Iblis on Vacation
The low, rhythmic thrum of the cruise liner’s engines vibrated through the deck floorboards, but it did nothing to soothe the tremor in Arthur’s soul. A parish priest of over twenty-five years, he had spent two decades delivering eulogies, sitting by hospice beds, and attempting to explain the unexplainable to shattered parents. His congregation believed he was on sabbatical for rest, but in truth, he had fled. Standing alone near the stern of the upper deck, he stared into the vast, pitch-black Atlantic, feeling completely hollowed out by the sheer volume of human agony he had been forced to shepherd.
“A bit brisk for late-night contemplation, wouldn’t you say?” a smooth voice drifted over from the shadows.
Arthur turned to see a sharply dressed man leaning against the polished teak railing. He wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, casually swirling a tumbler of dark bourbon over ice. He looked entirely unbothered by the damp ocean air, possessing an aura of quiet, undisturbed leisure.
“Just needed fresh air,” Arthur replied softly, pulling his wool coat tighter against the wind. “Hard to quiet the mind when the world feels so heavy.”
“Ah, the burden of human awareness,” the man chuckled, stepping into the dim warm glow of a deck lamp. “So much suffering, so much cruelty. It makes one wonder about the architecture of it all.”
“It’s the work of the devil,” Arthur said, the familiar theological reflex tumbling out, though his voice lacked conviction. He gripped the wet railing, his knuckles turning white. “He creeps into every flaw in our morality, corrupting what should be good, feeding off our worst impulses.”
The stranger took a slow, thoughtful sip of his drink, gazing out into the dark horizon. “That’s the standard narrative, isn’t it? But that’s not true. All you see is evil because that is precisely what the powers that be want you to see.”
Arthur frowned, his pastoral instincts bristling against the subtle heresy. “If God is omnipotent, if He truly loves His creation, why wouldn’t He simply vanquish the devil and evil? Why let it linger when a single word could end it forever?”
The man turned toward Arthur, a subtle, deeply amused glint flickering in his dark eyes. “Who do you think the devil actually works for?”
“Pardon?” Arthur stepped back, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the ocean breeze.
“Think about it rationally, Reverend,” the man continued, his tone calm, persuasive, almost reasonable. “Look at the historical record. Who drowned the entire planet because humanity didn’t join the program? Who sent plagues and smote the Israelites in the desert every time they decided to do things their own way? And who gets blamed in the end?”
The stranger leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a smooth, devastating rhythm. “He gives humans free will, but the moment they actually try using it, He throws a fit. And when humanity needs to be punished, somebody has to do the dirty work.”
The words hung in the sea breeze like a suffocating fog. Arthur stared at the stranger, paralyzed by the quiet authority in the man’s voice. It wasn’t just blasphemy; it felt dangerously, terrifyingly coherent, striking directly at the bruised core of his struggling faith.
“I’ve heard enough,” Arthur rasped, his throat tight. He turned sharply and marched toward the warmth and bright chandeliers of the interior promenade, wanting desperately to put distance between himself and that terrible conversation.
The stranger watched the priest’s coat tails disappear behind the heavy glass doors. He swirled the amber liquid in his crystal glass, listening to the ice clink softly, and took a long, indulgent breath of the night air.
He smiled, taking a slow sip. After thousands of years of doing management’s dirty work, even the Devil needed a holiday.
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