Journal Entry #1
There have been many versions of evil through the ages, many tales and myths and legends explaining or expounding on just what, or who, stands in the place of antithesis to what is good or moral, to those things that are to be wished for and lived out.
I have inherited much of that.
Staring at the page, I have to wonder if this is really the best place to start. Will it give the wrong impression? I mean, people always tend to get the wrong imression in the end. Then again, that is sort of the point of it all, isn't it? The impression they get is the one they are supposed to get. It was in the job description and I knew it when I agreed.
Of course, agreement is maybe the wrong concept. If one is created for a particular purpose, shaped for it, is there really all that much room for choice and agreement?
Down from the ages many concets and ideas have come together to form the public idea of what I am.
Well crap. I knew this was starting out wrong. I should have started it somewhere else. I let out a sigh, staring down at the page, watching ink spread from the tip of my pen before recognizing what was happening, letting out a profanity before I lift my pen and glare down at the page that had previously been pristine and was now marred by a damp blue splotch.
Public perception, however, is not all there is. As so many throughout history would argue, public perception is so often incorrect when compared with personal conception. An identity is created, sometimes intentionally, sometimes through accident, and serves particular purposes. In my case, my persona if one can call it that was created over time intentionally. Not originally by me, I will have you know, but it was created for humans and I have continued to build this particular perception as part of my-
What would be the best word for this all? Job? Role? Position? Staring around myself at my tidy little room painted a tasteful light blue, a colour I find particularly restful, and have to chuckle slightly. Not the official office, that is for sure. Maybe it would be easier to think of what to call it all in the official office, but that would be no place to write this. Writing it at all could be viewed as a conflict of interest, but these days I have to admit my interests are diverging slightly from what they have been in the past. So what to call it.
I tap my pen on the paper, careful this time to avoid more splotches.
-part of my function.
Yes. Function is as good a term as any.
In order to fulfill my function it is necessary that the persona fit within particular parameters, leading humans to particular assumptions.
To be most clear, my function is to be the tester and the tempter. I am to be the embodiment of all that is evil, all that is counter to the best interests of society as a whole. I am immorality.
Does that sound pretentious? It does, a little, but what can I do? It is, in the end, true. Or at least true enough, depending on how far one is willing to bend truth.
So many names have been given to me, to this office, but three stand out most readily: Lucifer, Satan, the Devil.
I prefer Jackson, but nobody asked me. So I suppose Dev will do, for the sake of familiarity.
Staring down at the page, I consider. Is this really how I would like my story told? A beginning? Laughter, cynical and jaded, slips from between my lips. Who is going to read this? I am not allowed to publish it, so what does it matter how it starts? It i simply my chance to write, to express - at least in private - who I am, who I wish to be. My side of things.
I ready my pen again, wondering where to go next, when my cell phone rings. Drat. Staring at the display, with a sigh I cap the pen and close my journal, shoving it in a drawer before flipping open the cell.
It's the office. Back to work for now.