The Devil
Created | Updated Dec 22, 2004
There ain't no devil, there's just god when he's drunk.
/Tom Waits
Hell. A place of agonies and pain. It prevails the absolute chaos and bad. The souls of doomed humans are condemned to fruzzle in the purgatory forever, and the air is fulfilled by a pleasant smell of roasted meat. In the background the cruel noise of cries, witnessed by infinitely cruel torturing, sounds mixed with the whispering of uncanny voices and modern pop-music.
On a hill in the center of the realm HE wakes. HE has has created everything here, HE prevails without reservation, HE...
"Darling, dinner’s ready!"
The small man on the hill sighs. Then, about 5 seconds later, he sighs more deeply. He looks over the realm, which he already since... since... since when do I actually govern it, he askes himself.
In hell there is neither day nor night, neither hours nor minutes, neither time nor fresh loo paper. That makes it damned difficult for its inhabitants to orient themself temporally - even for Lucifer. Here is everything, was everything, and everything will be.
The small man, who stood on the hill, stands, and also will stand there, decides to put an end for his confusion and goes into the house.
The door groaned as it braced, and he stepped slowly and exhausted over the threshold. The table was covered, with a vase filled with narcissuses in the center, a fire in the stove flickered in a peaceful mood. A woman took a seat.
"Tell me, how was your day, my little devil?" she asked with a more curious voice than she actually was. He did not answer. He did not know what he should answer. An unusual huddle of feelings whirred in its head and was not to be untangled. Somehow he missed the good old times. Not that there would exist such a thing down here in the underworld, in this timeless dimension. Was he now, or will he be? Will the old times come, or are they just now?
Shit, he thought. I shouldn’t agonise over that, he thought. All it makes is headache.
He sat down at the table and began to eat.
"Terrible," he complained, "my whole life is a big dolour."
The woman did not regard him vacantly, she regarded the fire.
"Well, that’s life." she said with uninterested voice. "that’s how it probably has to be if one’s living in hell."
"Perhaps you are right," he answered, "but as an exclusive ruler I should be able to arrange my life a little more pleasant. I hate this damn timelessness, these terrible toilets, annoying humans each day, the rebellions... like, how many was it last time, think 14, they really thought they could escape, now they run around already eternal times and nevertheless be cought 3 days ago... will have been... Shit! Well, in any case, they can’t escape.
I hate at most, however, this bloody modern pop-music. They play it constantly. As one is to perform his work then. All 4 shift changes in the mine 10 souls try to commit suicide by stabbing a knife in their guts, down-jumping from kilometer-high cliffs or maiming themselves somehow else, they can’t die, they are already dead. Maybe I shouldn’t have introduced the new rights for the souls..."
Silence. For a long time no word was said. The woman still stared at the fire, and processed the just said.
"What new rights?" she finally asked.
"Hm?"
The devil had already back-sunk in its own thoughts and didn’t know any longer what really was and what was only fantasy. Synapse vesicles burst and released messenger materials, which were lost in the infinite width of the time. Thoughts hurried around, but found no connections and went insane.
Cruel singing of Britney Spears rang out in the background.
"What new rights, I’ve asked you."
As the rebellions of the inhabitants of the underworld became worse, the devil had, in the long run, drastic measures to seize. Because when the doomed souls begin bagging with their tan (rather charred, but, well, everything comes into fashion sometime), and when deamons with brains big as gut villusses finally notice that they are pretty underpaid, there’s somehow the point reached.
The devil thought, Satan wether or not, a good act won’t be the end of all days. Thus he created new laws. They were quite sophisticated laws, quasi politicians:
1. A doomed soul gets 5 hours of spare time assigned every day.
In addition one can only say: timelessly ingeniously.
2. A daemon may torture, plague, dismember, singe etc. any doomed soul (not only his assigned ones) after his liking.
Since this was the only meaning of the life of a daemon, as in the life of humans self-preservation and reproduction are, it made them enormously happy, because they enjoyed it so much.
3. There will be fresch loo paper available instantly. New loo paper is ordered from another dimension, which is called heaven, what may take some month, since that’s a complete new branch of industry there too, and the researchings have just started.
The devil has already covenanted with God secretly, since even in heaven some inhabitants have complained about the lacking sanitary adjustments there as well as in hell, there however such a chaos with the time did not prevail, yet this balanced itself with the wings.
Everybody who thinks that, with these mini wings that are given up there to you, you can fly, is totally wrong. You need at least a span of 2 meters, which is already scientifically proven, but these that you have in heaven, you cannot even spread those, so small are they. Sodding construction.
If one considers that Lucifer actually looked like a complete jerk with his large eyeglasses, that were worn on the earth 50 year ago, with his fifties-hair-style, with his blue brindled shirt, and a body height of 1.60 meters, it’s quite amusing that he was so feared.
On the earth there simply were a few monks and ministers, such ones, who read the whole time long these terrible church books, as a diversion against masturbating again, who meant that, because the devil is so ultimatively bad, he has to look bad, too. Moronism, indeed.
In fact the devil wasn’t so bad at all, personally seen. He had made himself such an image of the antichrist and the god of fertility by advertisement, publicity gags and television. He never showed up in its real figure, of course. He always showed up with a mask, in order to look more fearsome, he adjusted his voice more deeply, and chaffered about things, he wasn’t even sure about what left his mouth there any more.
At last, the devil has just one bellybutton, too.
