In my last year of high school, at the age of sixteen, a preacher sheikh paid our school a visit right before the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. He encouraged us to embark on a social and moral experiment during the upcoming Ramadan. Satan and all of his whisperers will be chained in God’s prisons as long as Ramadan’s moon brightens the skies, it is but a great chance to tell apart the Devil’s musings from what your soul really implores, the modern suit clad beardless sheikh said. It was like a revelation to me, I awaited Ramadan with great anticipation.

Then came the holy month and I could almost see my red steamy horns and black goat legs.

I still wanted to make love to girls and masturbate, I dearly missed my weekly happy hour with wine, my hate for my parents hadn’t subsided a bit, questions about God and religion continued to haunt my sweet calming faith, and evolution still made great sense to me, I was every cell myself. I was either the Devil incarnate or the Devil himself.

The more I revealed myself to society the more it asserted this fact. And I’m not the only Devil as it turns out, there are lots of us. Sure they can jail us, but we all know that doesn’t work.