Devil Dream, or New Day

I had spent the past day and night wandering the streets and the back alleys searching for the devil or the animal-headed man. I assumed either would give me some clue as to the nature of the other. They weren't to be found. The crowd had eventually dispersed with the faint light, replaced by a bright and cold day. The smoldering remains of the mosque and the books sent twin black snakes curling into the daylight. I retraced my steps from the past few days, hoping that these manifestations would gravitate toward where I had been. No luck.
Night had overtaken the city and it remained quiet, resting after the revelry of the morning. I headed toward the carnival site. The rides and the tents were long gone, but the debris remained. A few stray napkins and paper plates brushed the ground in the wind. The red devil was standing alone in the center of the lot, smiling his yellow smile and glistening, naked in the moonlight.
I approached him, hesitantly. He leaned over, placed his wet hand on the back of my head and whispered in my ear.

I awake to a sulfurous smell permeating my room. The ceiling fan spins lazily above me, creaking. The afternoon sun pokes through the shutters on my window and casts shadows across my typewriter. The empty page that sits in the machine taunts me with it's whiteness, it's cleanness. My body is smudged with ink and dirt, my hair matted to my head, my fingers brown with grease.
Next to the typewriter with the empty page sits a neat stack of typed papers. A manuscript. I slouch out of bed and open the shutters. The sunlight permeates the room. I look down into the street. The animal headed man slinks out of an alley and skitters down the road. I decide to go out.
As I step outside for the first time in two days I can feel a tension seep out of my body. My lungs fill with fresh, new air and the rain began to wash away the dirt and ink. It is freezing. I don't care. I walk across Katz toward the Butcher's. I need some meat.

Firelight, or Devil Smile

I wake to the sound of crackling flames. My window pane glows with an ominous light. I check my clock - it's far too early to be awake. I think maybe it's another manifestation. Sometimes I'll wake up from a bad dream to find it's horrors standing materialized over my bed. I keep a gun under my pillow now.
I approach the window, cautiously. A bonfire roars in the empty lot behind the library. I can see a crowd gathering. Women are convulsing in a strained rhythm around the flames, cackling, drunk. It's far too early to be drinking. I dress and stumble out of my apartment into the elevator. On the way down to the street, I remember the fire in the windows of the Tower, glinting in the light of the carnival. I remember the animal-headed man, stalking the alley. Was he real or a stray manifestation? Did he slip out of my dream and wander out into the night, full of my angst and repressed emotion, ready to lay waste to my waking world? Who was the girl that he was stalking?
I wander out into the street. At first I think the sky's getting lighter. There is a reddish glow in the air. However, I feel a heat on my back and, turning, see the mosque. It's terrible and hellish in the darkness. The flames licking at the building's dome cast an eerie glow on the surrounding area. The black smoke disappears in the black sky. The smoke is giving me a headache. I can taste the burning wood on my lips and tongue. I turn toward the library, intrigued by the howling coming from behind it.
I approach the crowd of derelicts. They surround the prostitutes that surround the flames that consume the books. To the left a group is gathered. I can see their lips moving in silent prayer.
My head throbs with the smoke and the frantic screams of the prostitutes dancing around the fire. I get scared. The faces of the homeless, the delinquent and the dilapidated men become hellish masks. They laugh and jeer at me. One of them is on my back, clawing at me. I scream. He's shoving me. I feel the familiar pop. I half-turn my head in time to see a red devil, naked and glistening in the firelight, approach the man from behind and swipe at his head with it's pitchfork. The devil's weapon connects with the man's ear and he drops to the ground.
The creature faces me, his pointed nose and mustache only inches from my face. he smiles a yellow smile, and then leaps off into the dawn. The cackling of the women reverberates in my ears. I can't move. The man lays motionless at my feet, blood pouring from his face. I can't move.