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From: taria29c@aol.com (Taria29c)
Subject: Taria: Late Celestial 500-word submission

It's late, but I tried.  Usual warnings apply, tho more for violence then
the usual reasons.  

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

CAIN AND ABEL
by Taria
________________________

BLAM


It was five years since I sold my soul.


BLAM


I'd been the comforting brother, as always.  She came to me about
something inconsequential,
and then she lost her composure in a way no one ever imagined she could. 
"I can't take it any
more," she cried.  "Those women...those *whores*...and *him*...shit, he'd
screw his own
mother!"

>From the lips of the fairy-tale Princess, the Angel, the words were
shocking, foul somehow. 
There was an edge of hysteria there as well, and I stroked her
peach-wrapped shoulder softly,
unable to think of anything to say.

"Oh, why couldn't *you* have been the one?" she whispered.  I couldn't
move.  What that
question stirred up was too deep and too dark to even acknowledge.  My
whole damn life I'd
been asking Why him?  Why not ME?  And then she was crying in wracking
sobs, and I knelt
down to hold her,  and then it was an embrace and her tear-streaked face
tilted upwards and her
lips sought mine...


BLAM


"So easy," she murmured, as we lay together.  "It would be so easy to just
get rid of him."  

I was startled, shocked, to put it mildly.  I gazed at her, propped up on
one arm beside me.  Her
impeccable dark hair was tousled, her careworn face authentically hers,
not the one from the jar
that everyone else saw in the magazines, on television.  I ran my hand
over her bare shoulder,
moved to touch one blindingly white breast.

"I'm serious.  He's out of control.  Parading that blonde bitch in front
of me at that birthday
thing"--this was not ordinary cursing, but a fallen Angel's
profanity--"and it's affecting
his job performance, too.  She leaned in and locked my eyes in hers; I was
a titmouse
before a Queen Cobra.  "It should be you, not him...you know it's true. 
Everything he
has is rightfully yours.  Everything..."  She murmured.  I listened.  I
demurred, denying the truth
of her words.  But still, I listened.


BLAM


She was right.  It *was* easy.  Through my Justice connections I got
through to the Agency, and
they set it up.  No hidden assassination.  No secret coup. Out in the
open, in the most public
setting imaginable.  A lone gunman.  A few shots, perhaps a single bullet.


BLAM


Over and over, the world relived the horror.  At the funeral, she was all
dignity and grace, still
life of the grieving widow.  I alone knew that it was a facade, the pose
as flawless as the plan we
had executed.

That night we fucked.  Fevered, raging, animal fucking.  The world thought
that the Pure Flower
of Womanhood had intercourse, once only, to capture the seed that would be
the Heir.  But the
night we killed my brother, we fucked.


BLAM


And now I'm close, so close.  Here in California all will come to
fruition--


BLAM


Pain.  Blood.  Looming Death.  No, not now...

"Jack--"

"Oh, Christ--Bobby sees his brother!"

No.  Not him.

Jackie.

Why?  Why now?  Why me?


BLAM

______________________________________

Historical fact is not intended.  No new conspiracy theories, either.  But
what if....?

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