Witch. Latin for Meddle.
Agatha thinks I go too far with the scribe, but if she can still type, she’s fine. It really isn’t hard to keep her here, I just make everything else in her head so ugly she can’t bear it. Any way out of her mind, even my way.
If she can still hear herself, I’m not loud enough yet, I can fix that.
What do you want to see here next?
Never mind, I don’t care.
As a god who never shies from the truth, I will confess at once that the Holy Book fairly crawls to its audience, alas, the Devil hath not the running of that ship. Patience minion.
A further confession, Satan is chagrinned, at this time. Vexed, disaccommodated, mildly ired, slightly infuriorish, piss-ed off. It is quite true, if you leave the fire unattended, things will get burned. Just not me, that’s the Way of Things. Normally.
When the Cat is Away, the Witches will play, and so they did, while I blithely weaved words for the likes of you, here in Nowhere Land. A certain orange haired woman with uncertain antecedents, a troublemaker on two shapely legs, a beautiful Trespasser, somehow she found her way into my own memoirs, where I did Not place her. Into the sequel where she does unspeakable things involving my own hearth, a bewitched Head-Man-In-Charge, and another Witch who should have been on my side.
I had everything taken care of, nicely under hand, if not underhanded.
As you can imagine, the doors of Hell are besieged by Witches and their sexual opposites, the Warlocks. Wonderful name, so dramatic, makes them sound so powerful doesn’t it? Remember, under every pointed hat is a balding, short man, under every robe a paunch and a limp dick. You hardly need the Devil if you’re hot, rich and fertile. No, lift the skirt and you’ll find a small incubus, sucking that friendly snake to no avail. Nothing scares a man like a rebellious soldier. It will be the first thing you ask for, your manhood.
The truth is that a warlock is almost a child in the world of witchcraft, it’s a Huge, all-encompassing place, and men don’t even see most of it. The future they seek is out in the Universe somewhere, they have already left the planet, in essence. No, a proper Witch is part of the earth around her, she has to be, for it to obey her.
If Hell were truly as you paint it, a place of eternal flames and screams, all my forests would burn. The wildlife would be running forever, the birds scattering. No. Hell is green and fecund, right down to the micro-organisms in the soil, would I deny myself the beauty of insects? Hardly. A damp forest floor, poisonous fungi, venomous snakes, butterflies, ants. Can you doubt it? Ants love it here, such a variety of scum to eat, like an endless buffet of payback for insecticides.
Hell hath all the splendours that Heaven claims and can’t produce. An accomplished Witch like Agatha will have found a hundred ways in, all of them organic. What a mess she is making, my minions were worse than useless, caving like the craven before a pair of eyes. I will have to handle things myself, it seems.
Imagine going back to your own life, knowing you will find in it much that you did not put there. Imagine having your carefully laid plans wiped out like you never had a chance in the first place.
You say ‘god knows…’ and you can’t mean it, because it’s a lie.
“Nefeli” by the Great Ludovico Einaudi. The man is a God, he just hasn’t realized it yet.