He’s not the devil, but that’s what I call him. We’ve been battling in my sleeping subconscious for as long as I can remember. He’s just an asshole who embodies evil. He chased me through mazes when I was young. But then I learned how to fly and I rendered his mazes obsolete. My powers have matured, but his haven’t. His only option has been to become trickier… and trickier he has become.

Last night, he figured out a way to cap my powers. I’m not sure how he did it, but it pissed me off. I could levitate things, so long as they weren’t too heavy. I could light things on fire, so long as they were easily combustible (like crumpled parchment). And that’s it; I had impotent telekinesis and pyrokinesis. It’s better than nothing I guess, but this time, the devil was trying to take my youngest daughter. I wanted all my powers. I wanted to be a god, or the father of gods with his basket full of lightning bolts, so I could slay this asshole that was trying hurt my child.

Then it hit me. I’d just combine my two weak powers into something formidable. So, as the devil descended towards my daughter with a torrent of burning light and death, I fought back. I conjured an armada of flying paper airplanes, millions and millions of them, and willed them towards the devil’s chest. A moment before my planes struck, I concentrated with all I had and lit them aflame. The planes were small and their flames were weak, but they were many. My weapons smote that asshole and rent countless flaming holes in his chest. I was winning. So the devil retreated and filled my dream with smoke and confusion. I found my daughter and my son, both covered in ash and soot, and took them to safety. I would’ve killed the devil but I didn’t get the chance. He left too soon. That’s how it always is.

That’s when I woke up safe and perspiring in my bed. My daughter had been awoken by a bad dream of her own and was lying next to me with her eyes open. She wouldn’t tell me what her dream was about. I said “okay” and let her drift back into a deep slumber. But something was nagging at me; something about the dream was off. And then I understood. I don’t have a son. Shit. The devil used my love against me and fostered a false compassion. His only avenue of salvation was to disguise himself as a child so I’d spare him. My armada of flaming paper planes would’ve killed him, and our eternal battle would’ve ended. And I bought it. Hell, I even saved the devil from the smoke and confusion and brought him to safety in the end. It’s like I told you; that asshole is tricky.

Paper Planes


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