The Devil Yearns

Through millennia of fire and pain, dark emotions have swirled around him as he cultivates the misery of his charges. “One would think,” he often mutters aloud, “that being the Lord of the Underworld would be cake,” yet the boredom of his life stokes his desire for change.

Often, as he wanders along the many firey, rocky paths that criss-cross Hell, he thinks about alternatives to his eternal duty, “What would it be like," he might wonder,"to find a nice woman, sit on a beach, sip margaritas, and laugh together?”

As he wanders through his terrain, his cloven hooves kick at a glowing coals that have tumbled from the many peaks above the paths. He watches idly as they curve up, sparks flying, sometimes landing on random denizens of Hell, causing their rags or hair to smolder, or maybe! catch fire so they panic and swat frantically at the rising flames. As a real treat, one might stop, drop and roll all the while screaming in fear and angony.

When this happens, The Devil laughs, a throaty laugh filled with venom and tar, and he thinks, “That was fun … but still … margaritas sound nice, too ...”