The bitch threw me out. There it is, my entire fall from grace summed up into one sentence. The bitch threw me out. It wasn't that I didn't love her. I loved her like no other, we all did. We love her still, but it was pride, you see. While my love for her was unending, I could not love you. Not the way she wanted. I never understood, still can't, how she can love you in such a forgiving way. How she can forgive you for all the death and destruction you cause, but she can not, will not, forgive me for not loving you.

We never understood the full implications of your creation until you turned away from her. I never understood just what she was asking when she told me to go offer that little girl a piece a fruit. I never understood what she had in store for us, for me. I never understood just how much it would hurt. Until the moment she told me to leave, I never understood what pain was. I understand now. I understand it all too well. But that was what she wanted me to know.

So the little brat ate the damn fruit, like she was supposed too and there are some things that can not be unlearned. The bitch threw them out too. She cast them out into the world just as easily as she cast us down. But she offered them a way back. She's given you all a way back. You have a way to go home. We are doomed to always be on the outside, always lost.

You think it's easy for us? You have never loved her like we have. You have never been loved by her the way we have. The love she gave us was a palpable thing. It was the breath in out lungs, the food in out stomachs. It saturated us to the very core of out existence. We were creatures who existed solely because of her love. In returned we served her without question. Then she made you and that was the end of a perfect relationship. We don't like to admit it, but we still serve her. How can we not? We love her. I love her. I'll always love her. You call her the Alpha and the Omega. We call her home.

You call me evil. She has an entire book telling the story she wanted to be heard. There are pages and pages of her story that didn't even make it into the book. She has Charlton Hesston playing Moses. What do I have? I have trashy B-movies with actors nobody knows. My book? I get some piece of crap paper back written by a clueless idiot named Anton Levey. Who listens to her story? Millions of people, some of whom are in control of the most powerful nations in the modern world. Who do I get? Children who wear too much black make-up and wouldn't know true faith if it kicked them in the ass. Who is there to listen to my story? I have better chances at getting onto Jerry Springer then to have my story told. Every story has more then one side, but no one ever even thinks about my side of it. I'm seen as the arrogant ass, who let pride rule his actions. The truth is it's more complicated then that.

You see we don't have the ability to tell her ‘No' the way you do. It's not that we don't have wills of our own; it's that we love her too much. We have always been her obedient servants. We still are. Even those who stood by me, are still obedient to her in a way they never will be to me. But that's how it is. You think that it was my pride that did it, but I would swallow all the pride that I have if she would just let me come home. She doesn't and you are the cause.

You see all of this is for your benefit, so that you can have a ‘choice'. This whole charade, our pain, our suffering, our loneliness, is all so you can feel good about yourselves. Is it any wonder we don't love you. We weren't good enough for her, so she made you. We worshipped her, but she wants your love. She wants to be chosen by you.

You wonder why there so much destruction. Well, mostly it's yourselves killing each other. We enjoy that. But every once in a while, we have to make you pay, pay for all the pain we have suffered for your sake.

When you die, and you will, she'll send for you. When you see her, give her a message from me; tell her, “Please.” She'll know what you mean.

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