"If I Should Fall From Grace with God"
By Kevin Schmidt

 I'm new to OTL, but I couldn't resist Alara's challenge.   So, I proudly
present to you the desperate last moments of a doomed man.

There's a few harsh words, but that's it.

 John, Death, Dream, Ellie, Gabriel, the Anti-John, Kit and the First of the
Fallen are all DC's toys.


 They were waiting.

 Faces in the mirrors, looking over his hunched shoulders.   Faces that for
the most part were eager to see him go, to see his time finally come round.

 John Constantine looked into the mirror at his sunken features.  He brushed
his hair, blond long gone to white, out of his face and looked into his own
piercing blue eyes.  His eyes were still sharp, still full of life and
tricks.   The rest of his body was filled with something else.

 "Just eats at you doesn't it, John?"  The speaker stood behind John's
reflection.  He was immaculately dressed, for a funeral.  The "man's" long
black hair cascaded in curls and ringlets down to his shoulders, his voice was
smooth and soft, but his eyes betrayed his suave elegance.   His eyes were
filled with burning hate.  It was a fitting appearance for the First of the
Fallen, the Lord of Hell.

 John muttered, "Jes' leave me be, you'll be seein' me soon enough."  John
didn't know whether the apparition was a figment of his imagination, or the
real thing. All that mattered was that it was right.    John staggered to an
overstuffed chair that afforded him a view of the window. 

 Fingers, weak with pain fumbled with a pack of silk cut, fishing out a fag.
John placed the fag between his lips, his fingers struggling with his
lighter.   Slow measured movements were the key, he snapped open the lighter,
setting the silk cut aflame.  Closing the tree and snake engraved zippo, he
dropped the lighter to the floor and took a long deep drag off of his last
cigarette.

 The sweet smoke filled his mouth and lungs, an amazing pleasure after months
of abstinence, a pleasure soon cut short as coughs wracked his body.  John
coughed and spasamed, clutching at his death filled chest with his free
hand.   Blood leaked from his mouth and he spat a hunk of lung on the floor
beside the chair.

 The First of the Fallen, a.k.a the Devil, was right: it did eat at him.  The
cancer that he had once thought was gone.  The cancer he had sold his soul,
multiple times, to get rid of had returned.  It started in his lungs and soon
had reached into his blood, his glands and the very marrow of his bones.

 John Constantine was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.  He
looked out the window as he tried another pull on his fag.  It was raining,
when wasn't it, here in London?  A raven, sitting on the window ledge across 
the street caught his eye before he had more company.  The light on the window
brought three more faces to the fore. 

 Another handsome man, a pained light in his eyes, eyes that had seen the fall
of Lucifer and the rise of Man.   The second face was a twisted reflection of
John's own, rotten and filled with squirming worms.   The third was the woman
of your dreams, her form perfect, her smile that of wickedness.

 The first spoke, "It's a pleasure seeing you again.  Especially looking so
chipper."  John wasn't impressed, a visit from the Fallen Archangel Gabriel
wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to see before he died. 

 John's own reflection was the second to speak, his voice raspy and choked with
dirt.  "C'mon mate, it won't be so bad.  Heh, look at me, I turned out pretty
good. Of course I'm not the most hated man on Earth.  The First has been
chomping at the bit to get you down here.  Heck, he even promised ol Crowley
here a shot at you... eventually."   The speaker was the "evil" side of John's
soul.  John had been stupid enough to believe that he could just separate it
into a body formed of mud and bond it to the soul of Alister Crowley.  Needless
to say it didn't satisfy the Hellborn powers that wanted him.

 The third voice, sweet as honey and pure as the rotting corpse of a dead dog,
spoke to him.  John couldn't help but find himself responding to the enchanting
tones.  "Hi, "lover".  It's been a while hasn't it?"  She glowered at John. 
Once upon a time they had been "friends", and once when John needed to regain
the dark part of himself, they had been lovers.  He had used her, and the demon
never forgot, or forgave.  "Don't be glum, you've earned your place down here.
You've cut the wings off of angels, you've cheated the Devil, you even seduced
a Succubus.  Face it, you're one of us.  See you soon."   With that the faces
were gone, and John was alone.

