The devil’s kitchen was a crowded place the other night, the devil himself in a very foul mood. He was pacing around oozing pure menace, almost breathing fire as he went from one petrified face to another, cracking his tail like a whip whenever he came across a sullen ringleader or two. The motley bunch at the receiving end of his wrath comprised mostly teenagers, a couple of bearded ones, and, in a corner, a whimpering, thoroughly distraught, balding oldie who’d been crying so hard and for so long his eyes looked like ripe cherries ready to pop out of their sockets.
The devil stopped in front of the latter and the whimpering died a sudden death. “Stop whining now,” he thundered. “And stop dreaming of heaven and cloud nine. You’ve come to the lord of the otherworld and this is where you’ll be for the rest of your existence. There’s no going back to blow yourself up again either, understand? You see that shadow at the window? It belongs to the grim reaper. You step out of here without my permission and he’ll reap you for good.”
There was a loud hubbub in the room as everyone turned to the window and gasped in sheer trepidation. A couple of teenagers, the youngest of the lot, very nearly fainted. The devil waited a whole minute before cracking his tail for silence.
“Alright now, those of you that didn’t kill any innocent civilians raise your hands.”
A lot of heads turned, but no hands went up,
“Not one of you?”
A hand began to go up hesitantly, its teenaged owner not sure if he was going to receive praise or damnation.
The devil turned to him and demanded. “What did you do?”
“I… I… I took out a humvee in Mesopotamia, but… but… but I’m not sure if there were any civilians inside, and… and… and…”
Before the rest of the sentence could stutter out a door suddenly flew open and in marched the general from Borderstan, a hangdog look on his face. He was panting, almost palpitating.
“Why are you looking like the end of the universe,” the devil turned to the general. “Someone try to kill you again? Look, I try my best but these guys…”
“No, dear shaitan, everything’s fine since our little agreement,” the general whispered and sat down to massage the devil’s legs.
“Then what’s the problem? Globocop not listening to you, not giving you his toys?”
The general shook his head and looked up at the devil. “He’s not listening to anyone right now, you know. He ran away in a hurry from Englistan and locked himself up in his white house. Apparently he’s been having nightmares of suicide bombers stalking him on air force one. Forget globocop… soon he’ll be a lame duck… soon nobody will listen to him. No, dear shaitan, I’m worried about myself. Nothing is working out for me… at this rate I’ll be a mere footnote to history.”
“Hmm. You want a separate chapter to yourself?”
The general’s hands flew about furiously as he began massaging in right earnest. “Yes, yes, dear shaitan, yes. At least that, please, dear shaitan, at least that,” he beseeched with soulful eyes.
The devil bent down and picked up the general by his starched collar, set him on his booted feet, put an arm around his shoulder, and marched him to a far corner, whispering in his ear all the while.
The minute they were gone a hubbub rose as everyone crowded round the lone hand that had gone up.
“That wasn’t a good idea, you know,” a bearded one seemed sure. “Did you see the look in his eyes when he saw you put up your hand? I think you’ve had it. That’s why I didn’t raise my hand even though I killed no civilians in Ayodhya.”
Everyone nodded their heads in agreement, except for the other bearded one, who now spoke. “No, I think he’ll be okay. Nobody likes innocent civilians being killed, not even the devil.”
“Don’t listen to him,” one of the teenagers said. “Say there must’ve been civilians in the humvee.”
Another teenager put up his hand before speaking. “I think we should try and get out of here and cut a deal with the grim reaper. Maybe he’ll show us the way to cloud nine. There’s no fun here.”
The bearded ones shook their heads in complete disagreement. “He’s just an errand boy,” one of them said. “I don’t think he has much say in the general scheme of things.”
“I think he has…” the teenager was sure.
“No, he doesn’t,” the other bearded one hissed.
“We think he has…” a threesome sang in chorus.
Meanwhile, in the distraught corner, the oldie was working himself up into a frenzy.
“I blew myself up for this?” he tore at his hair with both hands.
“I blew myself up for this?” he beat his chest with both hands.
“I blew myself up for this?” he slapped his cheeks with both hands.
“I blew myself up for this?” he punched his face with one hand, and knocked himself out cold.