(Fiction) God and the Devil

God walked into his building to find the devil sitting in the hallway with tears and blood staining her gaunt face. God tried to ignore the figure of wretched skin and bone and hurt, but he could not. Silently he handed the devil a tissue. “Keep it,” he said, flatly, his huge blue eyes not acknowledging her greys.

“Hey God.” the devil shuffled her feet as God turned around, his huge shoulders revealing his impatience. the devil twirled a matt of dirty hair around her finger and breathed rapidly: “I’m, I’m, I’m going to the grocery store, do you need anything?”

God stared coldly, and relented with a nod.

The devil grinned, held God's eye for a life-affirming moment, and skipped away down the building’s long hallway. God turned and made for his elevator.

Ten minutes later the devil was skipping up the stairs, first of cheap, broken wood, but soon of elegant pine to the highest floor, where marble walls supported delicate jewels, to deliver God the finest apple she could find. She was sure that this apple would be a good gift for God. It had cost her half a day’s pay. She had been bursting with unthinking happiness all the way, this rare tryst with God too fantastical for words but now, as she approached his ivory door, her nerves betrayed her. Her door was made of plastic and was cracked.

The devil knocked and waited for excruciating minutes. The apple was a bad idea. Eventually God opened the door a crack, removed the security chain, and allowed the devil into the hall.

“Hi God, an apple, is it ok?” The devil blurted fearfully.

God stared at her. Scrawny, blackened arms were servile to a child’s body, barely a hint of womanhood, the stunting and decay making an age irrelevant. The devil was lost to the great buzzing of excited terror in her head. She could not comprehend him. Silently, God took the apple, and pointed to the door.

For the next month the devil had to go to work everyday, and did not see God again. She did however bring him an apple everyday, half-starving herself in the process, which she left by his front door. Often God would leave his rubbish out there, to be collected by the devil. This she did ecstatically.

And then one day God was waiting for the devil. He beckoned her in and told her to sit down. This fruition of all the devil’s efforts made her weak heart beat faster and the buzzing return. “Why do you bring me apples, devil?”

“They are gifts, everyday, I care, see, God. Is it ok?”

“So you care, so what, don’t you all care?”

“So nothing God, nothing at all. I just like to bring you apples. Is it ok?”

Enormous God leaned back on his chair and pondered this, while beside him the tiny figure of the devil could not help but melt into the vast, down-filled armchair. “I know you devil. I know you. I don’t want your apples anymore. I don’t want to see you anymore!” “Got that?” His voice split with in rage. “Got that!”

“Of course God, of course.” The bony devil’s eyes implored God to forgive. She edged from the melting chair and jumped down, as almighty God’s fury scalded her. The devil backed away, keeping eye contact with God in the desperate hope that her fragility might quell him. God rose slowly from his chair and his long strides bore him down upon the shrivelled devil, who cowered.

“I will not see you again devil!” God swung a giant open palm at the devil’s cheek, causing the dry surface to crack and dirty, blackened blood to ooze down it. She stumbled, blinded by tears, knocking into tables and chairs twice her size, bruising and wrecking herself, until she made it to the door. God had advanced with her. He stood over her. The door was locked, and the handle far too high for her. She was trapped.

“Leave, devil.” The devil turned to the huge door and scrambled to reach the handle, but it was no use. As her brittle arms scraped at the door, blindly for the blood-filled tears, God roared and tore the door open. He grabbed the devil’s wrist and hurled her as though she were a doll. Her arm broke with a sickening snap as it flew from God’s grip and she crashed into the far wall, twenty meters away. The devil ran, fell, collapsed down the stairs, every flight, and eventually dragged her shattered body through her broken door and into her home. She waited by the door, as the adrenaline subsided and pain began to take hold. She waited there for one week, all alone, until she was absolutely sure that God was not coming to forgive her.

Time passed, and on the building’s lowest floor others heard of what this devil had done. They could not forgive her, but they were like her, and so tended the most threatening wounds as best they could. They even tried to find a doctor, but no doctor in the city would touch her. Still, the others all had some practice in medical matters, and, secretly, at night, when they were sure God was asleep, they would fix the devil, while scolding and vilifying her.