 Visited by the demons of his past, some of them at least, John wasn't fazed.
He knew it was only a brief taste of things to come.  He knew, that once he
died, his soul would be consigned to the grip of the First and finally that
ageless being would have his eternity of revenge.

 It was enough to drive a man to drink.

 He picked up the bottle of Bushmill's and took a swig.  The fire burned his
throat as it went down.  Tonight John had seen glimpses of Hell, but the image
caught in the curve of the bottle's neck was by far the worst.  Kit, his
darling Kit.

 Tears finally began to roll down his face, it wasn't fair.  He had been a
bastard in his life, but he'd done good too.  Did he really deserve to die like
this, alone?   He had loved her so much, she was the thing he fought for, and
the thing he couldn't have.  All for the lack of three little words.   The
words came easy now as John's eyes closed on his burning tears. 

 "I love you."

 The bottle slipped from his grasp and began falling to the floor, spilling a
trail of amber liquid from it's mouth.

 Outside, the raven took flight.

 The bottle hit the ground and shattered, glass and whiskey spilling across
the wooden floor.

 "JOHNNY!!!!  It's Showtime!"  The devil was dressed in a tux with tails, a
smile not seen since a man was crucified on calvary shone brightly on his
face.

 John's eyes fluttered open, but his body's eyes stayed closed.  "Fu..fu.."

 "What, you ignorant fool?  Did you think it would never come to this, that
you'd just smile, wrap your arms around the girl, give me the finger and walk
off into the rain?  You are mine, John, now and forever."

 "No, not quite yet."   The voice was young, and filled with an innocent life
and vitality.  John, across the cusp of death, remembered it from somewhere.

 The Devil turned, rage on his features.  His face softened when he saw who he
was about to address.  "Oh, it's you.  Bugger off, girl.  You are not needed
here."

 The young girl, dresssed in black jeans, a black t-shirt and a top hat,
smiled.  "He's dead, I'm needed.  Those are the rules."

 She fingered the ankh on a silver chain about her neck and looked to the
First, the smile soft and unassuming.  "I'm here for him, I'll be there for you
when your day comes."

 She smiled to John, pain showing in her features.  "Well, Mr. Impatient here
jumped the gun, so I guess you know what's in store for you next."

 John stood, his body young and empty of pain.  "Yeh, I do so let's get on
with it."  He extended his hand to Death.

 She began to reach out to take his hand, the First wiping a mock tear from
his eye.  She stopped suddenly.  "Oh, I almost forgot.  It might not be much
but my brother wanted you to have this."

 Suddenly, on the tip of her white finger was a single grain of sand.

 John looked down at it.  "Your brother, I think I remember you, you wore red
then.  It was his funeral, wasn't it.  He came to me once to help him find one
of his toys."

 She smiled softly, nodding.  "That was him, that was me.  Do you remember
dreaming the funeral?"

 John shrugged and nodded.  "Yeh, it was like the most beautiful story I can
remember.  It lasted for the longest time, but I was only asleep for minutes."

 "That's the nature of dreams, John, forever in one instant."

 John peered at the grain.  "What is it?  I don't think any gifts are going to
help me right now."

 She smiled once again.  "No, eventually you'll go to the First, it's your
fate.  But, my brother thought you'd like one last dream."

 John laughed bitterly.  "Sure, anything to slow up this impatient bastard. If
that's all right with his highness?"

 The first chuckled, he was enjoying this throughly.  "Sure, John.  Take one
last glance at hope before you're alone with me."

 Death tilted her head and grinned, "Take it then, John, it was the least Dream
could do."

 Death's grin was infectious as John reached out to take the sand, he smiled
wide.  "Forever in one instant, eh?"

 Death winked and nodded as John took the grain. 

 The First of the Fallen screamed, his rage was a palatable thing as it ripped
through the apartment.  By then however it was too late.

 John wrapped his arm around Kit, and she snuggled in close to him. As they
stepped out into the rain, into forever John turned around, smiled and flipped
the Devil the bird.  With that the rain closed around the lovers and the London
of dreams embraced them.

 The First of the Fallen's screams were drowned out by the soft flutter of
wings.

"Commit The Oldest Sins The Newest Kind of Way." -- Henry IV
sphinx@bright.net ********** Kevin Schmidt