Minion's Tale

Minion’s Tale

 

“Well, yes, I suppose I am agent of Satan…but my duties are largely ceremonial…”

The choir did not seem impressed by this.  What ever my relationship to old split-hoof (as we often called him, though not ever to his fire-blasted face) I was a minion, and a minion is an affront to the Lord.

“Your continued existence is an affront to the Lord.”  The choir stated.  Not a single mouth moved but that they all moved and, though the voice seemed a single voice, no one of them ever really spoke.  They were like well-made marionettes without strings, or strung so well and so thoroughly the eye refused to see them.  Either way, they meant my death and I could hardly fathom it.  I was distracted by the sameness of their faces, of their robes which seemed individual until about the shoulder and then disappeared into the folds of the next robe and so on until they were clothed in a single rippling sheet of white against a white background atop white clouds.  I was distracted by the seriousness and the utter calm with which they pronounced my sentence.  I was distracted by the weight with which they carried out their errand though it was a rather poor, unremarkable thing, to stand about and tell a less-than demon minion his most obvious fate.  They were no greater than I, I realized, distracted from the certainty of my demise by such a simple truth.  They were peons.  They were minions; only up here they had a different name for it.

“Look, fellows, I don’t think you quite understand…” I realized I was blubbering only after.  In my head the words made perfect sense.  “I-I mop up after the buggery on level three…I scrub down the iron maidens when the Inquisitors come for the daily special…I’m hardly a-a-a threat to you!”

“The will of God is…”

“Yes, yes, the will of God and so forth, what ever…listen to me, man to man, eh?  I mean you have to understand I’m not a demon or anything.  I’m just a housekeeper.  I’m on work release from purgatory-8 you can check with my overseer!  For Christ’s sake have mercy!”

“Thou SHALT NOT TAKE the Lord’s name…”

“Yes, I know! You have already said that a number of times but…I’m a tad nervous you see?  About having to die again and all, and no purgatory this time but hell!  Why that isn’t fair!  I have to work there already and hardly by my own choice, I should not be made to live there simply because my work release was badly chosen!  I didn’t choose it!”

“You ignored all available recourse.  You could have protested.  You could have remained in purgatory.”  A single voice, a thousand mouths and not an ounce of intellect.

“What recourse?  There was no damned recourse.  The faceless multitudes lift me from my place of monotonous nothing and send me to hell with a broom and mop and you complain I didn’t protest?  I protested plenty.  No one was listening!”

Of course it was no use.  They did not have ears to hear.  And above them, the fellows making all the decisions were otherwise occupied.  It was a lot like going against City Hall.  You simply cannot fight City Hall. After all, if there is anyone in, and there usually isn’t, they are up to no good, and would rather not have to admit that to you while you stand complaining to them about their devilry.  I wondered if there really was anyone at home up there, pulling the strings of the marionettes before me.  Sure, of course there was.  A bureaucrat like old split-hoof, huffing and puffing while minions with strict orders blew down all the houses.  I sighed, giving in at once. 

“Fine, fine.  But do me a favor if you would?  Not to the third ring, okay?  I’ve cleaned up after that well enough to know anything else would be favorable.  Can you do at least that much?”

To my surprise, a round white face from just left of center leaned forward and whispered in a hollow, dusty voice:  “No problem, look…terribly sorry about this you know, but we have our orders.  How about level five?  I understand it’s horrendously hot, but there’s no buggery.  Just the occasional wine press and something the higher-ups call tickle torture.”

I fell, speechless, to my fate through a trap door in the clouds down a chute lined with cold steel.

 

 

 

Reviews

[Idyllwyld]

Haha! This brought a grin to bear. Kudos on the polarity presented by the bureaucracies on both sides, isn't it true? Minions are minions...a rose by any other name would, in this case, be stuck with the same drudge work. One of the things I always liked about the Diablo series was the display of the High Heavens as, while representing Order and Light, can at its worst become stagnation and blindness. Something which you illustrated here quite well with the choir.

Good show.

[Jeb]

I really hope there is more coming... this was great. (maybe a little more background)

[Damian Alan Gray]

Loved it! More, more, more please! Expand upon this story, and you've got a hit on your hands!