A dagger grin flashed from between crimson lips. He indicated to where the others couldn’t see right behind the sun catcher, to the summit of that blazing, reflected beam. The device, his device, burned heaven. An almost perfect match to his shed skin, the universe was no longer black but crimson.
Our so-called saviour laughed and pointed even shaking my hand like a long lost friend. His adulation knew no bounds, his behaviour, manic. He danced and pranced on cloven feet, then jigged about for hours. As those below were washed away, he grew euphoric.
“A second flood,” he hissed. “My flood,” he crooned. “At last. At last.”
The angels fell like cooked chickens thrown from a barbecue onto the devil’s plate. In great hissing piles, they landed in the flood drowning before their tormentor. He loved every moment.
The universe an inferno, the last to fall was God himself, his beard aflame, his hair ignited. And though I wept, and though I screamed, the rain kept coming and the devil had his revenge.