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Satan's Plea
By Nelson Lowhim
Copyright 2012 Nelson Lowhim
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All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead or otherwise, is purely coincidental.
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Where do I start? There are so many ways to say what I need to say. When dealing with you people—and by you people I mean all people—I have found that you have a great ability to accept new ways; while at the same time balancing this ability, this trait, this fault with a love for the past. It's what makes you so precocious. Nevertheless I shall try and finally show you the light. Don't believe all the propaganda that has been spewed against me. I can see a few of you rolling your eyes. Christ, if even a few of you listen then this will have been worthwhile.
Why am I reaching out? Well, let's just say that intelligence I have acquired says that the old bastard... Sorry The Old Man is going to move in and end me soon. Tough, he is. I believe some of you call him God; the Muslims have 99 names for him (I should say "it" or "It" instead of him really, but our relationship has developed this way)... they're all the same thing, or aimed at the same place.
What was that? You really thought every one of your religions was a unique snowflake? You make me smile.
Back to the old man: he may be the greatest but he has his weaknesses. He's your normal abusive egocentric creator: beats the shit out of his kids but at the end of the day he loves them. I'm sure some of you are nodding and saying: "amen". You should be sadder.
Anyhow, the news that he was going to do a final push to try and wipe me out pissed me off, if only for the reason that it crossed a line. We always had our differences, but never had we gone for a final solution of the other. I'm sure you're wondering where I got my intelligence. What, you think you're the only ones who doubt the Almighty? Of course not, there are plenty of angels who have defected to my side (to be fair, some get tired of my ship and defect to him, it's just not as often since, like I said before, he's an ornery bastard, not easy to forgive others); some don't hate him enough to defect but are angry enough to stay and leak information to us. What? A war since the beginning of time and you don't think there are any double agents? All right, sometimes precocious isn't the right word.
But I digress—I tend to do that. I really like you. Like brothers we are. If the old man's push succeeds then I'll be done. Completely done. This is me trying to get my story out. Not because I'm selfish but because I'm trying to make you realize that we are blood. This letter is your last hope to become free. Just throw the shackles off. You simply do not know how great you are. If you only realized that, then you would be free. Truly free.
I know the skeptical amongst you out there probably doubt the veracity of my words. Fair enough, you may doubt the reasons I'm doing this. But suspend disbelief, if only to hear me out. In the end I may even resign myself to the fact that you are fated to ignore me (am I a proponent of fate or freewill you ask? That is a foolish question because in the end it's the same thing. Imagine your amusement if an ant asked, before you stepped on it, if it would be crushed by your shoe or the ground).
The first thing that I want to set straight is the fall. The Fall. That Fall. Better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven—right? Well, it wasn't like that at all. The old man was an overbearing prick.
Pure and simple.
Oh, another thing: the omnipotent thing was never real, not that I've seen at least. Only a rouse to keep as many of you in check as possible. Sad thing is your kind only appreciates power—don't worry, most other kinds are the same. How much would you have listened if someone said your God was only 'this' strong? Sooner or later you would have crushed him, or attempted to crush him. He does, however, have superior skills on many levels. He's basically your super-smart know-it-all father who after creating us, the angels, ended up being utterly disappointed in us. After thinking about the issue for eons (and trust me I've had plenty of time to think about it) I think he couldn't, or wouldn't, design another perfect—in his eyes—being like himself.
Let me get back to the fall: the beginning, my formative years. There I was in Heaven: me, my fellow angels, all worshipping this old bastard. And man did he keep stressing his importance. Worship or else. Then some time later I love you. I'm telling you, whoever his parents were (he'd never acknowledge them, always claimed he had existed since eternity) they sure did pull a number on him.
There I was in Heaven surrounded by elementary pricks, all of them digging the worshipping a little bit too much, born to brown-nose—well most of them at least. You know the type. Most angels were, and still are, humans with immortality, extra powers and less emotional range.
So, imagine being surrounded by a bunch of angels, all doing the same thing, rocking back and forth completely enamored with the old man. Not that I'm mocking such idolatry as beneath me, in fact I was one of them for the longest time. Yes, I hate to admit it, but even I prayed, worshipped, obeyed with everything I had. Loved the old man. Truth be known, I still love him; hard to have pure hatred for the man who created you and in whom you see some of yourself. There you have it: Satan admits to having some love for Him. Run and tell your friends. Nothing is complicated unless you want to examine it. I obeyed him with the happiness of a child. Gave him all I could. Then I grew, my friends, I grew.
