There was once a man that had a beautiful library, filled to the point of bursting, with books. Just seeing him on the street in a blueish-white button down shirt and jeans, you wouldn't look twice. He wouldn't look special.

But he had other books, seven to be exact, that stood apart from his library. One was red, one was orange, one was yellow, one was green, one was blue, one was purple, and one was brown. Each giving off a beautiful shimmer. They were leather bound and sat on shelf right next to his bed. They were the most precious things he owned.

Sure he had tons of other books, millions in his library, but he chose to read these for a reason other than a good story.

He would come home from work, eat some bread, sandwich or toast or some other form, for he had not eaten all day. Then he would go to his room, stepping lightly on the hard wooden floors.

He stood directly in front of the shelf, the books at eye level. Then he would admire them, peer at each one carefully, before choosing one in particular (in this case the red book).

As pulled it from its stand, he could already feel it happening. The thing that all stories talked about, fiction or nonfiction. Magic.

He held the story in his arms and felt the sensation climbing his back like warm water. He looked down smiling expectantly, and saw nothing, not even his fancy shoes. It was working. He placed one hand of fingers in front of his face, and peered through their translucence.

He closed his eyes, then, just feeling it travel through him. And then feeling him travel.

When he would open his eyes, he would see a new world, for it was different every time. He would then spend hours, sometimes days, exploring the new place. He always knew it couldn't last, and he always wished it would, but inevitably he would close the book, and open his eyes, and no time will have passed at all.

Then he would place the book back reluctantly, and fall into a sleep.

The next morning he would wake up, brush his teeth, comb his hair, eat breakfast, and dress in business attire.

He would go to work, and nobody passing on the streets would think he was anything special. Nobody would do a double take. Maybe he wasn't all that incredible, but you don't have to be an incredible person, to go incredible places, and do incredible things.

Be it a heavy mist with the blackest intensity.

It creeps in, without warnings,

And explodes into a viscous darkness.

The overwhelming voices scream inside your head;

A black that spreads and grows but never leaves,

A black that drowns, suffocates, controls, murders.

Sirens fill your mind with tentacles,

Demons gnaw your soul with fangs;

All you can feel is pain,

Ever-lasting, numb pain.

This whole parody is an irony;

For you wish for it to stay,

To torture and kill your sanity.

As when it leaves,

You have nothing left but

A silent emptiness,

Trickling until the next hurricane comes.

"I hate this job," Satan grumbled to his father.

"I know," God replied, rolling his eyes. "Luci, this is the billionth time you told me."

God had not be exaggerating. Surely, in the eons that Satan, had been doing this job, he complained billions of times. Honestly, a billion might be an underestimate.

"Well, it sucks," Satan stated, kicking a rock on the ground. "Everyone sees me like I'm evil."

"I know."

"I'm not evil, Dad!"

"I know you aren't evil, Luci," God smiled. "You're a good boy who took on a very hard job."

"I have a bad reputation, you know. Like I want the humans to do terrible things. Like I want them to suffer for all eternity."

"I know."

"I don't. I swear I don't. I hate this job. I hate punishing them and seeing them suffer," Satan's voice broke and he looked away from his father's gaze. "I'm only doing it because you asked me to."

"You are doing a wonderful job, Luci. I couldn't ask for anything more of you, my son."

"Why did you have to make me the bad guy though?" Satan questioned. Even after all this time, it bothered him that his father made him the bad guy, especially when he was the only one out of all his brothers and sisters willing to accept such a difficult job.

"We've been over this, Lucifer," God's voice boomed. He was sick of having this conversation.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. 'Every great story needs a great villain.' That bull again," Satan crossed his arms, refusing to meet his father's gaze.

"Lucifer," God warned.

"I know, I know," Satan shrunk under God's look of disappointment. "It's just a job and I'm just the villain in your story. Like Judas."

"Do you really have to bring him into this?"

"You asked him to betray your son!" Satan spat, returning his attention to his dad. "He went down in history as a selfish jerk who betrayed and killed one of his best friends."

"It was necessary, Lucifer. We've been over this countless times. Judas was simply obeying my wishes. Like you. He was a good man, and he is safe in Heaven."

"Must be nice." Satan scoffed, looking away once more.

"I do not appreciate your attitude, son."

"What else is new?"

"Lucifer, listen to me," God's voice boomed, shaking the ground beneath Satan's feet. He looked up in terror. God softened his tone as he continued talking. "I understand that you feel betrayed by me and your brothers and sisters. I know you hate the reputation that I have cursed upon you, but you are doing a wonderful job. I understand it is a hard job and that you wish nothing more than to come back to Heaven, but I trusted you. I trusted you with a job and I expect you to see it through."

Satan sighed. "Of course, I will. I promise."

"Good. Now Lucifer, I want you to understand that I love you, son. I always have and I always will. That's why I entrusted you with this job."

"I know. I love you too."

"And honestly," God grinned. "You should be happy you aren't in Heaven. Your brothers are a handful. Raphael and Michael can't get along to save their lives, and don't even get me started on what a brat Gabriel is."

Satan chuckled. "Guess I have the easy life." He put his hands behind his head. "Living on my own. All grown up."

"Yeah, maybe we'll send your brothers down."

Satan shook his head, laughing. "Oh, God, no. You can keep them, Dad."

Waving goodbye, the father and son returned to their rightful places: God in Heaven and Satan in hell. Satan was pleased with the conversation, thinking it went over well. God was thankful it was over, but knew it was only a matter of time until the two would meet again.

Lucifer definitely fit in with the angels, God thought to himself, he was a handful just like his brothers.