Foxtrot by Midnight

We look forward to the time when the Power of Love will replace the Love of Power. Then will our world know the blessings of peace.

William E. Gladstone


“…now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.”, I fervently concluded, my cheeks wet and salty.

I closed the pocket-prayer book, as the eerie cries of the fisher cat pierced through the vault-still silence of the trees, mimicking a maiden in the throes of death. Noctilucent clouds loomed over the moon ominously contrasting starkly with the sky, a tar black.

“Time for bed”, I shuddered under my breath.

As I lifted myself from the bedside that I knelt, it happened. The familiar tightening of the chest, that dreaded palpitations of the heart, and my knees buckled as my vision dotted black. Herculean arms swiftly found their way around my waist lifting me lightly to my feet.

“Take your iron tablets”, he whispered softly behind my ear.

“And also, do you miss me?”, I could almost feel him smirking behind.

That voice smooth and velvety like the richest of wines and yet so, so haughty! That haughtiness!

“Lucifer! Let me go!”, I protested as I spurned around to face him.

Clad in a flawless tuxedo of the darkest blue which looks blacker than black under the florescent lights, and a white crisp shirt underneath opened at the neck, he stood proudly. His left wrist was adorned with an exquisite watch and feet with classic round dress shoes of the finest leather. His hair was sleeked back, revealing a chiselled and smirking face. Beautiful but dangerous.

“We are on first names now?”, he quizzically enquired, his brows raised on an arch, amused.

“I mean Satan, fine.”

“I prefer Lucifer, been awhile since anyone has called me that so endearingly as you have, little lamb”, Satan or Lucifer chuckled as he took my hand in his and led me to sit down at the edge of my bed.

“You are a difficult one, aren’t you”, he snickered.

“Why? What have I done?”, I looked up, meeting Satan innocently in the eyes.

“Don’t look at me like! That’s worst that injuring me with the scriptures that you have been throwing at my person, all week!”, bellowed Satan, as he raked his hair in frustration. His countenance then turned weary as he picked up the prayer book abandoned by my bedside. He leafs through it, as though looking for something and halted upon the verse I meditated thoroughly that night.

1 Corinthians 13: 1-2

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.

“You certainly cannot believe this, can you!”, he roared disconcertingly.

“I do, with all my heart. Without love, we are nothing!”, I fearlessly professed as I placed a hand over my heart.

“All your heart?”, he leered once again, as he placed his hand over his bosom, his lips twitching. His jaw clenched; the rigid cords of his neck distinct as he took in my form from head to toe. Exhaling with a pfft sound, he grabs me up and held me tight to him. He snapped his fingers.

A Victrola appears and begins to play :

Call me irresponsible

Call me unreliable

Throw in undependable, too

Michael Bublé – Call Me Irresponsible

He led me to a gentle trot, with quick slow steps as he interlocked with my fingers. “What if I were to give you all the money in the world? Surely, wealth is more powerful that your whimsical love?”, breathed Satan down my neck.

“Money could buy you a bed, but not rest. It could buy you a book, but not knowledge. Money could buy you all the materialistic worldly pleasures but not peace. Money could buy you plenty of admirers and lovers but not love”, I declared breathlessly, as Satan, shortened our steps as the tempo increases.

“Oh, how very philosophical of you?”, he buoyantly grinned, “but you are a woman, surely, beauty is greatly coveted?”

He emphasized my womanliness by pressing me against his rock-solid chest. “What if I were to bestow upon you exceeding beauty the world has yet to see! Men will throw themselves at your feet and women will view you through green eyes! Surely, mankind will be more favourable to you, little lamb, more than your gullible love you have to offer!” coaxed Satan, as our steps took on the pace of “slow, quick, quick”.

The Victrola plays:

Do my foolish alibis bore you?

Well, I’m not too clever, I

I just adore you

Michael Bublé – Call Me Irresponsible

“If I have beauty but no love in my heart, I am nothing but a whitewashed tombstone, looking beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of rotting bones!”, I firmly held my ground. Satan swiftly released me a little from his person putting some space between us as his left leg crashed into the foot of the bed.

“Oh, a reference from Matthew 23:27-28? How original!”, mocked Satan, clearly annoyed that I used a scripture against him. Satan in an attempt to regain composure, proceeded to progress the dance into a weave, six quick steps in a row, all on the toes, distinct to a foxtrot.

The Victrola plays:

So, call me unpredictable

Tell me I’m impractical

Rainbows, I’m inclined to pursue

Michael Bublé – Call Me Irresponsible

“What if I were to give you world-wide fame, all will know your name and adore you! They will sing your praises; they will exalt your name on high and all will listen to you. Your face will be on every billboard, and every director begging you to be in their films! Come on, now little lamb, take a moment to think before you dismiss me so quick!”, the callous libertine persuaded, as he wraps with his finger, a tendril from one of my curls that has came loose.

“Real confidence and charisma are not having the world proclaim that you are great, but rather it is the quiet certainty that you possess that makes the world listen. Love listens, and makes the world listen. I rather have one loyal friend than hundreds that will leave when I am in need. Quality versus quantity, Lucifer ”, I countered serenely.

The devious rake knew he could dally no longer.

The Victrola concluded:

Go ahead call me irresponsible

Yes, I’m unreliable

But it’s undeniably true

I’m irresponsibly mad for you

Michael Bublé – Call Me Irresponsible

Satan’s dishevelled hair, disoriented look, and overall lassitude mark the aftereffects of defeat.

“Goodnight, little lamb, till next time”

“Oh, and the iron tablets are in your drawer”, he reminded pensively as he disappeared into the night sky.

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