The Devil's Mistress

Chapter 7

Devil’s POV

If I could melt into this bar I'd be the vibe, move around as easily as the smoke. I'd soak in the laughter and the smiles, dance upon each octave in microscopic disco shoes. But meanwhile, back in reality instead of my imaginary world, I'm life-size, and so... instead I'll step into the shaded room that opens my eyes all the wider, see the muted colours of the bottles and the glitter than finds every spark of light. As the night goes on, I'll be more comfortable in this crowd, intoxicated by spirits and the moments all the same. But to see the Devil dancing, they would all have to burn in the hell fire and I would enjoy the screams of their agony.

Oh dear!!! All those poor tortured souls and then I might have the music that I want to dance to.

Tavern, Pub, loud music, bar food, peanuts, chips. Jangle of voices. Men and women who look older than they are, slumped on bar, pint glasses, shot glasses, someone crying in corner, anguish lost in hubbub and din, standing drinkers at the bar, couples in secluded bays, laughing, back slapping, drinking games, another round, pink cheeks, boasting, swearing, threatening, fights, drink driving, police, taxi cabs, last orders bell, turn out time, clean down bar, wash glasses, wipe counters, wipe tables, put chairs on tables, sweep floor.

"Did you enjoy the syntax? Don't lie, you did, right? The complicated ways to express your soul that then get punished, examined and 'scrutinised.' You put your children though punishing systems so you can rank them, and yeah, I do mean "rank them." Stretching racks were so fun, but this, turning your own kids into shallow, self-serving, power-motivated control-freak narcissist, that's the biggest blast of them all. That's a soul nuclear bomb. What is tax? You gain money, give a bit back to the masters, yeah? What's sin-tax? You gain from sin, from punishment and lack of empathy, cause harm to the souls of others, so your own punishment is to get 'taxed.' And let's face it, all this rubbish takes years to learn, then by the time you've got it (a written form of what you can all say from about age three or four) you're boring fodder for the culture of greed. If you weren't quite so stupid, so willing to make others suffer in your place, you'd have put your "big girl panties" on and made a new system that doesn't make your own kids suffer. And, while I'm boasting, it messes up your brains too. All that syntax represented as a neural map, holy! What a mess! Then there's all the anxiety, the repression, the judgement, the status and power delusions! Humanity, it's been so thoroughly entertaining to watch you all suffer, make other's suffer, kill your fellow creatures in slow and painful ways, destroy your atmosphere, polluting everything while you ponder if your creator will show up and give you a new one... So, if you can get out of this, I guess your creator wins, if not... rot in hell. I'm bored already.

And they say that I am the one who is responsible for all this nonsense. But am I? Have you even asked yourselves that why do you blame the devil, that is me, of course for every single bad thing that you do? You say that, why not? You are the one that puts the voice in our ears and then asks us to do things.

But do I? I mean do I really?

I know that I don’t. I don’t have that kind of power unless you give me one over yourself. You are the one who originally thinks of doing the bad things and when you are asked that why are you doing those then you keep on blaming me. I am nothing but an excuse to embrace your already dark desires.

I wait for a biological push, a greedy motivation, a meanness, a desire for power, then comes my push to go further, to do more damage, sickly sweet and addictive. You make the choice, you form the negative intention, all I do is help you along the path toward becoming a demon (a de-man). How many of you still cry when you see a dying baby elephant? How many of you care when others hurt? Do you still care if to do so lost you money or power or prestige? Do keep losing your integrity, being afraid to see what you've become, because though I cannot make a world, there's nothing quite like destroying them a paper-cut (pay-per-cut) at a time. The hijack of the "karma system" was my best hack yet. The fear keeps you primitive and lusting for revenge and status. The greed keeps you destroying Earth as you pray for salvation. You should see it from here; I'm not sure you'd still call yourselves 'humanity' though."

And that is precisely the reason that I visit this place you live sometimes. I haunt the bars finding women who would love to be pleasured and who would love to pleasure me for the time being of my stay. After all, it is tough for me to stay out of my element for a much longer time. The women are not tough to find and neither are they unwilling. I have always considered that consent is the most essential thing when it came to pleasure and undoubtedly females are the most beautiful creation of my Father.