The devil longed for God’s forgiveness every day. The devil thought about him always.

For three months the devil did not have the strength to go outside. She could not work, and survived on the kindness of others. A crust of bread and slap here, a sip of water and a kick there. She was emaciated; her eyes bulged from their sockets, her hair fell out and her belly grew bloated as flies ate her skin. But the devil was hardy. The devil did not die.

Eventually, hunger, manifest as numbness and horrible insomnia, forced the devil to venture outside. The icy wind bit her face, causing it to crack again, just as God’s hand had. She moved quickly down the deserted street, keeping her eyes focussed on the dirty basements, her only blanket pulled tight against her. After twenty minutes she found the old wooden shack that she had been seeking. She approached the door cautiously, her face deliberately obscured by the thin blanket, her unhealed arm hidden.

The devil made it past the guard and into line. She could smell the food and feel the warmth and it was bliss. She kept covered, holding her metal tray with her good hand. The seconds moved too slowly for her. A noise behind her. A man, an enormous man of great power, hurried toward her and ripped the blanket from her face.

“You! Devil! God told me about you! Get out and don’t come back! We don’t want you here!” With a sharp kick to her crooked spine and a terrified whimper from her parched throat the devil fled the sanctuary, and ran home through driving rain, where she collapsed on her bed. Her only blanket was sodden now, and she shivered feebly. By the time one of the others, a young girl, came in, the devil was unconscious. The girl wrapped a fresh, warm blanket around her and left two rolls on the floor, by the devil’s head. She saved the devil’s life that day.

For the next two weeks, the others devils made a more concerted effort to help the devil. She rarely spoke, and often coughed up horrible bloody bile when she did, but she took what she was given. Late at night, children would be sent to her room with whatever scraps could be spared. Others would watch the stairs, and doorways, to make sure God would not see what they were doing. For two weeks this went on, but still the devil got weaker. At last, it was decided that a doctor must be called.

Many said this was madness, that God would find out and that they would all be killed for helping the devil. But, when it came to the vote, no one could bring themselves to let the devil die.

For two days feelers were sent out, cunning feelers to people believed to be sympathetic, but each time the question: “Is it that devil that needs help?” would find itself asked, and the search would continue. Eventually the little girl who had saved the devil’s life happened upon a name. A doctor who had fallen from grace, who needed money. She went to see this man in his alleyway, and he agreed to follow her back.

The little girl ran back to the building with the doctor. He was shrunken, frail and diseased like they were, he wore the same tattered rags; he was the same. Still, he had chosen to trick them. This failed doctor, small like them, but they would assume not yet quite as fettered, had told God, and he was waiting. He gave the doctor five notes from a bundle of many hundreds and slapped the back of his head by way of a goodbye. The doctor seemed to grow a little as he left, though not enough to chance a look back. The door closed, and God stared at the tiny girl.

God bellowed into her petrified eyes, spit and rage flying at her still-innocent face: “You help this devil in defiance of me!” He was majestic, terrible, and surely divine. The girl could not say a word. Silent tears streamed down her face and moistened her grubby white dress. She looked around the room, searching for her mother, but she could not help her now. She could only hold her tiny daughter’s gaze for just a moment, before burying her colourless face in another’s shoulders.

“This devil wronged me! Is she more important than me? Is that why you help her?” God swatted the girl away casually and she flew backwards into the wall where she slumped, unmoving. “Let’s see who’s stronger shall we, God or you devils?”

God picked up the devil from her bed and forced her to stand before him. For too long during the ordeal of pummelling and biting and kicking the devil showed some sign of life, first begging, weeping, clutching at God’s white cloak. Soon the devil could only curl up, protecting her weak bones as best she could, as they cracked and her skin was ripped through. Eventually weak breathes were all the devil had left. In God’s mercy he finished her off quickly.

“All you other devil’s remember who’s in charge!” God spat, as he swept from the room, leaving the devil’s weeping, weakened, and remorseful.