Satan's Last Stand: A Story

I wrote this for a Dante class I am taking. My argument is that Satan was not involved in Hell at all except in his own circle, and even there he stays silent. I side with Milton in that I believe Satan is worthy of his own story, since he was so hands on in most of everything...everywhere. Take it with a grain of brimstone.

Feelin Hot, Hot, Hot!

          It’s sad the things we do to get noticed. I say we, but I really mean they. Still though, there was a time I would have felt comfortable with their kind. And maybe I was a bit jealous, but that was years ago. At the moment my tie feels like a hangman’s knot. I pull it tighter until the white creeps in and shadows, then brightens, then shadows again, my peripherals. No use. She’s dropped a bible. Everyone looks but me. The priest clears his throat and begins again.

“But he held firm and countered Satan’s whisper’s of sin with steadfastness. He clung to the scripture…”

          Horseshit. He folded like a bad poker hand. I’ve heard it a million times and they always get it wrong. Where was I when they wrote that thing? If God is allowed his whispers, surely I should have had a say so in my own biography. But, again, I look back to my contract. I’m the corporate scapegoat of heaven. I cause terrible things to happen and God sorts it all out. I can’t hook my TIVO up, and they think I caused Katrina? No. My power doesn’t extend very far. I’m hot stuff in Hell, but here on Earth I really only have control over the New York Yankees. In a way, my power is knowledge. I’ve thought about blackmailing the Almighty, but I figure it’s not really worth it. I’ve only mustered the courage of ringing the bell on the pearly gates and running away.  They didn’t see it coming at all.

          She sneezes. She sneezes some more. It’s loud and obviously fake and probably pointed straight at me. I close my eyes and I feel her lust. Her eyes grab at my handkerchief. This always happens when I go out in public. That, and I make dogs bark. I’m like a pheromonal postman. Any other day and I would have feasted on her, gorged even. But this was the Sabbath! That whore! I can’t help my beauty. I don’t revel in it, but I’m not much of a showboat. Leave that to a Messiah.

          I sit and listen some more to the fables, but the screams from men around the room fill my head. I look at my watch. He’s gone over his allotted time. I hear the words kickoff! and what seems to be whimpering coming from the lot of them. Pathetic.

          I wait in the pew as whole families sneak away during the second to last hymn. Something comes over them, they notice me. No, they think, it’s nothing. He’s nothing. They are so lucky I allow insolence.

          Through the window the sun is as big as ever. It seems to be dipped in blood. Then I remember that it is and how long it took for me to collect that much to cover one side. Power flows through me when I feel people admiring my handiwork. It’s the little things, you know?

          The sermon is over. The priest asks if there is anyone interested in joining the church. People check their watches, and I felt my hand raise. Hate from all sides. It was as if I was in a tanning bed of bad vibes getting bikini ready for beach season.

          I’m there at the altar, affirming my faith, asking for the church to guide me. I stifle a yawn. Where a once bright star shown through the window, it grows cold and dark within the warm church. An eclipse. Midday. People panic, but the priest continues. I hate to get emotional, but this is my one last chance. I’ve got only a few hours left before it all starts, as it is written blah blah blah. Maybe he will cut me some slack? I look out at the eyes of the congregation. I search their heads. Empty. I think I know what to do. I remember my bargaining chip. Knowledge.

          There in the parking lot she has waited for me, some unknown girl, but she will do. She seems nervous, but I know I don’t have to try hard.

“Have you ever been to an apple orchard?”

          She is confused. Our first words to each other? She looks up at the sky, demonstrating she can determine when things seem out of the ordinary.

“No. Why?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve taken someone there, and I think it’s worn off.”

          She doesn’t fight it when I take her hand. A meteorite crashes miles from us, probably hitting a gas station from what I can tell. I don’t know the outcome of it all, but it’s worth a shot. God never read the contract close enough, and that’s where I’ve got him. After all, the devil is in the details.