“Satan Before Sunrise”

c. 2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-20)

Good Morning, Beelzebub!

I was at the desk, around 4:30 a.m., after my traditional regimen of coffee and P. B. toast. Still working on the pot of Folgers brewed when I first got out of bed. My Black Lab had grown disinterested with the morning, and headed off for solitude, in our living room. But I stayed at the desk. Peering at the computer screen. Sipping my hot beverage. Then staring again. Empty. Staring. Muted and vacant. Still staring. Fingers tapping out gibberish which I then deleted. Staring. Staring. A blank page waited for fulfillment. I cursed the void with a sense of dread. Sunrise was not yet ready to visit. So I continued to stare at the screen. Staring on, staring.

A rush of wind blew through the home office. I nearly jumped out of my chair. The blast made me think that a window had fallen out of its frame. But there was nothing further after this unexpected eruption. Except for a deeper silence that took hold. Like the stillness of a winter night.

I looked around the room. Then reached for my coffee cup.

A voice shattered the emptiness. “HAHAHAHA! BEHOLD MORTAL, I AM LUCIFER, LORD OF HELL! TORTURER OF SOULS! KING OF THE DAMNED!”

For a moment, I couldn’t move. His breath reeked of burnt embers.

“Attend me with worship!” he commanded. “Bow to my omnipotence!”

Slowly, I got up from the desk. “Hang on, I need more coffee.”

Satan sputtered like a child. “Wait! What? Coffee you say? I am Lord of Hell...” He appeared from the darkness in a flash of white heat. Pointed nose and ears, long fangs, in a glowing red robe.

“You don’t look a bit like Tom Ellis,” I said, grinning.

He nearly flew into a rage. “I GET THAT ALL THE TIME! FOOLISH EARTHLY MORTAL WITH A NETFLIX SUBSCRIPTION!”

“Right, right,” I said. “Hang on just a minute.” I refilled my cup as he hovered over the carpet, with his arms crossed defiantly.

“HEY! HEY!! I AM KING OF THE DAMNED, DO YOU HEAR? KING OF THE DAMNNNNNNED!” he declared.

I shouted from the kitchen. “Hang on, King. Be right back.”

He was simmering with anger when I returned. “See here, mortal! I will not be treated with such indifference. A touch of my finger could send you to drown in the lake of fire, do you understand? FIRE! DAMNATION! HELL!”

I sipped my coffee. “Yes, I’ve gone to Sunday School. I know the drill.”

Satan shook his head. “Such a cavalier attitude! Are you not a believer?”

I sat the cup next to my computer keyboard. “Philosophically, it wouldn’t matter if I believed or not. The truth would still exist, despite my ignorance.”

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “What? What did you say?”

“As an example, think of people who believed in a Flat Earth,” I explained. “Their lack of knowledge did not change the planet. The truth was still out there...”

He snorted with confusion. “WHAT??”

“My point is that if you are indeed Mephistopheles, ‘if’ I say, then my acceptance through faith, or rejection, wouldn’t change that reality. You are who you are.”

Satan snapped with irritation. “ENOUGH! YOUR WORD GAMES BORE ME, MORTAL!”

I sipped more coffee. “Sorry. So what brings you here so early in the day?”

He slumped a bit. “WELL! AHEM! Well… well, well, well. Actually, I was savoring the despair on your face as you stared at the blank screen of your desktop device. That sense of lonely despair, ha ha. Something I have often seen with those who write professionally. Quite satisfying to watch you suffer.”

I nodded. “Of course. Pain is your thing.”

“ARE YOU MOCKING ME?” he hissed like a snake.

“No, no,” I said, cautiously. “No mocking. Just a recognition of your career, you know? Your life’s work. Your job description.”

“FOOL!” he shouted. “YOU ARE MOCKING ME!”

“No, dammit!” I argued. “Offering a sign of respect, if anything.”

“Oh, very well,” he replied. “Then you worship me as a dark god?”

I almost spilled the coffee. “No, definitely not worship. Look, if you accept the ancient texts as true and inspired by divine intelligence, then you must subscribe to the whole story. Good and bad. Dark and light. Here and hereafter.”

Satan stroked his chin. “Please… this is getting off track. Are you some kind of intellectual?”

I sat the cup on my desk. “No, no pretentiousness. Nah. Just a guy who lives in the country with my dog. A guy who likes to write and sometimes sing songs.”

He chortled with a deep rasp of breath. “I know what you are, mortal. I know all.”

“Right,” I agreed. “Again, it is part of the job description.”

“I DON’T HAVE A JOB!” he insisted. “I WAS CAST OUT OF HEAVEN BY GOD! A PUNISHMENT THAT WILL LAST FOR ALL ETERNITY! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

I nodded once more. “As I said before, we learned all that in Sunday School… plus, watching the adventures of Lucifer Morningstar.”

“DAMN NETFLIX!” he shouted. “AND WORD GAMES! WORD GAMMMMMES!”

“You’re really in a mood,” I observed. “How about a cup of coffee?”

Satan huffed like a child. He dropped to the floor, where he sat cross-legged and leaning forward. His fiery eyes dimmed their glow. “I could bathe you in acid and watch as your flesh melts away from bone. Does that not inspire fear in your heart? Most mortals kneel in submission with only a glance at my countenance! Just a glance!”

I leaned back in my office chair. “Look, what I was saying before about accepting the story. The whole story of creation, of good and evil, of a higher power. If I believe that you are real, Yen-lo-Wang, Pluto, Demogorgon, Beelzebub… then I also accept that there is a divine parent. Father, mother, whatever you like.”

“I DON’T LIKE ANY OF THIS!” he glared.

“Right,” I agreed. “Anyway, a divine creator would protect with love, just as you tempt and taunt. A point-counterpoint in effect. So while I respect your evil greatness, I do not fear it, because God is near. If there is a God. The rule of light over darkness. That sort of thing.”

He huffed again. “BUT WHAT IF I RULE? WHAT IF, MORTAL??”

“You were cast out of Heaven,” I answered. “See, that’s part of the story. I did not write the tale, I only read and try to comprehend.”

Satan narrowed his eyes with cunning intent. “Ah, but you are a wordsmith, my slave. You could rewrite the story, correct? To fashion an adventure not recorded in the sacred scrolls. A wish I could grant to you. Fame unending. Riches, glory, power! The achievement of a scholar. A scholar with a pen!”

I laughed out loud.

“Bow before me,” he whispered. “Praise my dirty name. Embrace me. Reject the prophets, reject the worship of churches, and inherit your stature as an exalted one among your tribe. A writer among writers! A king of pages! Of letters! Of books!”

I sighed loudly. “You need some new material. That’s an old gambit. Like in the fourth chapter of Matthew, in the Christian Bible, when you implored Jesus to bow down in return for all the kingdoms of the world, and their splendor. It didn’t work, do you remember?”

He went white-hot with fury. “DAMN YOU, MORTAL! DAMNNNNNN YOU! HOW DARE YOU QUOTE SCRIPTURE WHEN YOU SHOULD BE PROSTRATE AND BEGGING FOR MY MERCY!”

“Sunday School finally paid off,” I said, smartly.

Sulfur fumes filled the air. Another rush of wind sent my notes flying off the desk. He disappeared in a burst of scorched cinders. Sweat beaded on my brow. The room was unbearably hot.

My Black Lab entered from the kitchen. He looked around, sniffing for clues. Then, took a place at my feet. Sunrise was now only a few minutes away.

I decided to make another pot of coffee.

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