Pendington, Jude
JOURNAL ENTRY 03
Antisocial Personality
Disorder

The Oval Office smells of its true age. I'm still finding my feet as Belial's assistant, and this is my second trip to the White House. The first trip was a tad uneventful—a lot of waiting and carrying several briefcases. This time I follow Belial every step of the way, through every bit of flight security these overpaid peons wrangle us with. Zegan and Zepar following behind, tall as my knees, little talons clicking on the floor. They keep snickering and whispering to one another.

"Wait out here," Belial whispers to the two of them outside of the Oval Office. "You two have got to appeal to the pinkies a little more before they forget you ate that woman's embryo." He rises, smiles, and points at his face. "Put on a smile," he suggests. Zegan and Zepar straighten up, stand tall, and both attempt a large grin. It does not suit them. I sneer at them as I pass, and one of them makes fart noises behind my back.

Inside the office, the president talks to Belial like I'm not in the room. Outside of asking, "Who is this?" and pointing at me without looking in my direction, he does not acknowledge me at all. Makes no difference to me. He's the leader of the free world, and he hasn't been in my office. I've been Belial's assistant for a week, and I'm in his. If I wanted his job, I'd take it. I have the bloodlust necessary to be president. Have it in spades.

"You've got to get me a better sell on this, Belial. You may have them lining up, but I don't have both feet in the door. Too many nuts in the nut house means things go nuts, you follow me?"

"Too many nuts in the nut house," Belial grins, craning his neck in my direction, "means really funny entertainment. You should get a camera in there, and we could just make it a reality show."

"Har har, Mr. Funny Man," the president scoffs. "What's to keep all those nuts of yours from making one great big god-awful mess that'll be all over the news next week?"

Belial's head perks up on the end of his neck. "Religion." He says it in a mockingly stoic tone, as if the question were rhetorical.

"Religion?" the president asks incredulously. "We've just spent several million dollars on this program you're pushing telling the people they don't need religion."

"No religion is a religion, boss." Belial pauses and picks at his teeth with a long, clawed finger. "People need religion. They want to say they believe in something, even if the something is believing in nothing. Makes them feel important. They like that. Don't they, Mr. President?"

The president purses his lips, annoyed, and squints over his desk at Belial, who cocks his lowered head and smiles wide, then winks at me and extends his hand to receive the briefcase I'm holding.

"It's all right here." Belial sighs, reaching into the briefcase and handing the president a small stack of documents. "It's a three-part plan. The president looks down over his nose at the papers, flips back and forth through them.

"You want an official national religion?" the president suddenly blurts, lowering the paper and staring at Belial.

"No religion is a religion boss. They've already bought in; we just have more to sell."

He looks at Belial skeptically and begins studying the documents again.

"I go behind the pulpit, one week later I'm the church of Hollywood, and in another week I'm the church of America. We head one step further in the direction your administration and I have been planning since day one."

"This is a step?" the president asks without hesitation.

Belial smiles again, looking insane. "A big step!" he cheers childishly, both arms in the air. The president registers his mockery and stands.

"All right, knock it off. You want to keep that nut house of yours, then I let it fly for now. You say it's part of the plan and it works because the people love you. You put another pregnant woman on the news, and this house of cards blows over. You and I both know that will not be good."

Belial sucks his teeth in protest. "Fear not, noble leader," he insists, saluting the president. "I am like the wise man, which built his house upon a rock: And the rain will descend, and the floods will come, and the winds will blow and beat upon this house; and that sucker will stand tall. Cause I built it on a rock. Get it?"

The president only stares back in contempt. "What's that? Shakespeare or something? You're out of your mind." He sighs, shaking his head. "Just stick to the plan."

"Aye aye!" Belial shouts and quickly spins around, heading for the door, snickering as he goes.

Behind me, I hear the president mumble: "Why are all the revolutionaries crazy?"

Zegan and Zepar are in the middle of a game of Paper, Rock, Scissors when we step out of the office but end it promptly and straighten back up, remembering their orders to smile more often. Grinning mindlessly at Belial—who laughs—they ask: "Time to take them to church?"

"Time to take them to church," Belial echoes.

Everyone laughs but me.