Tough Times

by Chris Canning

The demon was tired.

It had been a long day. A long day of tempting humans to stray from their faith,

from their spouses, their friends and yes, even themselves.

The demon had been assigned to Earth over a thousand years ago and he was

tired. Not because there was so much to do these days but because there was really

nothing to do at all. He feared that his reason for existence was going the way of the

dodo. Lets face it he thought to himself, the humans practically do my job for me

now. And he was pretty much right.

How is a demon supposed to tempt someone away from their God when so much

of the population didn't even believe in Him anymore anyway? How do you lead

someone astray who has already happily walked away on their own? It seemed like

every person he had encountered this week had been an atheist. Just this afternoon he

had even encountered an old lady feeding ducks in the park and thought now here,

here is a sure thing. Old ladies never lose faith in God.

He had sat on the bench beside her and casually struck up a conversation. They

started talking about the state of the world, about war, about suffering and death. Even
the demon thought the conversation had taken quite a morbid turn. The demon was

positive that he had stumbled upon a sure thing. True she would be a tough nut to

crack as all old ladies were, but he was bored and needed the challenge. He could feel it

in what passed for his bones that deep down this poor old lady was just a hairs breath

away from renouncing God forever. The loss of her faith would torment her until the

end of her days and he could pat himself on the back for a job well done.

He causally turned the conversation onto the topic of God, knowing that now

was the perfect time to strike. He started by asking the age old question of 'if there is a

god how could he allow so much suffering...' and got a chuckle for his troubles.

“Oh please,” The old lady scoffed. “There is no god. God is dead.” She looked into

the demon's eyes and misread the surprise for sorrow.

“Oh, I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to offend you if you're a religious sort.” She

said kindly, patting him on the knee. “It's just that I learned a long time ago that there

is no god. People just made him up because they were afraid of death and the idea of

dying and going to heaven is a lot nicer than the idea of dying and rotting in the

ground.

“Me,” she continued, returning to the task of scattering her bread crumbs, “I'm

89 years old next month and lost my fear of death a long time ago. Sure, in my younger

years I was just as afraid of dying as everyone else but I got over it. These days death
even seems like something to look forward to. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not in any

hurry to pop myself off but it would be nice to give these old, arthritic bones a rest.”

Defeated, the demon bade farewell to the old woman. He contemplated killing

her to make himself feel better but decided against it. Instead he gave her herpes. Try

explaining that at the old folks home he thought to himself and smiled evilly as he

walked away.

It was now five in the afternoon and the demon needed a drink, badly. He made

his way down to Old McGinty's bar, the local dive he and his kind always seemed to

congregate. The angel was already there.

He sauntered up to the bar and sat on a stool beside the angel. He ordered a

beer.

“Another rough day?” The angel asked, taking a sip of his gin and tonic.

“You have no idea.” The demon answered, reaching for the beer the bartender

placed before him and taking a swing. “It's hell out there... pardon the pun.”

“Times are tough all round.” The angel agreed. “There used to be a time when all

it took to get people into church was to show them a cheese sandwich with the face of

the Virgin Mary on it. These days I could probably spread my wings in the middle of
rush hour traffic declaring that 'The End is Nigh!' and all I would get for my troubles

would be a bunch of angry drivers honking their horns and shouting for me to get off

the fucking road.”

“You think you have it bad?” The demon scoffed while taking another swig. “I'm

just so fucking bored. I mean really, how am I supposed to tempt people into sin when

they just jump right into it willy-nilly without even giving it a second thought? There

used to be a time when temptation required a certain degree of finesse, a type of style,

ya know? Used to be a time when a guy would never even think of cheating on his wife,

not until I started whispering in his ear of course. It might have taken a few months of

subtle hints and innuendos and a few wet dreams about his secretary but eventually

he'd crack and I knew it was a job well done. These days all it takes is a 'Hey nice shoes,

wanna fuck?' and all matrimonial vows are forgotten. Fuck, there are even websites on

the internet for married people to hook up and cheat.” The demon sighed wistfully. “I

miss the good old days.”

“You and me both.” The angel agreed.

They sat there in silence, the two of them. They had been coming to Old

McGinty's bar for over fifty years now. It was located in the seedier side of the city, a

one stop shopping ground for sin and debauchery. The angels liked it here because

there had always been so many people looking for absolution at the bottom of a beer

glass. Lost souls just looking for a kind ear and a forgiving smile. People looking for
their way back to God who just needed a little push in His direction.

The demons liked it here because you didn't have to look far to find someone

teetering on the edge. So many people gathered at McGinty's who just needed that one

little push, that one little nudge toward oblivion. It was also a great place to buy souls.

It always amazed the demon how eager some people were to sell their souls when they

were drunk off their ass. “I'd sell my soul for a shag.” Someone would say and poof,

that person ended up with the fuck of a lifetime and all it cost was their immortal soul.

Never mind the fact that more often than not by the next morning the person

never remembered actually selling their souls and if they did remember they had

probably been joking about it anyway. Unfortunately, unlike most legal contracts a

deal with the devil (or one of his associates) does not actually require someone to be of

'sound mind and body'.

