My Krazy Kandies

Sympathy For the Devil

Sympathy for the Devil – The Rolling Stones (Neptunes Remix)

So, I got inspiration from the above song, and I though I’d share my results with you. I hope you enjoy this little story thing I wrote. It really says something about my state of mind. Haha.

On the third day of every month, he comes up for a breather. He finds himself in a hot desert, his black suit not helping with the heat. His cool skin bubbles angrily at the sudden feeling of warmth, muscular spasms across his body. He does not like heat; it is probably a cruel joke of his brother’s to make him surface in a desert every month.
On the little finger of his left hand, there is a ring. It’s rather large, a bit heavy, and the design is that of the Star of David. Its rather plain other than that; simple black and silver design. But he likes it, because it is the one other thing that his brother gave him, besides the dark and dank basement of the universe.
He loosens his tie as he clambers into the black mustang, dabbing at the collecting sweat on his forehead with a white handkerchief. He grabs the key, already in the ignition, and turns on his car.
He drives off into the approaching daylight, his greasy black hair hanging limply around his shoulders. The windows are up, no air is flowing. The heat in the car would be unbearable for any normal person, but he is not a normal person.
He has to keep quiet; he has to not make a fuss. He knows for a fact that, if he makes too much noise, he’ll be caught and probably locked up for a couple of days again. Every move is carefully planned out in his mind; every little movement that he makes is all part of a plan.
He’s attending a meeting. All business, and he has to make sure that he doesn’t say much. He has to keep his cool; he has to remain calm at all times. The scent of burning brimstone has filled the car with a sense of home, and the little pine tree that’s supposed to eliminate odors is doing absolutely nothing.
People think they have him all figured out; they think they know what he’s like. They think they know that he’s cunning, and evil, and filled with all the anger and rage of humans.
They’re right, but still… there is a little more to him than anger, fire and brimstone. He is pretty evil, but he isn’t the epitome of it. No, humans are the epitome of evil. He knows this. He made them that way to spite his brother.
That had been a fun time.
He’s more like the epitome of wit. His symbol ought not to be demons and fire, but foxes and fire. If he remembered correctly, there was an internet program called something like “foxfire” or maybe “fire fox.” He didn’t really remember. He didn’t use the internet. He just knew things that mattered to him. If he didn’t, then he asked. Unlike his brother, he was not afraid of his lacking knowledge of everything and anything. He was not nearly as insecure.
Of course, he wasn’t supposed to call his brother “insecure”. It was against the rules.
The rules of the game were simple. Do not disobey, do not insult, do not kill, do not touch the humans.
He and his brother played the game constantly. The Earth was their playing field, and they used the people as their chess pieces. Of course, the game was one sided. The rules didn’t apply to his older brother; the older brother could do whatever he wanted to get rid of the filth that he had lain down on the fresh soil, awaiting the chance to destroy.
His babies… most of them were dead.
So, one ought to be sympathetic with his trials and troubles. There were many of them, after all.
He was flawed, closer to the regular person than his older brother. He was not perfect, he was not beautiful. His hair was black and greasy-looking. His eyes were usually green, but sometimes turned to a more hazel color during the winter. His skin was rather pasty looking, and he bruised easily. He didn’t know everything, and he couldn’t do everything. He wasn’t in control of every aspect of life and death, and he was often ridiculed and punished for mistakes.
And yet, they still called him evil. Perhaps humans believed that flaws and imperfection were the embodiment of impurity and evil. Perhaps they believed that, if one was not beautiful and perfect, then they could not be a ruler, they could not be holy, and they could not have anything.
And yet, they never applied these factors to themselves. How very trite!
So, if one met him, they ought to have some courtesy, have some sympathy, and a bit of taste. He was average, he was not perfect, and even the people ought to be able to se that.
He arrived at his destination, finally. He turned off his car, and clambered out of it, grabbing his suitcase and bringing it with him into the air conditioned building. Floor six, he pressed the buttons on the elevator and waited. An annoying elevator song came on, and he was forced to listen to it as the machinery worked its way up the floors. He reached up a hand and brushed his hair out of his face.