Yes, they are arrogant, egoistic, rude and no doubt crazy but only when you don’t know how to treat them right. But why at all am I thinking about all these dark bad and worse things when they are the ones who are going to warm by bed and cool by eternally hot body even just for the night.

And when she walked into the room, my whole world slowed down. I look up from reading the people and women all around me, flocking like a swarm of bees and lay eyes on the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Perfect crimson hair that rested right above her shoulders and chocolate brown eyes that could swallow galaxies. Her perfect skin that looked so fragile yet so soft and the unerring amount of freckles around her nose. Cheeks the colour of pink roses and eyelashes longer than anyone's I've ever seen. And her out-of-this-world body caught my attention, a small waist hidden under a black dress which was covered with black beads and sequins. It could pass off as an elegant dress at a party but I had this very doubt that she was ready for a funeral. This was the girl, the girl that I know will change the way I look at life. That is life on earth.

Her emotions were not easily hidden on her innocent face. Her pain was evident in the crease of her lovely brow and the down-curve of her full lips. But her eyes, her eyes showed her soul. They were a deep pool of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief. As I looked into her eyes I knew, all the beauty of the universe could not even hope to compete with this simple thing: passion. Passion turned her eyes into orbs of the brightest fire, and in them I read clearly that she would fight to the very last tear for her life. She would not let the world break her. Sure she could cry, but she would never let them take her true self from her. She clung to it with passion. Passion that made her beautiful.

I am Lucifer. That is what people on Earth know me as in their human form and when they see mine. I am the only one who knows how to see down to the soul of any person, any human being, any child but this one….Ahhhh…this one made it pretty much impossible for me to read it at all.

She was the kind of girl that women loved to hate. She was an adult I suppose, but so young that she still had the exuberance of youth. She had that movie star look, not overly tall and willowy, but more like an action star. Her muscle definition was perfect and she walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. She wasn't just flawless in her bone structure, her skin was like silk over glass and she radiated an intelligent beauty.

All the girls who were around me looked at the direction towards which my eyes went and some of them sniggered and some of them whistled.

“New girl in town huh?” one of the women asked as she looked at this new girl who had gone up and sat at the bar not even missing a single step.

“I think I have seen her some where or the other but yes, she is new. That much I shall give you.  But this place is for the elite of the town. She must be pretty well connected to get entry without anything in hand or without any one by her side,” said another of them. No idea at all what this one was called. I did not like to remember the names of the ones who would be of no use to me any more at all in a few hours. However I was interested in their conversation.

“Oh dear!! This is the one they were talking about in the news…she is the prodigal daughter…the one of the greatest musicians of the century. Her father passed away yesterday. She has been back in the town just today morning or afternoon, I don’t recall what more…” said the one who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model. And trust me, I have bedded them plenty of times and that was nothing unusual. Most of the times the spark is felt from those from whom we least expect any kind of action at all and this one, the one in the black dress with an air of grief and pall hanging all over her like a cloak was the only one who was more than capable of raising my interest.

I had already come to know her background and I had a slight inkling that I might have enjoyed her music from some time else as well but she would have been a child then. And now she was not a child any more. I felt a dire need to get to know her even better and I knew that she would be an absolute enigma with rage and grief burning inside her together, probably more than enough to burn me for a while but isn’t that what I wanted?

To burn and to be burnt???

. Somehow her imperfections made her perfect. There was a shyness to her, hesitation in her body movements and a softness in her voice. Her dress had a tailored look that was bold against her dark skin, but I could already see her in jeans and a t-shirt, feet up on the couch and painting her nails. She was right there, only feet away, but in her understated glamour she might as well be on the television or a girl in a pop video. But somehow I got this idea that she was not the kind of the woman who would be doing that ever.

I rose from the couch with the tumbler of whiskey in my hand and said,” If you will excuse me Ladies…” and sauntered towards the bar.

Doesn’t it sound like the joke starting with the devil walks into the bar?