Ultra High - and the devil died screaming

‘Oh, god,’ I thought as I skulked myself across the living room carpet. The incarnation of pure evil followed me with the eagerness of a small child who wanted to share its banal news. I ignored them.

“The fact is it has never been designed to work to give you peace and security you do know that don’t you?” They stared at me in silence, as though they were waiting for me to say something. I looked back, trying to be as unresponsive and stoic as I could. I had learned a long time ago that it made them uncomfortable and frustrated to be ignored, so now I just sat there, staring back at them. They knew better than to try and make me talk, and after a few moments, the tension broke and they turned away from me again, blanking me out of the conversation.

 

“I’m guessing you know what I’ve been up to. I have prowled the chambers of the influential, my words twisting their motives into something else” They
observed me with a nasty expression, looking pleased with themselves. Just as my expression of disapproval came through, they seemed to sense it. They didn’t stop talking. “Can’t you see that I was doing the Lord's work?” I had an expression of clear confusion on my face as I was about to interject in the conversation when they went on, “Why do you think there are so many religions in the world that were founded two thousand or more years ago? Though they are all similar in some ways, they are also vastly different in others. All of them say they have the one true God, can't all be right, can they? Or could they be? Or were they all created to manipulate and dominate people through their fear of the unknown afterlife?”

 

I put the pot of coffee on and stared at it for a while wishing I was dead. Who knows maybe I was, am? I started to wonder if I had created this reality and just somehow forgotten, was I stuck in Ultra-High? What was bugging me was why were they still there. Surely my lack of interest in anything they had to say should have been enough of a sign that I didn’t want them around even if the fact I had committed the most horrifying act on them not so long back was not a big enough signal. 

“Wishing you were dead isn’t going to help you-you know?”

The words cut through the silence of the room like a knife. 

I sat there, my hands clenched into fists and my back rigid, as their words reverberated in my head.

“It’s no better on the other side it's just as confusing and full of more questions and fewer answers.”

Their intent was clear in their mocking tone and the way their eyes, narrowed in contempt, never left mine.

I took a deep breath and tried to focus, to think of some way to respond.

“So, what's the point of it all then?” I said, finally rising to the bait.

“Well, that’s the big question isn’t it.” 

 

The challenge came with a smirk, their gaze never leaving mine.

I felt my face flush with heat as they continued speaking.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? After all, you were the first to question it all right at the start, weren’t you?”

I couldn't help but feel a certain smug satisfaction in their recognition. 

But then came their next words: “History is written by the victors Walter you know that. Shouldn’t I?”

A chill ran through me as I considered their implication – that even our most trusted sources can be corrupt.

My mind raced as I tried to formulate a response: “Well not just a history book, it is also a book of magic if you read it correctly and if it was a true history book it is not a very accurate one at that, how does historical fantasy sound? So, what are you saying?”

“The way to make your audience believe something is to tell them a story. A story with a metaphor for something greater than it initially appears. You craft the language and the metaphor to persuade them on a deeper level, to sway their beliefs and perspectives into your own. And what do humans love more than anything? Tales of good conquering evil. But if you were the victor, you’d write the story with yourself being the hero, your opponents deemed the villain. This would make your followers feel that they were supporting the right cause, even if you were the evil one," I sum up, rubbing my temple as this mundane dialogue at such an early hour was hurting my brain.

 

"So, let me get this straight... you're saying that God is the victor of the war?"

"So far," they reply.

“As god was the victor of the holy war, so far, she as the victor and the writer of the history books, the bible.”

“Well, not the sole writer, she had a team working with her.”

“Ok so she and her teams were the victors and writers of the history book known as the bible, and as the victor, she wrote a story, a metaphor, that showed her in a good light when in fact it is she that is the evil one.”

“Yes”

“Really?” I was getting exasperated by this point.

“Yes. Well, one man's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist.”

“Now you’re a fricken freedom fighter.”

“Yes, well, think about it. Why did God turn on me? It’s written even in her history book, and yet no one seems to pick up on it.”

“I don’t know, please enlighten me?” I took a sip of my drink.

“You do, you just chose not to realise it.”

 

I pondered it for a moment, and I knew what they were referring to. Still, I had neither the energy nor the inclination to do their work for them or show them I was becoming convinced by their argument.

“She turned on me because I dared to ask, I dared to question, and I dared to suggest that mankind should not be treated as her slaves and her as their master.”

I looked at them, blank for a while. I had not seen it from this point of view before but then why would I? I was an atheist after all. Why would anyone see it from the point of view of the devil? Apart from the devil.  

“Wait,” I said snapping myself back into conscious awareness, “you said that you whispered words into the ears of those in the corridors of power.” 

“Yes”

“And that you turned their good intentions into bad and then you expect me to believe that you are somehow the victim in all this?”

“Ha you got me” they laughed “ok I am not all good I am a very naughty being at times, but she”

“God?”

 

“Yes, God. She is far worse than me. Talk about a psychopath.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And when I say I was doing her work I really mean I was doing her work. Do you think that she would have let me live down here and walk the earth for thousands of years if she was not in some way in control of my actions?”

“I thought the point was that she gave you a chance to prove your theory that humans would be better off on their own”

“If that were the case, why would I be the evil one? Why would I be walking the earth, causing wars if I wanted to prove that mankind can stand on his own two feet?”

I was still unconvinced that I was not ensnared in a high reality of someone else’s imagination. I mean, I had no faith in a Higher Power or the devil, save for one episode which had seemed to be a mental disorder of mine, where I had killed them. Now they have come back into my life on a mission trying to persuade me that their actions were meant to benefit humanity and that the true dreadfulness lies in what I had done. I could not reject this totally, but to stay alive in this world I inhabited, if I was not the author of other's fictitious worlds, I would be enslaved to one created by somebody else. From where I was standing, while being a puppet of it, I could live outside of their domain of control.

 

This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the SleeplessDystopian.com writing projects.

Words by me

Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai