Have you seen the Devil cry?

When time unfroze and the ice began to melt, the Devil smiled and kissed me on the forehead. 

I felt the dampness of wet grass against my left cheek. 

I opened my eyes and saw the distant mountains that rose from the ground, then worked my way toward the outlines of a castle that appeared in the distance like a clenched fist, occupying a piece of land at the foot of the mountain range. The vague contours of the castle's outer walls spoke of a mystery held within, comprehended only by those who crossed the gate and stepped foot inside the courtyard. Yet above a patch of trampled grass only a few feet away from me, caught within the tender moonlight that seemed to breathe life into the veins of nature, a sight much more appealing to the eye appeared: it was the Devil's head floating above the ground, detached from a collective organism. 

And then came the wind. 

With wind's approach the grass swayed and so did my first visions of the castle. There was only the Devil and his mercy. The Devil had saved me from life, he seemed to say, but it was difficult to tell, for the sound of wind suppressed his voice. I read his lips and was overcome by admiration. I did not know what it was that he had saved me from; all I knew was that I was rescued, and I owed it all to the Devil. I longed to move my legs and approach him, and in a moment of desperation, I longed to touch his wrinkled skin and the patches of crimson burns that covered his arms, and in those same moments I realized that the Devil was crying. 

And then the Devil vanished in a haze. 

There remained only an echo of his cries that settled upon my brow like dust. Why did the Devil weep? He saved me from life and wept for my freedom and then left me with the memory of his tears. 

                            

My right cheek is now damp against the grass. Is it the grass or my tears or his tears, for my right cheek is pointed to the sky, exposed to the whippings of the harsh wind. 

Dry. 

And then the wind stops. 

Suddenly.

With the Devil gone I turn my attention once again to where the castle stands, and I see the sun climbing over the summit of a mountain, and I look up and see the moon above my head, and when the sun reaches its zenith with no regard for moon's dominance, my heart aches to be in the castle where there will soon be light. At once I try to scream and cry for the Devil to move me away, but the attempt at a scream turns into a helpless whimper, one that would have remained unheard even if the intended listener stood only a few paces away. 

Nevertheless....

And then the wind comes again. 

There is no sign of the Devil, but the tide of wind lifts me up, and I am thus carried hither and tither, first to the top of a tree and then into the depths of a murky pond, then toward the place which had been my intended destination: the castle. 

                         

And the aerial tide flows. 

I can see the castle transforming from a dot upon a canvas into a building that holds within every inch of its outward display a testimony to the genius of the one who designed it. I can see the clenched fist beginning to open with hesitation, as if scared to unveil what lies inside: fingers first separate and turn into stony towers pointed to the crimson sky, then the knuckles reveal their true nature, molding into notched parapets that decorate the top of the ramparts; they look more like a set of jagged teeth rather than finger joints.

And the closer I get the harsher the tide gets. 

And the closer I get the more I feel in control. 

The castle in its entirety greets my approach. A figure full of life and silence. I look down and see myself flying over the moat. The water is red also, keeping with the tradition of reflecting the color of the sky. 

For now I am carried. For now I am in safe hands. For now I am in control. 

And then the wind stops one last time. 

And I am dropped, or rather put down, onto the parapet walkway. I can now hide behind a set of corroded teeth if a dangerous tide were to knock me down. 

And as I stand and stare at the area  from which I took flight, I smile and think of the Devil and how he smiled whilst saving my life. 

And I feel the fist beginning to close again. 

                           

Upon my arrival the wheel of the castle life was set in motion. 

For many a year I roamed the castle and awed at its wonders. 

Yet I always remembered how the Devil cried. 

I roamed around the courtyard and saw a baker who gave me a loaf of bread lest I became hungry. I ate it and began to weep, for I remembered how the Devil cried. 

I roamed the parapets thousands of times in search of companions, and companions I found. They offered me a drink that dulled the senses and made them laugh and jump off the battlements into the water below, and I drank also and wept, for I remembered how the Devil cried. 

I roamed the hallways of the castle that looped and intertwined, one stony path leading into another darkness that seemed to last for eternity, and in the course of this pursuit I sought a lover, and a lover I did find, one who warmed my bed and bore my child, yet I never saw what lied beneath her eyes, for I remembered how the Devil cried. 

That is all I saw. 

I ascended the stairs and reached the pinnacle of the castle's tallest tower, and from there I proclaimed to be a God of all things, for I could see before me the entire land, and it seemed that with the simple flick of my finger, I would be able to turn the tide and curse the living. Turn the tide I did, yet I never realized the true power behind my godly existence, for I had seen the Devil cry. 

That is all I thought about, and I wept for I could not bring the Devil back.

I descended winding staircases and went from floor to floor in search of the castle's heart, and after many ventures into unknown realms, I finally felt the pulse that brought these stones to life, and at the sight of this I smiled for a mere second before I began to weep, once again, for I had seen the Devil cry. 

And the people in my life were always happy, for they had never seen the Devil cry. 

And the people in my life never talked of the Devil, for they had never seen him cry. 

And one day in a sudden fit of rage,  I ask all the residents if they have ever seen the Devil cry. 

Few answered. 

Some nodded. 

Others stared. 

Until the baker laughed and said, in a gentle tone, "my friend, have you ever seen the Devil smile?"