..She tears herself away from this anomalous tableau, blinking her eyes to make sure. If it is a dream, then wake she must and soon.. It is no longer dreamlike. The faint smell of baked coffee beans from the café is still in the air.. The throbbing pain where her falling suitcase scrapped her shin seems real enough..And then there is Him..
He has style alright. Tall, and seemingly languorous. Auburn hair to his shoulders. Flowing blood-red robes, a strange fusion of long jackets and in-shirts.. His physicality and motion : Mm..a Suited Olympic Swimmer on a Gothic Fashion Ramp - Yes, that would be a description in the right direction..though not exactly..
His eyes. Could dullness glint? Well it did here. A kaleidoscopic mix of fleeting emotions (?) that appeared and disappeared irreverently, and irrelevantly.. At least his voice sounded vaguely familiar - Baritone, tempered, dominating.
She could feel his Presence begin to overpower her, seep into her senses, she felt faint. Then it hits her: He is the DEVIL ! Of course.. Satan himself ! His lips twist into a wry smile at her realization.
'Welcome to my world. The dawn the dusk, the flora the fauna, the streaking comet.. and indirectly – politicians, porn on the net, x-box, black forrest, cable television, pigeons that crap on statues.. also ofcourse, You . The Other Guy, is just a passerby. HIS intentions were noble but his mastery of perfection so-so. He created your flawed world. He created the flawed you. Now HE is helpless. Reduced to begging and pleading with you to change. Strange, When the mold is flawed, how can the produce turn perfect? And how can HE be associated with imperfection when HE is the manifestation of the perfect. A creator who made you but cannot alter you. And the creation which cannot alter itself.Now you are left dangling in mid-air.. Poor fella, He. Good intentions, So-so talent. Reduced to mere spectator on the sidelines. No role or plot in the midfield. He would soon give up and be gone. I run administration now. Somebody's got to take control. I try to do the best I can. Given the circumstance. The best I can, and am doing, is to try to make you feel a little more happy. A little less guilty. To forget the mess you are born into. By being a little more discerning of the pleasures of the body and mind. Pleasure is a good thing.. It just has bad PR.'
'Look at you. Young, beautiful. Scrupulous, diligent. Good at your job. Quite a nice human. Except for that rather vengeful incident with your ex-boyfriend. Ill-advised but understandable - at least some of it. Otherwise, you are simply splendid. Moralistic, ethical, charitable, compassionate.. you cultivate good friends, eat and live healthy, even exhibit great dressing sense.. Anyway what did such a life get you. Here you are out of work. No money. Roofless too. And to add insult to injury, you have a 15 tonne truck about to make goulash of your body and brain. Gory to say the least, and Sad. And I agree with you. You deserve better. Make no mistake, I have nothing to do with it. Its all the arcane comedy of HIS errors. Remember Im just the icing , the garnish. What is rotten, always is. I can only make it smell better, look better. But then I guess THAT should count for something in your short pathetic lives. You really do deserve better. I don't do this often but I had to intervene in your case. I simply couldn't let you die. Anyhow, Its your decision now. You are the decision maker. I just make the offer'.
'Hungry kya?'
tobecont..
yes.really
yes.really
