- by Quartz

Let me make one thing perfectly clear from the beginning. I don't like this job. Not in the least. I fuckin' hate it. But what can you do? Somebody's gotta do it, or everything goes to hell. So, shit. Nuts. The guy's tryin' to get up now. I really hoped he'd just stay down already, but he wants to get out of here. Not that I blame him. I guess I would too. I give him another whack with the crowbar, knock him back to the ground. Maybe now he'll stay down and I can go home. Poor kid. Wrong place, wrong time, y'know. I hate beatin' the crap outta gays. I mean shit, ain't they already got it tough enough? Last thing they need is me with a crowbar comin' around. But I guess that's the point. It's more poignant this way, 'cause different is evil, right? That's human nature. Not that human nature really applies to me. I know it's all just bullshit rationalization, but it's at least it's some way to make sense outta what I gotta do, namely, beat the crap outta people. I like to pick on minorities mostly, blacks, gays, Jews. Oh, don't get me wrong. It's not like I'm a bigot or nuthin'. It's just that it's a lot easier to provoke some kinda outrage by beatin' up on minorities, and that thought's the only thing that keeps me going. Like I say, I'm no bigot. Blacks, I mean, hell, they ain't done nuthin' wrong. They're just born with dark skin. My real skin is bright red, covered with warts and oozing pustules and horns and shit. People freak out at black skin; just imagine what they'd do to me. Thought of endin' up on the other side of this crowbar really gives me the willies, y'know? I fuckin' hate this job. I hate all this shit. The brute violence, I mean. I'm not a violent guy, not like some demons I know. Some of those sickos really get off on this shit. I can do it when I have to, sure, but all things being equal, I'd rather be playin' Scrabble? Aw, fuck, here it comes. The bit where he begs for his life. "Please," he rasps, "Please, oh please." Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hate this shit. I hate this job. I think I'm gonna be sick. I lean down next to him. "Look, I'm sorry, kid," I tell him, and I really am. "At least it's for a greater good though, y'unnerstand?" He shakes his head, his eyes wild. He doesn't understand. Shoulda known. They never understand, and it ain't like there's much point in explaining it to them. Does knowin' that you're gettin' beaten to death with a crowbar for a cause really make that much of a difference to you? Fuck, no. Nobody wants to be a martyr. Better just get it over with quick for this kid. One more well placed whack, right on the back of the neck, and he's gone. I feel like shit. I need a drink. I leave the crowbar and head to the bar around the corner, and I'm askin' myself for the millionth time what the fuck I think I'm doin'. So I tell myself what I always tell myself: I'm makin' a difference. People never do anything about any of the shit they bring on themselves unless there's some sort of outrage that gets 'em up off their collective ass to fix it. Pure and simple. I make outrage, things get fixed. I beat the crap outta people for the good of humanity. You believe that shit? Well, I believe it, 'cause it's the only way I can fuckin' get myself up in the morning. I been at this for thousands of years now, I know some of the guys been' at it since the god damned Garden, right? Tellin' myself that what I hafta do makes a difference for the better is the only thing that keeps me going. I mean, I'm a fuckin' demon. Chaos, mayhem, violence-- that's what I live for. That's what I was made to do. Believe me, I'd give it up if I could, but that just ain't in the cards. So, I rationalize. And I chose my jobs carefully. I ain't into that random violence stuff. If it ain't likely to provoke some kinda outrage, I want nuthin' to do with it. I never told this shit to anyone. I mean, ya say it aloud god damn, it sounds stupid. "I beat the crap outta people for the good of humanity". If any of the guys knew how I felt, well, I might just find myself on the other end of that crowbar. And if the boss ever knew I was thinkin' this way, well, I'd be findin' myself on the receiving end of a whole shitload of whoop ass. The boss hasn't got much tolerance for the "greater good" shit. He ain't really got much tolerance for anything. I hear the sirens go past the bar. They've found the kid, poor guy. Tomorrow it'll be all over the papers, "Gay Youth Savagely Beaten in Downtown St. Louis". The outrage'll start, the protests'll start. Somebody'll push the bar one step further towards rightin' the fuckin' wrongs. There's my contribution to society for the day. Small comfort it'll make to that kid, I guess. Too bad there ain't some way I could do good without doin' evil. But I'm a goddamn demon. I should count my blessings I can do any good at all. Lotsa folk do less with the more they got goin' for 'em. I wish I could yap at the bartender about all this shit. Get it off my chest, air it out in the open. Hell, ain't that what he's there for? But he wouldn't understand. And it's against the fuckin' rules. If I told him, I'd probably have to kill him, and fuck, y'know? Guy next to me is whinin' 'cause his wife ain't doin' it for him. Bastard thinks he's got problems? He doesn't know what problems are. Sometimes I wonder if it isn't just all a bunch of crap. This whole "morality" thing. It's not like the other side's does any good. God damn angels, if you'll pardon my fucking French. They keep tryin' to fix shit for people. What's the point of that? What kinda lessons are people gonna learn if some power from above, or below, for that matter, comes around and fixes all their problems for them? They're gonna learn squat, that's what they're gonna learn. Nothin' changes if people don't fix it for themselves. Which leaves me back at square one. I'm evil, but at least I'm workin' for the greater good. Man, I ain't seen logic that tortured since the fuckin' Inquisition. But, on a basic level, deep down inside, it's not completely untrue. Like they say, complacency breeds more of the same, right? Outrage, it's a hell of a motivator, and if demons are good at anything it's provoking people. So yeah. Yeah. Sounds good on paper, but I mean, I'm getting' sick of even my own ridiculous rationalization. When push comes to shove, I'm still a royal asshole. I'm still makin' people's lives miserable. I'm doin' the dirty work. I'm the bad guy, I'm beatin' the shit out of people what ain't done nuthin' to me. I'm the one holding the fuckin' crowbar, y'know what I'm sayin'? Shit. Now I'm losin' it again. I'm tellin' ya, I gotta get outta this line of work. It's drivin' me batty. I been thinking about a vocational change. There's a video store down the street. Maybe, they're looking for help. Christ, I'd even wait fuckin' tables. Ah, who am I kidding? I'm a demon, it's in the blood. Ain't nuthin' I can do about my nature, any more than I can do anything about all those oozing pustules on my skin. Just gotta learn to live with it and keep tellin' myself that I really am makin' a difference. Ends justifyin' the means, right? Yeah. Right. The thing that gets me down most though, is that it feels like it never fuckin' ends. You fix one problem, another dozen crop up. It's all the same shit, just a different day. Makes you feel like a fuckin' Don Quixote. I been down this road before, though. Y'just can't think about it, or it'll drive ya mad, y'know. Ya just gotta have faith that some day people will get their act together. It's the only thought that keeps ya going. So, what else is there around here for me to do? There's a cop in the corner, askin' questions 'bout the kid in the alley. They ain't gonna pin it on me, but I bet I could pin it on him. Yeah, that'd be good. Nuthin' gets people in a huff of outrage like a good case of police brutality, 'specially in the placid Midwest. At the very least it'll get him arrested, mostly likely convicted, probably executed. Hate crimes ain't too popular these days. There could be a ton of progressive legislation just waitin' on this one. And gettin' an innocent cop executed, well, that's some good, old fashioned demon mayhem for ya. Poor son of a bitch cop. He's just tryin' to do his job. He don't deserve this shit. But every little bit of outrage'll help, right? Yeah, whatever. I fuckin' hate this job.