The Devil’s Gospel: Ch. 1.4 – IIIon December 6th, 2011 at 10:30 am
The Cigar-Smoking Baby (cont.)
“WHAT?” I roared, nearly upending the table off its bolted-down stem.
The gas burners in the kitchen shot up to the ceiling, scorching the pedophile cook (who, ironically, screamed like a little girl), while the glasses stacked under the front counter exploded, sending shards into the legs of the Brooklyn waitress, to the tune of 87 stitches at County General. (Where I also foresaw she’d pick up a necrotizing MRSA infection. Bonus!) Unfortunately I sensed the pierced and tattooed busboy – who on any other day would have been kneeling in front of the glasses, restocking them – had just nodded out in the john.
Oh, well. Can’t win ‘em all.
“Okay, did you just see that?” I asked Frank, waving my talons around at the injured staff and frightened patrons. “I’ve got burning people in the kitchen, blood all over the floor, an amputation on the way, and that’s just my pride being hurt. Does It really want me to prove on Its precious humans how very not slipping I am?”
Frank eyed me for a beat, then put down the creamer.
Peeling off his fake moustache, he folded it in half and tucked it into the band of his fedora like a soggy feather. Replacing the grey cupcake hat on his head, he held out his fat little hands and intoned ominously,
“…………………………, you are to be tested.”
right. like i’m just gonna give ‘em my name like that. brilliant, pissbreath.
The use of my full unholy name was disconcerting, but I forced myself to feign nonchalance.
“That’s the message? Please. What kind of ‘test’? Driving? Spelling? Killing? ‘Cause I’ll send this whole fucking place up in a gas explosion and kill everyone in it without batting an eye.” I paused. “My… one, y’know, eye. I wouldn’t bat it.”
“Oh, clogdancin’ Christ on the cross,” groaned Frank.
“And you call that slipping?” I snapped. I hated to admit it, but the bullying tyke was starting to get under my skin.
Frank pursed his tiny lips. “Bad jokes and killing humans do not a devil make.”
“Yeah, yeah, so sayeth my cock.”
Suddenly a rich tenor vibration erupted in the center of the cherub’s chest, and from his child’s eyes shone forth a light so vast and bright I cringed from it.
“So sayeth God.”
And then It was gone.
My first time in Its presence since the time before time, in no-time.
After all my eternities spent searching for It.
And I’d turned away.
No, cringed away.
Maybe I wasn’t evil.
Maybe I was just a ‘tard of a demon.