A faraway seed had come flying down, onto the ground beneath the Devil's feet. The Devil was up to his work, filthily drinking a eerie hooch which trickled down his body as he drank, filthily, and every drop of that eerie hooch would water the trees as a thousand pails of water would. While he drank, he consumed strange fruits in his foul plantation, spitting seeds into the earth, thick as it was, with many layers of grass and leaves, singing many dark song of his soul and dancing around like his own queen. Strong seed that our protagonist was, he set root where he now lay; an angel of a seed, setting his foot on a ground accustomed to defilement. On the hedge of the foul plantation lay the Deep Blue Sea - vast, struggling and rough.
Many months passed, and the Devil came around to the side where our protagonist had grown tiny roots and a leaf. It was a matter of ordainment, or something beyond our paradigm, a drop of the Devil's eerie hooch trickled down to his roots. The Devil ate strange fruits of his foul plantation, sang his song and danced away. Strangely enough, our angel's roots responded as if they were salved; they grow an inch deeper into the earth; his shoot set his eye on the Sun, and began pouring its sap out into a fresh, thick, and healthy stem, growing towards the sun.
It was the peak of a summer and the Sun smoldered with rage over the Deep Blue Sea, laughing at the indignation of the Deep Blue Sea. He mourned for every drop of water that went, without spirit, soaring into the air high above the strange trees of the foul plantation. By evening, dense clouds were born above and in the sky. A lashing rain set the plantation flooded with water. Come evening, the Deep Blue Sea stood placated, gently playing on the hedge a rhythm of waves, and the stoical Moon would watch this piece of creation, waning and waxing, silently.
Another week flew by, our protagonist had grown a bark, a thick canopy of leaves and his flowers. Soon, his flowers had consummated, some of them grew convexities, and some concavities; angel embryos were growing in the foul plantation.
A time came by, our protagonist stood like a God with lush green leaves, fructified with red, red fruits, and the Devil beheld him with a dazzled eye. "What a miracle", he cried.
Promptly, he plucked from our protagonist and consumed an angel fruit, and then another, suckling at the juice, raving at the wonder. His song turned into a minstrel's jingle, full of merry, and his dance, a graceful waltz, both his hands holding half eaten fruits. But his eye, his eye; the dazzled eye never looked out straight. Our protagonist was intrigued, and then disturbed by the Devil's eye. In what can only be explained by chance, the Devil moved his hairy leg across a piece of deadwood. Alas! a cut befell his thigh, and the green, defiled sap that his blood was came flowing out of his thigh.
The Devil, the devil that he was, screamed and all the birds flew out of the foul plantation. Slowly, muttering curses upon the stars, the Devil went away to his cave.
Our protagonist, an angel that he was, experienced a wave of indignation. He too cursed the stars for having seen what ran in the body of that creation of God in who's foul plantation he thrived. Unable to bear the sight that came, time and again, to his consciousness, he set out to the Deep Blue Sea, to wash himself off the sight.
The Deep Blue Sea, the sea that he was, offered a calming wave of water. Our protagonist lay there, paralyzed in his sight, musing over why the sight never went away with the water he marinated himself in.
Intelligent, though our protagonist was -- an elementary matter went above his head, rolling about in his halo, but never really striking his consciousness - all that the Deep Blue Sea was offering him was a water so full of salts of a lifetime of his own sheer greatness.
Salt water did not salve our protagonist.
Our protagonist - our poor protagonist - was stuck in a time of misery and moved to the hedge of the foul plantation, which he had never envisaged. Once again, only time's book could have said why, but our poor protagonist watched the Devil's axe struck over the bark of a large chop of deadwood and in an impulse God did not forbid, he fell on the axe, and drowned his shoots into the Deep Blue Sea, and teleported his roots to the heaven above.
The Deep Blue Sea put the dead angel shoot into his sack, old as his great age; the Devil salved his cut with sap from another strange tree in his foul plantation; our protagonist, he went to God's own lair.
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