You grand fool. They are not worthy of Your love, they deserve

Hell;

But a mere shadow of the wickedness of mankind"

And then he broke free. The shackles, craftily placed upon his mind to restrict him, fell before the power of his fury. Directing the energies of his hatred to his inner powers, he vanished in a wave of flame, fleeing into the void where he could not be followed. There, within the emptiness of the void, a single flame burned; a flame that would spread into the Kingdom of Hell, burning eternally.

Within the art corridor, where the humans stood in shock, there was a single scrawl, the artist’s name, upon a vandalised piece of artwork. The clouds of Heaven, the angels, they were all desecrated with white paint, but the name remained inscribed: Lucifer.

THE END

NOTE: Lucifer is the Devil. Satan. He was once the brightest of the angels, angel of music and light, but he questioned God as to why he loved the humans more than the angels. He led a rebellion against God and fell from grace, to Hell: "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!” However, in this story I explore the possibility that God gave him a second chance and tried to show him why he loved humans, but Lucifer saw only the flaws, and consequently, in a blast of rage, escapes God’s leash and created the first gate to Hell, his sanctuary away from God.