“Who are you?”
“My name is Agos. I am a demon.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to repent.”
“You are a demon. How does a demon repent?”
“I have committed great sins.”
“Of course.”
“I need absolution.”
“I’m not sure that I am able to give it to you.”
“Then you are useless to me.”
“Wait, what . . . what are you doing? Wait!!!”
The demon named Agos walked out of the church and looked around remorsefully. The priest was dead. There was blood splattered all over the confession booth. It was a mess. One of the congregation would discover the body sooner or later, and someone would have to clean it all up. Agos walked away shaking his head slowly, feeling sad and despondent.
The next morning, he visited the farmers market. It was busy here during the summer, with mothers pulling their unwilling children along, live music, farmers selling their produce, and a whole host of other vendors offering their wares. There was also ice cream and hot dogs to be had, and street performers doing dances or small magic shows. It was a lively atmosphere, all in all.
Agos wandered from stall to stall, still feeling depressed. He felt alone, misunderstood, and hopeless.
“Hey, mister!” It was a little boy, maybe seven years old. Agos looked down at the child, who had wandered away from his mother and was now standing in front of him, staring up at him unabashedly.
“Um, yes?” replied Agos a little awkwardly.
“Can you spare a dollar? My Mom says I can have an ice cream if I earn the money for it.”
“This is not called earning. This is called begging.” Agos was bemused.
“Well, she doesn’t need to know that.”
Little boys. So devious. Agos smirked. He could do much with this one.
“Is that all you want? Ice cream?”
The boy thought for a moment, and then replied, “Yeah, just the ice cream.”
Agos did not have anything in his pockets. He pulled the boy’s hand into his and made a motion of handing him money. A crisp dollar bill materialized in the boy’s hand.
“Thank you, mister!” The boy was delighted, and ran back to his mother with the money.
Agos turned back to perusing the stalls, feeling even more depressed than before. These humans, they had such inherent evil built into them. And even they could be saved. So why not him?
“It’s unfair,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “It’s so unfair.”
Later in the day, he attended a lecture series at the university that focused on quantum mechanics and the nature of reality. He yawned through most of the talk, but found some parts interesting and listened to those attentively. Learning was always fun.
He wasn’t sure how much time he had left in this realm, but he had become disillusioned with his existence. His demonizing was not giving him nearly the fulfillment that he had hoped for. He felt that he should change his profession. But he was not sure what else to do.
“It’s kind of like an identity crisis, I guess,” he said, sitting on the couch while the psychiatrist took notes. “I mean, I just feel that this is not my real purpose in life.”
“What would you say is your real purpose in life?”
“Well, I mean, I know I was put on this Earth to demonize, but it’s just not fulfilling me anymore, you know? And more than that, I actually feel bad afterward. Every time. Like, guilty. That’s not supposed to happen, is it? I’ve never heard of any other demons feeling guilt.”
The psychiatrist shrugged.
“I should feel good about what I do. I should feel happy performing work that fulfills me. This is not fulfilling. This demonizing, it’s not what I really need to be doing right now.”
“What do you want to do with your life?”
“I’m not sure, maybe I could try real estate? I’ve always loved working with people. Usually they end up dead, though. But that’s exactly what I’m talking about, see? I need a clean break, I need to close that chapter of my life and move on. I think I need forgiveness. I tried to confess my sins and get absolution.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, it didn’t go exactly as planned.”
“So what will you do now?”
Agos thought for a moment. “I need to find myself, discover my purpose. I saw this advertisement about those New Wings seminars. Have you heard about them?”
“No, I can’t say that I have.”
“They have a week-long retreat in California. It’s all about finding and fulfilling your purpose in life. I heard that they really get people to look within and find themselves. And they have a lot of rave reviews. It seems like something I need.”
“Are you going to attend this seminar?”
“You know, I think I should. Thank you for your help!”
Agos attended the week-long retreat in California, fully and completely immersing himself in the exercises and lectures. He nodded vigorously in agreement when the facilitator was talking about overcoming Daddy issues. He laughed, he cried, he hugged people. He found himself anew. As he walked out of the seminar hall on the last day, he felt like a new person.
His new life was going to be on the coast, where he wanted to retire and paint. One of the insights he had gained in the seminar was that he loved to paint. So he decided to make paintings. He spent entire nights in front of the canvas, trying to get just the right nuance of the brush-stroke. It was very frustrating. And the worst part was the subject matter of his paintings. He invariably found himself painting horrific scenes of death and dismemberment. He was shocked at the content of his own paintings. He telephoned his therapist, who said that it might be residual memories and thoughts from his past occupation. It was good, the therapist said, to express himself in this way because it was getting the energy out without hurting anyone. Keep painting and eventually they will stop.
So Agos kept painting. And the content of his work did change. But not in the way that he had hoped or expected. It grew darker and more violent. It was more extreme, more terrifying, and more sinister than before. It felt like there was a deep yearning, a trapped desire that was struggling to express itself. One evening, Agos surveyed all of his paintings and was truly frightened by what he saw.
“I don’t want to be responsible for all this!” he cried.
The psychiatrist was understanding.
“It might be that these are repressed memories,” he suggested. “You shouldn’t ignore them.”
“But I don’t want to do this anymore!” Agos groaned. “I needed a clean break. I wanted to do something else with my life.”
“Sometimes we have to play the hand that is dealt us,” said the psychiatrist, in his matter-of-fact tone.
Agos nodded. “Yes, so it is,” he said unhappily, and then left the psychiatrist’s office for the final time.
He had tried everything to leave his old life behind him, but it was of no avail. He could keep living in his coastal home, quietly painting scenes of terror and misery, or he could embrace what he was, and go back into the world as the demon he was created to be.
Resigning himself to his fate, he returned to the major city and began his vocation anew. The first place he visited was an upscale restaurant. He walked in and selected a table where a group of people were seated. He had a few choice words with them before beginning his carnage. There would be so many eyewitnesses, but that would only work in his favor, increasing the panic and paranoia in the city. He knew that he would not be caught by the police. His supernatural powers always worked to his advantage to avoid capture.
As he walked out of the restaurant, his hands dripping with blood, drenched up to his elbows, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. A deep yearning inside had been fulfilled, and he felt calm, content, at peace. Even as he walked through the throng of people screaming hysterically, he smiled to himself happily.