A short story- The Devil's Lieutenant.

Essay by BloodofcrowsHigh School, 10th gradeA, May 2006

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Diablo slammed his hands on the maple coffin lid in a rage... "Why the hell did you have to die!?!" his attempt to remain calm seemed futile now, as he stormed out of the service knocking the seats with his open palms. He retreated outside to the parking lot, turning his gaze to the churches high bluestone walls draped with ivy and moss. The weather proved an idyllic setting to correspond to his current depressive state, dark clouds bordered on destruction and chaos and the fierce wind ripped the leaves from the trees. He bent down to pick up a piece of bitumen then hurled it at the large stained glass window of the tower and cursed out loud. While passers by stopped to watch in awe as blue, red and yellow shards of the Virgin Mary fell to the churches entrance in an uncoordinated display.

Diablo charged at the wall meeting it with a whooping punch, he continued until his knuckles were bruised and bloody, then closed his eyes in remembrance, a tear fell down his cheek and stopped to rest at his jaw line.

He then fell to his knees with quiet sobs, his head in his hands. To onlookers, he appeared to be cowering before the gigantic two century old monastery; begging for a hidden hope within its walls that he had yet to find.

If some one had told him two years ago that the future was this bleak, then perhaps he would have ended it sooner. He had always been the 'good kid'- smart with a head on his shoulders, never getting into trouble and definatly not into the drug scene. Every thing was perfect in his life and Diablo could have succeeded in anything he had tried, even finding a date to...