The doors opened, and he exited the small room, his heart beat slowing down. That was another flaw; he was claustrophobic, but that wasn’t his fault. That was his brother’s fault. His wonderful brother loved to lock him in small, cramped rooms when he misbehaved.
Which, by the way, was often.
He walked down the hallway, to the very last door on the left. He could hear the sounds of a dozen elder men talking, plotting huge ways to corrupt their businesses ever further. He was going to be the youngest there, or at least, he was going to look like the youngest there.
He grasped the door knob, turned it, and pushed open the door. The room fell silent as every head in the room turned to see the newcomer. He paid them no mind, walking around the table to the empty seat beside the leader of the meeting, his seat. The one designated for him, inconspicuously labeled with his initials, “L.M.” He sat down, placing the suitcase on his lap and staring at the table silently. He would not allow his gaze to wander around thee room, lingering on the foulest sinners.
He wanted to, but he wouldn’t.
“Who is this?”
The leader of the meeting smiled greedily at him, “He’s our provider,” their leader replied, “He might not look like all that much, but he’s got the cash.”
It was usual.
He paid them, they took the money, and he didn’t leave for at least an hour. He didn’t drink any of the expensive champagne that they had ordered. He didn’t trust them, and he didn’t want to know what the old perverts would do to him if he allowed himself to become intoxicated.
The disgusting scent of smoke filled the room, marijuana and cigarettes being lit all around the room. The fire made him feel a little more at home, but he still wasn’t allowing himself to loosen up. He didn’t dare.
He didn’t know when his brother might decide to drop by, so he had to be prepared.
Out of seemingly nowhere, a hand wrapped around his shoulder. He leaned in the opposite direction. It was time to go. He made the usual excuse of needing to use the bathroom, and escaped. A howl of displeasure at his departure sounded through the room, disgruntled old perverts laughing and yelling for him to “come back and have a little to drink”.
He slipped out of the room, coughing a bit. The smoke was probably going to kill him someday. Another flaw; intolerance to smoke. He probably had weak lungs. He stalked down the halls, his head slightly lowered as he pondered things about the way he lived.
His left the building, and got back into his car, shutting the door and leaning back in his seat, allowing the scent of brimstone to fill his car. The scent of marijuana and cigarettes eventually faded away, and he turned the ignition on his car. He pulled out of the sandy lot, and turned back down the road the way he had originally come.
He drove to the middle of the desert, where he was supposed to be, and parked his vehicle in the sand. He turned it off, and got out, watching as his chariot sank into the sand. His eyes were forlorn, a feeling of sadness in his heart.
Well, some of them, anyway.
Some woman, young, pretty… her red hair and green eyes were vibrant in the sunlight. He stared at her blankly, slightly startled by how she was talking to him. She looked worried, concerned, anything other than what he was used to.
“Sure,” He finally replied, a slight smile gracing his lips. She leaned over in her car, opening the door for him. He clambered into her truck, buckling himself into the front seat, as he knew he was supposed to.
“My name is Mary,” She said, “Where are you headed?”
He turned to face her, his expression blank for a moment. He smiled more broadly, “I’m Lucifer,” He answered, “I’m not heading anywhere.”
She chuckled as he told her his name, “There’s no better way to travel.”
Mary put her large Chevrolet into drive, and pressed on the gas precariously, so as to not jump them off at a bad start. Lucifer laughed outright, rolling down his window and staring out at the scenery as she began to drive, “Definitely.”
They pulled off into the approaching sunset, her bouncy red hair flying all around her head as she told him about her journey so far. He listened, intrigued by her stories of adventure. Unlike his brother, he did not know everything.
Lucifer pulled the ring off his pinky finger and threw it out the open window, watching through the rearview mirror as it bounced in the sand a couple of times.
The world was a mystery, and he wanted to see all of it, without any rules to hold him back. He would live sympathetically, love courteously, and laugh tastefully. He’d use all his well-learned politesse and he would lay no more souls to waste.
Just as every cop is a criminal, and all the sinners Saints… As heads is tails, his name was Lucifer, and he was breaking free of his restraints.

Well, some of them anyway.