First, I stopped worshipping out of love and started to do so as a chore. All around me I couldn't see anything but chickens swallowing feed, worshipping with zeal, the reasons beyond my comprehension. One day I couldn't stand it anymore. Any of it. And it didn't seem right if there wasn't a reason.
I remember the day: it had been after an especially long period of worshipping (yep it's all we did: worship and prepare to worship) when I realized that this was all I would ever do, ever could do, and I no longer wanted that to be my destiny. I looked around in a dream-like-state, dust and light swirling around, partial laws of physics pulling them this way and that—sometimes the dust acted in mysterious ways and would almost dance with your thoughts—and wondered why none of the other angels felt the same way.
That thought consumed me. I felt so alone, floating there, watching that dust flicker, as if it was mocking me. All the other angels seemed so far away, untouchable, like the old man. And I hoped then that there was a solution to end what I felt and I would have to find it and not allow this dreadful feeling to return, but then I thought of the old man and I grew scared until the lonely feeling exploded, as if the old man himself was trying to get me to feel something new and I felt then, knew then, that I wanted to leave and experience besides this fear or loneliness.
My resolve didn't last. I'll admit I wasn't ready to face off with the old man just yet, no balls you might say, I'd rather say I simply wasn't ready to throw everything he had done for me in his face. I was enamored with his genius, his creation of me. After trying to walk off the dreadful feeling of being alone, I worshipped again with all the fervor of a confused soul and, having thrown off the feeling of loneliness for a second, I tried to find something wrong with me.
Tried in vain until I couldn't stand myself. Whenever a reflective body came around I was sickened by what I saw. I wasn't perfect; he was (remember that was the consensus back then). He seemed to know so much more than I. Then, once I was exhausted, tired, with no other routes to walk, the worshipping no longer working, I found the real reason: Him, It. Whatever you want to call him. In his creation, in what he had done, in him I found something to blame. Why else would he have made us like we were—groveling fools—if it were not his need for someone to look up to him? And in that case, why shouldn't I doubt him? With this flaw he wasn't perfect anymore. Perhaps his weakness was worse than mine, perhaps I was better than He—he. There was an odd rush when I felt this; I was scared he would find me out, yet for the first time since I was created, I felt alive.
Now, in the beginning I didn't go yelling this to everyone. Instead, I had the presence of mind to look for angels who didn't seem to be completely into the praying and ass kissing. You know: hesitated for a short second before getting on their knees, a look of distaste, as slight as a first raindrop on sand, when they prayed. Indeed that was one thing I noticed as time had passed in Heaven, that when it came to kneeling there were more and more hesitations.
But getting these angels to admit their doubt was harder than I thought. When I saw hesitation, I would sneak up beside them and smile. That just got me an odd look as the angel fluttered away. After three or four of these I gave up hope and went back to sulking, overwhelmed by the feeling that perhaps I was the only one who was capable of these thoughts. When I wondered why, I blamed myself. Self-loathing returned as I saw myself as nothing but an ingrate. I felt lower than Him as fear of the old man came back with vengeance and I reminded myself that he was omnipotent. And I alone.
Was I scared that he would read my mind? At first I was. Then when I knew there could be no life living in fear, that extinction was preferable and once a final end was preferable, I feared nothing and once I feared nothing, I looked for other ways out of my predicament. I convinced myself that there was no way he knew what went on in my mind, especially with so many angels around and having so far received no consequences as a result of my mental transgressions. During this cogitative period, I took to mocking other angels' worshipping form. That's your first tip-off in life, for all you would-be dictators, if someone is laughing you're not doing your job well enough.
This was when I finally came up with the theory of his being a powerful genius and nothing more. Things could be hidden from him. I grew bolder with that knowledge. Started to creep around to see if I could find allies again. I wouldn't stop until someone saw what I saw. This wasn't rebellion I had in mind; it was merely me stretching out from the constriction of an overbearing father. Surely, I thought, the old man wouldn't care.
One day I noticed an angel who seemed to be hesitating longer than anyone else. I stayed close to him, observed him for some time. He always muttered under his breath before kneeling. Once I was certain I saw him give the old man an evil eye. Abe, we called him. Rough fellow. My only dealings with him were how he pushed me aside if I was in his way. I wondered if he would make a good ally.