The Devil's Perdition

“Easy now, are you sure you want to go the Way of Perdition instead of the Way of Sin? I mean look at that… Sin isn’t all that people hype it up to be, sure, but it is a hell of a lot better than that way there. Besides, look where that ends,” the Devil gestured and lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the crucified Christ atop a mound of skulls. Bleeding in agony while his final moments played out and time stretched long, he was like a Christmas tree angel at the crown of a Norse burial tomb… except from a Hellraiser movie.

One doesn’t forget a sight like that, however briefly it may have been made clear, but it made no difference to the man. For him, there wasn’t even a moment of doubt as to what he had to do. With the smallest hint of a smirk, bitter not proud, he said, “I’ll take my chances with Perdition. I appreciate the concern, but you and I both know that mustache is fake.”

The rain was beating down heavy all around them, and a corner of the cheap prop was already hanging off. Lightning struck again behind the Devil and its flash refracted off the man’s eyes.

“The truth is,” thunder cracked like the whip of God and rumbled overhead with deafening sound that also seemed to stretch long, but the man never lost his edge while waiting until the end. “That where I came from to get here was worse that you will ever be able to understand without faith, but understanding won’t change a damn thing either way. And here is the thing, that right there, what you are calling the Way of Perdition, looks like a child’s theme park attraction compared to what I finished to completion years ago. In fact, reaching the end of that wretched life’s journey is how I wound up here by surprise and gave you such a start through no fault of my own.

“So, yeah, I’ll take my chances with your little scheme, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. If you weren’t such an idiot I would be flattered by the lengths you have gone to trying to make your tricks look real, but that doesn’t matter now because both of our jobs are done, and there is nothing more to do on that account. It’s time go collect our wages, you from your master, and me from mine.”

With that, the man turned toward the Way of Perdition that had been set before him and strode on as though nothing could tire him. He didn’t move with haste nor lethargy. He walked with a calm and steady pace toward a destination he would never change his course from.

The Devil tried to stop him one last time, grabbing him by the shoulder.

Hail fell down as sudden sheets of ice from the churning darkness above, the ground erupting in the cacophony of its bombardment. The man turned his head slightly to look at the tips of the fingers on the hand grabbing his shoulder.

The Devil withdrew immediately, as though he had touched a hot cook stove, and his face was awash with the disbelief of the faithless whom he was numbered among. As he stared after the man with a confused turbulence of hate suppressing admiration within his eyes, he could not find any more words to say, not even one.

That was the end of the Devil’s time on earth. As for the man, it wasn’t long before he disappeared over the horizon, but if anyone wanted to find him, he was always on that lonesome road all men travel— from their beginning to their end, no matter how lost they may seem to be at one time or another.

When human beings first began this journey is one of the truths lost in the forgotten times long before records of memory are kept. Just as the beginning is one we cannot see, so to is the end, and none have ever seen the journey to completion. Not even God himself. That is unless you count the story the last man told at the gate everyone was being held up at, the sly dog. When he was done and without another word beyond the story, he opened the gate himself, and didn’t go 10 steps before laying down to go to sleep between a crook in the jagged rocks of the desolation beyond.

Not long after that was when the Devil showed up with his secret soldiers huffing and puffing as the man slept under his woolen pancho, ignoring the rain. The Devil’s arrival was quite the spectacle too since everyone thought the man was one of the Devil’s own, since the Devil was the one who locked the darn gate! It’s been locked for as long as us poor folk outside can remember too, all while the Devil was lording over everyone with the key to let his favorites pass through and nobody else. Thank God that bastard tyrant is done away with, because it should never have been locked in the first place…

In any case, the man who told the tale said it was fiction, but one like that rings true no matter how fantastical it seems. Hearing him say it and seeing these events myself, a guy like me has gotta wonder if he’s really seen how it ends with his own eyes, and if that is the reason why he is so certain of the way ahead, but I doubt it, because he wouldn’t have made it that far ahead if he didn’t believe from the start. Like he said too, it makes no difference if he did or not, and since he’s the only one who seems to know the way out of this hell hole, we follow of our own accord as best we can with the tracks he leaves for us. Sometimes there’s a sign like he knows we’re following but it’s never too obvious. I think that’s cause the kerfuffle at the gate left him in a bad way and he’s not too happy with any people right now, which is why if we catch a glance of him, he’s always gone in a blink.

If you ever catch up, do yourself a favor and rewind your memory back to what happened and replay it for yourself to make sure you don’t cross him the wrong way.