Flawed

 Flawed

“I’m sorry for the long wait, mister, so sorry. Today’s been busier than any other day this cafe’s seen.  Is this yours?” the young woman asked, lifting a white styrofoam cup off the tray. Unlike the others, the cup had no name written along the side in black marker.

Still looking dazed, the woman’s eyes lit up with gratitude. Her earlier wariness of this gentle man in white had faded. “Thank you, sir!”

The man watched her over the lid of his cup as she left. Taking a sip of coffee, he thought of making a glass of water appear for the woman, but decided against it. It would be too reckless, with all these people surrounding him.

Already it was late afternoon in the city of Manhattan. The sun had cast its golden flames down over the city. It illuminated clear glass and windows with a blaze of orange and yellow, and turned the air steamy and muggy. Vehicles rushed by in flashes down the street, sputtering out clouds of foul smoke, and filling the air with a tumultuous honking. Delectable scents wafted from the vendor’s stands perched on the edges of trash-littered sidewalks, drawing in hungry customers. And looming above them like the statues of ancient gods was the architecture of the modern world, giant buildings born of metal and glass. They rose to the skyline, overlooking the entire city.

Raising his eyes, he took in the dark, grinning figure standing directly over him, blocking out the sunlight. The figure’s hair shone blue, then black, then a dark, seductive purple. His eyes glinted with fake cheer. He was dressed in a rather out of place silk suit, and was holding a white styrofoam cup similiar to the man’s.  He knew who this was. There was only one person who knew his true name.

“Your words, they hurt,” the dark man said with mock woe, settling back in his chair.

“As for change, oh, how naive you are. Look around you, Jehovah. This is not the land you originally created. Your little mortal pets have seized control for themselves, and pushed us to the depths of history. You and I, old enemy, are history.”

“There are believers. My angels and disciples have made that certain.”

Lucifer threw back his head and let out a bellowing laugh. “Ah, yes, your little winged accesories. How are your boys, anyways?”

Jehovah stiffened at the casual slang used for his two most trusted messengers. “Gabriel and Michael have been doing their duty well. How’s that sinful woman of yours, Lilith? Still draped around you like a cloak?”

“Don’t be so prudish, rival. Talk’s been going around that your son had himself a little bride.” The dark man often enjoyed pushing and teasing the one who cast him out of Heaven. It was his own petty revenge of sorts. The best part was knowing God was too “pure” to fight back.

Lucifer took a long sip of his coffee. Setting it down on the table, he leaned forward. “We’re in danger of fading, old man. There are not enough Believers, no many how churches stand.This generation sees only what’s in front of them-- and even then, they deny the extraordinary.”

 “You speak too ill of my creations. Is that because you still wish it was you who controlled them, and not I? ”

“I had no idea gods could be so naive,” Lucifer said with contempt. “You still think this is about revenge? Look around, at what your creations do every day. It’s actually rather simple.”  With that, a silver card appeared in his open hand. Holding it carefully between his fingers, he flung it out onto the table. In shining red letters shone the word PRIDE. “Step one, they strut around, denying your existence, and everything you have done for them.”

 “Their cravings do not end. Those who pray to you only do it out of their own selfish desire.” Another card, GREED. “And when they see their neighbor’s burdens are lighter than their own, they begin to desire their neighbor’s gifts as well.” A third card, ENVY. “Sometimes they may desire their neighbor’s looks, their wealth, or their luck. Perhaps they even desire their consort.” Lust, the fourth card.“But they are too indolent to change their own lives, content to lie back and lounge whilst gorging themselves.” Two cards now, SLOTH and GLUTTONY.  

The final card, the seventh sin, shining in black and gold lettering, began to form in the dark man’s hand. WRATH. “ When you desire something very much, physical or spiritually, and there is no other way to gain it...”

“No. Enough.”  Jehovah set down his coffee. “You assume that all people would do such a thing? Never! Those who have fallen under the spell of the sins are all because of you, and your doing!”

“Are you so sure of that?” The devil set down his coffee, his face suddenly deathly-serious. “You truly believe I am to blame for their flaws? Then it seems I must prove you wrong... once more.”

With a snap of his fingers, the scene around them changed to the past-- eleven years ago. They remained in their exact spots, yet the man felt a deep feeling of dread, and foreboding. He knew the year-- 2001. And he knew what was going to happen this very day. With a heavy feeling in his stomach, he looked down at the newspaper clutched in his hand.

The date read “September 11th, 2001”

Almost instantly, a chorus of screams rose from around them. People around them stopped what they were doing, their heads turning out of curiosity and fear. There was an agonizing moment of silence, as far above them, what looked like an ordinary plane suddenly swerved and crashed, head-first, into the tallest and most imposing gods of them all-- the Twin Towers.

 Destruction began to spread like a virus. Those who sat around the two men leapt to their feet, shouting and pointing as one of the Towers began to creak. Clouds of thick smoke began to pool out of it as it dangerously swerved, on the verge of collapse. There was chaos, the glorious chaos the devil always desired, chaos everywhere. Screaming, shouting, alarms sirens-- in a horrible, inhuman wail. And when the man thought he could take it no more... it was over.

With a wave of the dark man’s hand, they were transported back to the present. With a nonchalant sip of his coffee, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes shrewdly studying Jehovah from across the table. “Are you still willing to call me out on that? Are you willing to blame me for the events that transpired that day? It is true, I’m no saint. But it was not under my doing that those men chose to fly that plane into the towers.” He pointed an accusing finger across the table. “If you hadn’t made your people so flawed, so weak-willed, perhaps this world would have stayed a better place.”

_______________________________________________________

Jehovah was silent for a long, long time. Even after his enemy had bid adieu, leaving behind only his drained coffee cup, Jehovah had been lost in his thoughts. Perhaps it was true-- by creating humans, he had caused some of the most devastating accounts of chaos. Perhaps even he had succumbed to his own seven sins. He thought about wiping them about as he had long, long ago-- but with no Noah, and no ark. He could start over.

  A lone figure caught his eye, and he turned his head. A man not much older than him (at least in appearance) was passing down the street, dressed rather smartly and holding a briefcase in his hand. He had the air of a rich, important man.

As the figure started down the street, a shape moved in the darkness of the alleyway. A shabby-looking man stumbled out, dazed and drunken. His clothes looked completely soiled, white turned to brown after many years. The homeless man stretched out a hand and grasped the other man’s sleeve. His lips moved urgently, begging for something.

As Jehovah watched, the rich man held himself rigid. He looked very uncomfortable, but did not move away, and was starting to nod. He dug into his pocket, and after much shuffling, he pulled out a crisp dollar bill and placed it in the homeless man’s hand. Careful not to soil himself, he closed the homeless man’s hand, gave a brief nod, and departed.

The homeless man looked overjoyed at his ticket to what must have been his first meal in days. As he hobbled back off into the shadows, Jehovah stood, placing his coffee cup down by the table.

It had been a small act of kindness, but it had certainly stood out to him, Jehovah thought, strolling down the street with his white jacket flapping in the breeze. Lucifer had been wrong. It seemed he could give these humans just a little bit more time, as long as there were still pure ones. After all, there was still much more to come.