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DEVIL'S DUE

On the seventh day He rested.

A big mistake.

For idle hands are the devil's playground, but God couldn't possibly know that yet, for the world was young and so was He, comparatively speaking.

Lucifer had been an angel then. The Angel of Light. And the position of devil hadn't been even been invented yet, much less filled. The daemon hadn't been demoted--by the simple expedient of removing a single letter in their names (and a few rungs on the evolutionary ladder). Thus the daemon became the demon, and the divinities of old were transformed--Astoreth becoming Astoroth and Baal, Bael. And a friend, a fiend.

A god by any other name . . .

The Almighty sniggered.

Never underestimate the power of THE WORD.

At that time, though, a week hadn't even passed, for the week also hadn't been invented yet. Jehovah hadn't got around to that until day thirty when He came up with the idea for a month. Unfortunately, He didn't bother to sit down and figure out the maths on it until He devised the concept of a year. By then it was too late, and there was no way He could correct the calculations without fiddling them.

A quarter of a day here, a quarter of a day there, and every four years, Bob's your uncle.

Time.

God grunted as he slipped into yet another veil. Now that was a bit of a botched job. In other universes, He'd dispensed with the formality as extraneous. For with time came mortality and where fatality existed desperation soon followed.

But God only understood this later, much later, after He had the opportunity to ruminate upon some obvious design flaws. He had made quite a few. He'd already had to give up on giants as too cumbersome and large lizards as too clumsy--and not particularly bright. After those first abortive attempts at creation, God had wiped the slate clean.

Except for the angels, of course. It had been the angels and not man who had been made in His image and likeness. They were immortals like Himself, and He was stuck with them as they were with Him.

Sometimes He wondered if angels had been a mistake also. They were something He'd whipped up one boring afternoon--long before day one--when the sky was grey with the nothingness of void and he had wanted someone to talk to.

Still, God thought He'd corrected the basic angelic faults when he upgraded to man. First, He'd eliminated a lot of the frivolities and fripperies. No flaming wheels of fire, no multiple tongues or thick covering of hair--each with a myriad of mouths and a multiplicity of eyes. No halos of radiant light that forced Him to squint.

Nothing flash.

No wings either. They were much too ostentatious. The daemon and angels spent hours preening them, and comparing them. ("I got sixteen-thousand and you got only four.") That was when God had discovered the sins of vanity and pride.

Wings weren't necessary for land bound creatures. So man became simple streamlined versions of the original. Never let it be said that God didn't learn from His mistakes.

He knew now that He should never have given the angels the knowledge of good and evil. With that He'd given them the ability to reason, to think and to judge others--even him the Supreme Being.

In so doing He'd opened the door to contention and debate...But in those days God had been young and idealistic, believing in individual rights. Little had He known that with this single act He'd spawned an eternity of discord and dissent.


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