The Devil Goes To Heaven
by
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The movie is a blast. I imagine the rest of it is just as great as the first half, but I'm outside downing my third cigarette. Sometimes, I get overstimulated and need to take a break from everything. So I separate myself from everything and go to my little corner to smoke. It's rude, considering I'm with someone else, but I don't want to bother them with my own shit if I stay with them. Someone sits next to me on the opposite side of the bench I'm sitting on. I choke on a puff of smoke and notice it's Delilah with a blank look on her face. She says nothing. "Sorry," I say, stomping the cigarette out, "I just have to get away from everything sometimes." Still nothing. "Are you mad at me?" I ask. Silence, "Look. Delilah, I'm sorry, I—" Delilah reaches into her pocket and pulls out a can of beer, popping it open. She hands it to me. I eventually take it. She then reaches into her pocket, pulls out another can, opens it, and drinks. She then holds the can with both hands down to her thighs. I'm staring at her. "What?" She asks. "I..." I'm at a loss for words, "Did you rehearse that move?" "No. Maybe." We laugh, "Where'd you get the beer from?" I ask. "I have a fake ID. People don't question that I'm under twenty-one." "My mom was right. You are a bad influence," I take a sip of beer. "So... do you need to get anything off your chest?" "What do you mean?" "You've been through a lot, haven't you? I see the way people look at you. How they talk about you." "I'm so sorry. Being my friend comes at a price." "Don't be sorry. I'm okay with it. Now that we're talking about it—I guess I never really realized." "That I'm crazy?" "No—come on. I never realized what you must've gone through. On your own." "It's fine." "It's not fine. I can tell something is going on inside of you. Something's troubling you. You can tell me." I want to talk to Delilah; I do. But is there anything I can say to explain how I really feel inside? Sighing, I speak, "Growing up in institutions was Hell. In my first foster home, an older boy followed me into the bathroom and started groping me and feeling me up, so I pushed him. He got angry. So did I. Then I shattered his sternum. I was thirteen," Delilah's face shifts, her eyes starting to glisten, "In my third orphanage, a kid I played video games with killed themselves. I couldn't eat for months. After a couple of weeks in my fourth home, I got really depressed. My foster parents sent me to a mental hospital. Only, I never saw them again." A tear flows down Delilah's face as she sips her beer. That's the thing that always surprises me. This thing that makes people cry: My life. It's the only thing I have. And when I share it with people, it hurts them. "The pain is like the tattoos on my skin," I continue, showing my inked forearms, "It follows me everywhere. I'd see other kids get adopted. Leave the system. But not me. They never picked a broken piece of shit like me." "Do you really believe that about yourself?" Delilah asks, sniffling and wiping a tear away from her cheek. "Wouldn't you? After all of this happening to you, it's hard not to take it personally. And bad stuff just keeps happening. It never ends. But then... I look at you. Everyone loves you. You got a job. You got it all figured out. But not me." Delilah reaches into her pocket and pulls out a brass Zippo lighter. She holds it out for me to take. "Is that for me?" I ask. "Now it is." I take the lighter and notice words carved into its body. The phrase reads, I Will Never Know. "What is this?" I question. "A reminder." "Just looks like a Zippo to me." "That was the last lighter I had before I quit drugs. Did some things I'd rather forget to get it." "And you still have it?" "Yeah. I carry it with me everywhere. It reminded me that someone, or something, always loved me out there. And I'd never have to know why." "I can't take this, Delilah. Especially if it means so much to you." "No, that's exactly why I want you to keep it." I flip the lighter's lid open and light it up, the flame dancing from its head. Then, closing it, I put it in my pocket. "When I found Hawkins," Delilah starts, "I couldn't believe it was real. Everything before was Hell. Now it's different. It can be the same for you. You can start something new. You made it out, Judas. You survived. Maybe you can move on." "Maybe you're right. I'm here after all." "Exactly. That's the first step. And don't forget, I'm here for you. That's never going to change." We watch the sunset, sipping our beers and enjoying each other's presence. After our beers, we decide to walk home, and I let her lead the way.
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About the Book
Judas Korver is a high school senior who knows without a doubt that God is real. And how could he not when Jesus appears to Judas and has regular conversations with him? Labeled "Jesus Freak" by his classmates and peers, Judas is a perpetual social outcast. But his life changes drastically when two girls at school, Delilah and Lucy, enter his life, each bringing out new sides of Judas that will either change him for the better or lead him down a path of darkness.
About the Author
You can probably tell, but this is the first book I've ever written. It's been a long time in the making. It took me two years to finish writing, but I came up with the concept in the fourth grade; back when I first discovered I wanted to be an author. It went through many iterations, but I'm finally settling on something like this to get this story out of me. I've always wanted to be a writer, even when I tried not to be. And these characters have been a part of me my entire life. Now, they're a part of yours if you let them. Typically, you thank the people who've helped you get to this point, which I'm grateful for their help, they know who they are, but I don't want to dox myself, so I mainly want to thank you. I know this will be hard to believe, and you can call it BS, but I would die for you. I believe you're worth it—more worth it than me. For context, I have a pretty negative perception of myself (I discovered this in therapy). It turns out it's not normal to find your life completely worthless compared to everyone else's and to put everyone else's needs before yours. It's gotten so bad at points I've taken my life because I believed I was a burden to this world. Like—I successfully stopped my heart and breathing. Only to be revived by paramedics or loved ones. I've hurt a lot of people. And I've lost count of how many times I've taken my life and hurt those around me. It's a significant reason why I've written this book. If you have yet to catch on by now, that message at the start of the book, "For you. I hope this book reaches you in time." isn't to a specific person I know in particular. It's to a past version of me right before I decided to take my life. Because if I had never made that decision to hurt myself, I wouldn't have lost her. I had a suicide pact with my first love. And I initiated it by taking my life with my first suicide. She followed me down and took her life as well. Only I was revived, and she wasn't. I killed my girlfriend. I guess it's obvious where my inspiration for Delilah comes from now, huh? That will always be my biggest regret. And every time I've tried afterward to join her, I always come back. It's like something won't let me leave. Not yet. This book exists to remind me to keep going, to keep me alive. I read it every day. Just so you know, my farts smell great. But it's my pride and joy, my life's work. And if it helps just one person who decides to read it, then the thousands of hours I poured into this were worth it. So thank you. And please, don't hurt yourself anymore. Cherish your life because I cherish yours. If you need advice or someone to listen to, talk to God. Because she's the only one who will listen. Even when you think she isn't. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you. It's hard to look at you with empathy. Because sometimes I feel like I've become what you were scared to be. It is hard to care for you because if I'm feeling bad for you, then I'm feeling bad for me. And I feel like we don't deserve that. It's why I'm always looking down on you; I know that hurts. I'm sure you want to leave. And I've been trying to find a reason for us to stay. But I'll be here for you if things get worse.