A Day in the Life of the Devil

“Admirable,” he whispered, more to himself than to anyone else.

He met sunset—that was when his days started—with the usual smirk. He never thought that the turn of events would lead him to that place. He stood there in the field, surrounded by men—young and old, males and females.

He loved it there—every little detail. It was as though everyone agreed upon the fact that the dominating colour of the evening had to be red—his favourite colour. Nobody interrupted when he spoke, and everyone listened. The smell, or, more precisely, the absence of it, made him dizzy. The faces were deformed with overwhelming emotion, and how he loved strong emotion.

He looked back at the first day he met them. He hated them. He hated them all—young or old, male or female. He lived in a place with those similar to him. Because of men, he had to leave that place. Because of men, he had to live with men.

“Admiration,” he said, looking down at the bodies. “I never thought I would love you after all.” He started laughing. His voice filled the field and rose to heaven. “Is this why I was banished?!” he shouted in triumph, pointing at the bodies on the ground. “They do not even need my help to destroy themselves!” He looked down at a man lying soulless on the ground, and whispered “It did not even give me the chance to avenge myself—it did it on its own.”

…He inhaled the emptiness in the air. He listened to the silence. The souls were no longer there—they left the empty, broken vessels behind.

“So, why was I banished after all? Because of a nonentity that is dire? Because of a treacherous creature… or maybe something that I now admire?”