Flash Fiction / Writing

The Devil by L.A. Murphy

It all started with a venti iced green tea latte that wasn’t iced. I was already late for work but the Lord knows I need my latte before I go to that place. When she handed me the cardboard cup, the dusky mermaid staring at me with steam billowing out of the top, I wanted to rip her throat out. I felt the anger rising in me, not just a little annoyance, but full blown rage. I quell it this time, but it’s getting harder to keep it all on the inside.

You see, what most people don’t understand is that in each of us, is something dark. Something twisted and sinister. I accepted that it lives in me and ever since I did, I see it everywhere. In the stay-at-home-mum who bakes for her children but is secretly banging the milkman. I see it in the pastors molesting their flock. I see it in the shop keeper who changes the dates on his produce so he can still sell it.

In all of these people I see it. The Devil.

The truth about the Devil, he’s not the guy holding a pitchfork or the woman with the pointed horns. He isn’t below us and he certainly isn’t running hell.

No, the truth is, the Devil tricked us all. He’s not below us, he is us. He lives in every one of us and there’s nothing any amount of praying can do to get rid of him because there is no one listening to our prayers. The greatest trick the Devil ever played was making us believe that God exists. We’re a game to him. He tricks us into believing there’s salvation and then revels in our failure.

We’re not the smartest race, even though we think otherwise. We’re always looking for the evil, but we don’t realise that we are the evil. I realise it in my anger, when killing a woman for getting my order wrong seems like a plausible solution. Deep down inside we’re all evil and we are all the Devil.

There will come a day, not too far from now when I reach out and pull the coffee lady close to me, I’ll hold her neck and choke the life out of her, when the Devil has finished playing with her. And when I throw myself off the roof of my building, that’s when he’s done playing with me.

She isn’t innocent. Neither am I. No doubt she fucks up my coffee order on purpose because I sometimes forget to say please and thank you. But that’s the Devil. He’s controlling every part of us and we go on pretending we’re good people because we shove a few dollars into the donation box at Christmas. but where does the money go? To Africa? No. It goes to feed a big corporation that is filled with men in suits swigging brandy and fucking expensive hookers.

Now they’re people I can get on board with, the hookers I mean. If there’s anyone in the world who’s accepted the Devil inside, it’s a hooker. They just know how to get paid for the evil in them. I used a hooker once, I could practically feel the Devil inside me, reveling in the pleasure of her evil. The businessmen? They’re just tools used by the Devil to keep us all good and angry. If there’s any real incarnation of the Devil, it’s a banker. A greedy, chauvinistic, merciless banker. That’s the Devil showing us all that we are all at the mercy of paper and numbers. Another one of his games.

For me, my evil is website design. Portals for humanity to become obsessed, overweight and spend what little money He allows them to have. I hate it, but then I find myself coming up with ways to “increase traffic” and “increase profits” and the big boss loves me. Clearly the Devil knows that I can trap souls with my sites.

My mind wanders back to the coffee lady as I punch in the code for my office building. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take a knife with me, just in case the Devil decides it’s her time.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s