To Jews, Christians and Muslims, all one has to do is sincerely ask God for forgiveness and the one known as God, Yahweh, Allah and The Most High shall grant it. The entire world can't be wrong on something of that magnitude, can they? I wish I could believe that with time anything can be forgiven. Even something like me. I wish. Since I can't be sure of that, all I can do is try my best. I pray that it shall be good enough to bring me salvation but I can't be sure.
With that in mind, I ran my blade through a six-foot-tall, raven-haired, bronze-skinned and green-eyed young woman, piercing her heart. A silent scream, frozen on her lips, came out as a short, barely audible gasp. The accusatory look in her eyes shall haunt me until the end of my days, and beyond. I pulled the blade out of her, and her lifeless body collapsed on the floor. Shiny ebony wings unfurled from her back in death, wrapping themselves around the body like a shroud. Moments later it disintegrated. The succubus is dead at last.
I wiped my blade off, and walked through the smoking remnants of the Sal Al Din mosque in metropolitan Nabatieh, Lebanon. The powerful demon who's been haunting the dreams of local Muslim men, driving them to slaughter their friends and neighbors in sectarian violence is no more. As I carefully step through a floor covered with the smoking corpses of Shiite Muslims slaughtered by their Sunni brethren, I sigh deeply, feeling something akin to despair. I was too late to stop the sectarian massacre. Not that Jews, Christians and Muslims need any reason or encouragement to slaughter one another.
They do it with such dedication, from Lebanon to Egypt, from Nigeria to Pakistan, from Israel to Syria, that I honestly wonder if they've forgotten that all monotheists are the progeny of wise old Abraham, whom God favored above all men. Doesn't matter if you follow Moses, Jesus Christ or the prophet Mohammed. Abraham is father to all who believe in the One True God and it is quite unseemly for members of the same family to kill one another, by all standards of decency. Nevertheless, the people of the Book's hatred for one another knows no bounds.
The demon I killed today was once worshipped throughout the Middle East and parts of North Africa as Astarte, the goddess of sexuality, fertility and war. A very long time ago, she was known as Hagel, the Messenger Angel formerly attached to the retinue of the Archangel Gabriel. Hagel once served God faithfully, and then one day she listened to the seductive musings of the Morningstar and joined him in his rebellion against Heaven. For tens of thousands of years, Hagel wreaked havoc in the world of man. Tonight, she's dead by my hand.
Hagel is only the latest such Fallen Angel I found myself forced to destroy. I take no pleasure in dispatching my brothers and sisters in this manner. How I miss those days when we lived in Heaven together, basking in our Father's embrace. Things were so much simpler then, before the dark times. I willed myself out of the mosque, indeed, out of Lebanon altogether. I transported myself to the City of Toronto, Ontario. I've always been fond of Canada. A place where people of different races, religions and cultures live in harmony under the banner of democracy, equality and tolerance. It's the last good place on God's green Earth, I think. Every other place seems to be going to hell these days.
Still, all is not perfect here. As I willed myself to the front of my building, I get a funny look from a Caucasian couple walking nearby. I know what they see. A tall, bespectacled gentleman of African descent clad in a business suit entering a high-rise and decidedly pricy apartment complex. Even in a racially diverse place like Toronto, a man of my complexion still gets second looks from people. I've had some interesting experiences since I started using the avatar and moniker of Altar Benedict, thirty-something Black Canadian intellectual, contract instructor ( glorified teacher's assistant ) at the University of Toronto, crime fiction author and video game addict.
I finally enter my apartment, and crash on my bed. Contrarily to popular belief, those like myself can feel hunger and thirst, happiness and sadness, and yes, even lust. I feel tired after a day spent teaching the basics of Canadian criminology to bored-looking twenty-something types in my tutorial. As a contract instructor, I make twenty five dollars per hour. I teach ten classes a week, and they're about two hours long each. As you can imagine, I don't make much money. I get by alright, enough to pay for my eleven-hundred-dollar-a-month apartment near downtown Toronto. I like living in style, and I absolutely love tall buildings. Something about being close to the sky appeals to me.
I feel too tired to cook, so I order some Shawarma from the local Lebanese Canadian restaurant. I love their chicken and beef Shawarma plates, along with lots of hummus, tomatoes and pickles. I'm addicted to Lebanese food, man. Before that, it was Chinese food. About thirty minutes later, my phone rings. It's Khaled, the delivery guy. I head down the elevator and greet him at the door. The whole order costs twenty bucks. I give him a five-dollar tip because I'm a nice guy. Khaled and I make small talk for a minute, then I send him on his merry way. I go back upstairs and wolf down the whole meal in minutes. I feel stuffed, and happy. Just as about to doze off, I hear my phone ring. It's the one and only Bethlehem "Beth" Tilaye.
