Betrayed with a Kiss

Death, was still death and by my own hand should have forever condemned me to hell. Jesus called me Satan, and he knew I had betrayed him, but it had to be done by someone. Unfortunately that someone was me, now I don't remember much about being dead, except a deal was made. I would live long enough to be redeemed. The details are fuzzy.

Now, being resurrected didn't freak me out, though it should, and I get the feeling that I perhaps I made a deal with the devil as my second life is far from a picnic. First off, I don't really get hungry or tired, which means other than clothing myself I don't really have a need for money. Which is a good thing since greed brought me to my doom. So far I've been hanging out with a pretty bad crowd. I guess I'm just lucky I was dumped far from Judea where I might have been recognized, then again I'm not sure of the date so maybe more time has passed than I thought. I'd swear to God, I saw Jesus in Hell, but I fear such a declaration would bring his attention upon me.

I dream of Hell, and I fear that Satan more than whispers in my dreams. I feel compelled to look for betrayals, and it sickens me to think I was the worst of them. I feel no closer to redemption now than at the last supper. I live in fear of being exposed, had I not killed myself surely I would have died anyhow. Living among heathens makes it hard to hold my tongue, but if I'm to live long enough to gain redemption I suppose this is where I need to be.

Where I need to be, such a phrase echoes in my mind, that God knew Lucifer would rebel and made a place for him. I feel at a loss as I finally hear about Jesus's resurrection and wonder how the other apostles are doing. I'm sure they are writing up a storm beyond their usual letters and I feel compelled to put down an account of my second life.

(I love the last line and may want to put it at the beginning instead, but I'm slogging my way through a first draft, someone once told me if you write a perfect first page, then that is all you have)

The first year was the hardest, staying out of the sun,