[ WP ] What if the Devil did n't know he was the Devil .

I remember it like yesterday. It was my 11th birthday. Dad was ecstatic. You ’ d think it was his birthday. He gets a feeling of blissful joy on any moment of celebration - the holidays, Christmas, Thanksgiving - but you never see him as excited as he is on my birthday. Planning a day full of activities, inviting various guests of his and playing games, old and new - this was his thing. 
 
 We had gone through appetizers, the main course and the party was coming to an end. We were gearing up for the final activity of the evening before cutting the cake. The final event was always my choice. Dad would invite one of the new folks who had just moved into town and he would partake in a game of my choice. This was definitely the highlight of the evening! Often, I would change up the rules halfway through, prolong it as much as I could so the night didn ’ t end and Dad would always comply. 
 
 There was a light knock on the door. This must be the new guest! I was ecstatic! I liked to pretend I hadn ’ t thought about the game at all, but I had it all planned out in my head. Dad opened the door and let the guest in. As usual, there were protesters picketing outside the door. I never understood why they were there. Dad never let me outside, catering to all my needs in the house itself. But as I grew older, my curiosity was beginning to get the better of me. Dad must have sensed this in my face as he quickly shut the door and gave me a stern look. 
 
 “ Alright buddy, what ’ s it going to be?! ” he asked excitedly. “ I have a pot of boiling water ready if you want a repeat of last year? Or perhaps, we can use the freezing room? ” 
 
 I waited a few moments. I loved the attention from all the guests, watching me, waiting for me to call the shots. The look of anticipation on their faces, the drama and tension of not knowing the game, the glee on my Dad ’ s face - it was the highlight of the day, more so than the game itself. 
 
 “ The 100 meter dash on burning coal. ” I said. Dad looked surprised, giving me a puzzling look. 
 
 “ 100 times. With lashes at the end of each run. ” I continued. The look quickly changed on my dad ’ s face. “ That ’ s my boy! ” he said and looked at all the guests with immense pride in his face. 
 
 I turned to look as well. My moment had arrived. Pindrop silence with a look of shock and surprise on everyone ’ s faces. Followed by thunderous applause and big smiles. My moment of glory was here. However, something felt different this time. Everyone was smiling, but their eyes look terrified. I looked around and everyone looked visibly scared. I turned my attention to the new guest who was going to play the game. He looked timid and horrified. What was different this time? Was it the game I chose? 
 
 I was caught in a strange conflict. On the one hand, the 100 meter coal dash was one of my favorite games, but on the other, I was very puzzled with the lack of excitement on my guests ’ faces. Why were me and Dad the only ones truly enthused by the upcoming event? Was I just noticing this now or had this always been the case? 
 
 The game had begun. Dad took over from me. He heard my rules and was ready to lash on the new guest 100 times over as his feet burnt on red hot coal that he laid out in the living room. I, however, couldn ’ t focus on the game at all. My eyes drifted towards the onlookers watching the game, with forced smiles on their faces. Were these people scared? Who were they scared of? My Dad? Me? Somehow, my attention was brought back to the protesters outside the house. What were they protesting about? I must find out. 
 
 I watched, as the new guest finished one more lap, much slower than his last one. Dad was about to give out his lashings. This was the perfect opportunity for me to make a dash for the door. He completed the lap, I got out of Dad ’ s vision and sprinted for the door. I opened it and saw the signs for the first time in my life - “ Stop the torture! ”, “ We don ’ t deserve this ”, “ Satan must perish ”. 
 
 Dad caught up to me in a jiffy. He pulled me inside with a look of rage I had never seen before. He slammed the door to a chorus of “ The Devil must Die! ” from the protesters. I knew I was going to be punished for this, but I could not care less at the time. Only thought came mind: “ Who am I? ”