It was next to impossible to buy a soul these days. People don't bother trying to

sell something they don't even believe they have. The demon had even tried to out and

out buy the soul of a homeless man once. Went right up to the man and said “I bet you

would sell your soul for a warm bed and a hot meal.”

The homeless man just laughed. “Mister, if I believed I had a soul to sell do you

think I'd still be living in a cardboard box?”

 Yes, a human soul had become a rare and valuable commodity over the last

couple of decades.

It had just turned a quarter past nine and by this time the demon was already on

his fifteenth beer, not that he was drunk or anything. It takes a lot more than fifteen

beers to intoxicate a demon but he did find that he liked the taste. He also enjoyed

having an excuse to act like an oaf around the humans and he had discovered some

time ago that if he switched to whiskey half way through the night he actually managed

to achieve a rather small, short lived buzz.

Some may wonder what would be the point of drinking for an entire night just to

experience a buzz that only lasted at most five minutes but really, what else was the

demon supposed to do with his time?

The demon slowly rose from his stool and stretched. “Well,” he slurred, quite

intentionally “gotta go drain the lizard.” He then proceeded to slip a hand down the

front of his pants and pulled out what for all intents and purposes looked like a

chameleon but was in reality a lesser demon that the demon liked to carry around as a

pet.

“I really wish you wouldn't pull that thing out in public.” The angel sighed. “It's

rather disconcerting.”
 “What, little Yahweh here?” The demon asked, coddling the lesser demon. “He's

harmless he is. Just tends to take a piss in my coat if I don't take him to the toilet every

once in a while.”

“That's sacrilegious, you know.” The angel warned.

“What, calling him little Yahweh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you may have noticed that I happen to be a demon, everything I do is

sacrilegious. It's part of the job.” The demon laughed and headed towards the gents

toilets, lesser demon under one arm.

If forced, the angel would have to admit that he rather likes the demon. True, he

wasn't one to make friendly with the enemy and less than a hundred years ago the two

of them had been bitter rivals but as the demon had stated, things just weren't the

same anymore.

The humans had managed to take the whole 'free will' thing and kick it up a

notch. They did what they wanted, when they wanted and damned the consequences.

The modern human just wasn't all that thrilled about being told what they could and

could not do by an invisible man living in the sky that no one had actually ever seen.
The angel had personally blamed George Carlin and his atheistic rantings for that one.

The fact that George Carlin was now dead and had somehow made it past the pearly

gates had rather annoyed the angel but even he had to admit (if not rather reluctantly)

that old George had been a pretty decent guy... for an atheist anyway.

The demon had been taking his sweet time in the gents, more than likely having

snuck out back for a cigarette. He was a rude, lazy, angry, foul creature the demon was

but at least he was good for a laugh. It was also nice to be able to sit and have a drink

with someone and moan about just how good the good old days were. All of a sudden a

flash of impish glee swept across the angel's face.

Looking towards the gents to make sure the demon wasn't returning yet he

smiled upon confirming that the coast was clear. He then nonchalantly raised a hand

over the demon's beer and silently mouthed the words:

“Exorcizo te, creatura aquæ, in nomine Dei Patris omnipotentis, et in nomine

Jesu Christi, Filii ejus Domini nostri, et in virtute Spiritus Sancti: ut fias aqua

exorcizata ad effugandam omnem potestatem inimici, et ipsum inimicum eradicare et

explantare valeas cum angelis suis apostaticis, per virtutem ejusdem Domini nostri

Jesu Christ: qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos et sæculum per ignem.”

He could see the demon coming back towards the bar from the corner of his eye

and hastily finished by making the sign of the cross and whispering “In the Name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen” He then cleared his throat,

relaxed his shoulders and waited for the demon to take his seat.

“Miss me?” The demon asked, causally sitting back on his stool.

“Immensely.” The angel sighed sarcastically, rolling his eyes (while inwardly

using all his power to keep from cracking a smile.)

“I knew you would.” The demon laughed, slapping the angel on the back

obnoxiously . The demon then grabbed his glass and took a deep swig, downing the

rest of his beer.

Almost immediately the glass slipped from the demon's grasp, smashing into a

million tiny pieces. Puffs of grey smoke began to flow from every orifice of the demon's

humanoid body as he began to choke and claw at his throat in panic. Unholy wails

escaped from clenched teeth as the demon fell from his stool and began to writhe in

agony and terror on the filthy barroom floor. The smell of fire and brimstone filled the

air.

Most of the patrons at McGinty's are old timers who have learned a long time

ago to expect anything and be surprised by nothing so the sight of a demon writhing in

agony on the sticky peanut shell covered floor barely managed to raise an eyebrow. A

few “would ya look at that”'s could be heard from some of the tables but for the most
part no one really took any notice.

Finally after what seemed like ages, especially to the demon, the pain slowly

began to subside. The demon agonizingly raised himself onto his stool and glared

menacingly at the angel who by this time was lost in a fit of hysterics.

“You're a real bastard, you know that right?” The demon growled under his non-

breath.

“Aye, so I've been told.” The angel answered, having managed to slow his

laughing fit down to a stream of sporadic giggles. “Same again?” He asked, waving

down the bartender.

“Cheers.” The demon groaned as he waited for the bartender to pour him

another beer.

FIN