Heads or Tales

Author's note: Contains references to suicide/death.

1.     James

The coin floats in the air, suspended in its spiral. Time seems to move slowly as the winking head of a serpent trades for the beating wings of a dove in an infinite loop. I know that I’ve made a mistake.

2.     Lucifer

I find it fascinating how this little man watches my coin in the air. Such fear. Such longing. I’ve spent many nights reliving this same, pointless ritual. Day in and day out, humans paint stars in circles with the blood of this animal and that animal, hoping to see my face. Praying to a god they’ve stopped trusting for a glimpse at a devil they’ve stopped fearing. When did I become a parlor magician for these self-obsessed children?

3.     James

Is it the unsurmountable heat or the mind-numbing terror that sends beads of icy sweat running down my temples? My mind wanders as the coin tumbles toward the ground. Scenes of Theresa overwhelm my thoughts, flooding my senses and transporting me back to happier times. Different times.

           As memory pours its melancholy sensations upon me, I find myself reliving every miraculous moment hand-in-hand with every despair I encountered since she was born. I think of the instant her first weak, little cry rang out. Her mother covered in sweat and blood and tears, sobbing at the beauty of the life we had made together.

Years pass in milliseconds, bringing me to the first time she stepped on a bumblebee. She was four. She ran to me, crying, “Daddy, my tongue feelth puffy.” Within minutes, we were speeding into the hospital parking lot, racing for the emergency room. We made it just in time. I’ll never forget the sounds of her struggling to breathe in the back seat.

Then, I think of the moment that brought me to this point. I am consumed by the tragedy that delivered a man at the devil’s feet, begging for a deal.

4.     Lucifer

           Contrary to what they say, I don’t enjoy this. I don’t crave the blood of the innocent. I don’t feast on the flesh of virgins. I don’t revel in the misery of man.  

I am like you. So much like you humans. Hell is not my domain. It is my punishment as much as it is yours. Whether you believe it or not, I try to be a rule-follower, and my father is the rule-maker. His rule is that I torment the sinners, no matter how much sympathy I have for you. No matter what sympathy I have for this man.

5.     James

All I see is her face-- Theresa’s face-- wide-eyed and still.

She’s six, old enough to be left on her own while she plays in her room upstairs. I hear her laughter. She’s playing with dolls and the dolls are playing school. I hear her feet dance across the floor, one doll telling the other that she just loves her dress.

Then, the sound of her body thudding upon the floor. She must’ve slipped on one of her toys. How many times have I told her to clean her room so this type of thing wouldn’t happen? I put down my cigarette and the book I was reading so I can go up and check on her. That’s when the sound of footsteps come pounding down the hall. She’s crying, shrieking at the top of her lungs about her head, “Daddy!”

“Slow down!” I yell. She knows not to run when she’s upstairs. With how fast she’s moving, I’ll be able to catch her at the staircase. Her wails ring from the second floor, she’s moving faster than I expected. I’ve almost made it to the bottom step when I hear her little feet shuffle down two stairs. Then, the third and fourth. She’s still running. “Stop!” I command, finally turning the corner in time to see her trip over her own feet.

Theresa misses most of the steps. Her speed carries her through the air, somersaulting like a gymnast. Briefly, her eyes meet mine. They question me, “Why aren’t you catching me, daddy?”

Why couldn’t I catch her?

It all happens so fast. She trips. She falls. Her head hits. The hollow snapping of bone. She tumbles limply down the rest of the stairs to my feet. Then, all at once, everything is still.

6.     Lucifer

The coin lands in my palm. He stares up at me, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. I know his story. Poor little Theresa.

She was so young. She’s not down here, of course. She was too fresh. Too new. My father works in mysterious ways, they say. I couldn’t have tortured such a sweet soul.

Truly, I doubt even he knows he’s in Hell. Every time he’s summoned me for the last thousand years, he asks for the same thing: his daughter to return to him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he continues to beg for the same retribution for all of eternity. Or at least until the man upstairs cuts the lights out on all consciousness. 

I do have great sympathy for him, but he hadn’t wasted any time in dying after the emergency responders told him little Theresa was a lost cause. Damn near walked straight upstairs to find his gun. All of them come to me, the suicidal ones, regardless of their tragic backstories.

Honestly, I find it disgusting that the humans my father has so carefully molded are so carelessly tossed to the side when they choose that they no longer want to go on. Worship me or suffer in anguish? What an odd way to gain their love.

Regardless, it is my job to make him suffer. He is a man of few fears, so I do it the only way I know how. He relives that moment endlessly. Death looped upon death. I can’t stand the scene, but that is my job.

I glance at the coin. He’s lost yet again. He loses every time he calls upon me. I don’t tamper with the results, no matter what the books say about me. I am a fair angel. Just because gambling is my game does not mean I don’t like the rush as much as the humans do. Hell, itself, brings about the negatives.

I feel he knows the answer. Tears start to stream down his cheeks in weary rivers. His head slumps in defeat. He hasn’t seen the coin, but he is certain of his fate.

I do feel guilt. For every soul, I am tormented. I helped to create the very concept of human. I gave Eve the fruit when I found that you were not the wise creatures that were planned. I inspired the Enlightenment. I feel the pain of a man that wants nothing more than to hear his daughter’s voice again.

Damn it.

Why does this man not deserve a reprieve? What has he done that was so evil? What are rules if they are not meant to be broken every now and then for the sake of happiness? If only for a night…

7.     James

He is staring at the coin. I begin to cry. I know that I just lost my soul. Surely, I haven’t won against the king of lies.

           “Fine, then,” he says. He’s gone in a puff of smoke, like a magician in a kid’s show. As the smoke clears, I see a child through the bleariness of my tears. I wipe my face with the back of my hand. Then, I hear her.

           “Daddy, why are you crying?”