Sometimes the storyteller changes things..because he is the one telling the story.

Two men sit in the darkened corner of a bar. One of them glows with a serene sort of light, an airy benevolence, peaceful, calm. The other seethes with menace, almost as if he hates the very ground he walks on...and if you asked him, he would say such a thing. The near constant sneer he wears sways many who wish to ask that very question to leave him, save his companion. The dark one...he flicks his gaze to his other, and asks a simple question, dry, from a monotoned voice.
"Why do you do it? Why not just...give them all to me? It's not like your any better for it. I mean...we both know what you do to them."
That question hits his companion like a bucket of cold water. His peaceful atmosphere is shattered, replaced by one of hurt. He cocks his head to meat the menacing gaze, and shakes his head.
"Why do you always ask that? I made them, I love them, and they are mine, not yours. Something you have yet to learn."
His friend perks up at hearing that. His sneer becomes a smirk...he's waited a long time to hear that...they are mine? Yes...
Oh...they are yours, neh? They belong to you, so you don't want to share, is that it? Selfish...your selfish...you try so hard to keep them from me, even going so far as to convincing that bearded one to die for you, for you and for the world...out of, what was it? Love for these mouth breathers? Selfish..."
The air of hurt becomes one of wrath, suddenly, that dark corner in the bar is one place no one should be...he stands, silently, and leans forward, across the table.
"You presume to know it all, think you know my every foible, my every fault. I am faultless. You know this above everyone else. How can one so perfect as I be selfish? Answer me that."
With that, he sits himself again, arms crossed, typical teenager angst pose, huffing, hating being so worked up, but hating his image being so tarnished as well. His friend shakes his head and rebukes.
"Think about it, o perfect one. Everyday, more of them choose me over you, say you’re full of shit, that perfection is an arrogant term. You desperately cling to whomever stays with you, abusing them, and expecting them to return every time, like the cheerleader girlfriend, and you’re the football captain. But, even then, there are always break-ups. They don't love you anymore...and truth of the matter is, they never did."
He stands, and reaches in his pocket, pulling out a pair of wire framed sunglasses, odd apparel, considering the sun has long since set. He pushes them up his nose, and smirks, nodding to the jukebox, his song in mind, and makes for the door. His companion gasps, and slowly, slowly begins to weep...he knows the truth has been told, He reaches out for his leaving other, calling his name, pleading...he is ignored as his friend sings in the most angelic of voices, sings a song named after him, sings his praises...
"Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth, and taste..."

-- Zero_6ix (Zero_6ix@hotmail.com), July 21, 2002

Answers

*smiles slowly* Very insightful...Rather deep....And, for some reason, arousing...The image of Mestophilese and God sitting in a bar and talking...the Devil wins in the end....

-- Dawn (darkdeathanie@hotmail.com), July 21, 2002.

Because Im such a nice guy...
Please allow me to intorduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste
Ive been around for a long long year
Stole many man's soul and faith.
I was round when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain
Made damn sure that Pilate, washed his hands, and sealed his fate
Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name
But whats hussling you is the nature of my game
Stuck around St Petersburg, when i saw it was a time for a change
Killed the czar and his ministers
And staged a screen of aide
I rode a tank, held a general's rank
While the blitzkreig raged, and the bodies stank
Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name
But whats hussling you is the nature of my game
I watched with glee while your kings and queens
Fought pretender-cades, for the gods they made
I shouted out "Who killed the Kennedys?"
When after all, it was you and me
Let me please introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste
And I laid tracks for troubedores, who get killed before they reach Bombay
Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name
But whats hussling you is the nature of my game
Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name
But whats confusing you is the nature of my game
Just as every cop is a criminal, and all the sinners saints
To tell this tale, just call me Lucifer
Because Im in need of some restraint
So if you meet me, have some courtesy
Have some sympathy
And some taste
Keep all your well known politics, or Ill lay your soul to waste
Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name
But whats hussling you is the nature of my game
"Sympathy for the Devil", music and lyrics by M. Jagger

-- Zero_6ix (Zero_6ix@hotmail.com), July 21, 2002.