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He comes to you at night, invades your sleep, speaks to you in dreams, with messages from beyond tells you he's an angel and that you're a prophet of God.
He is a servant to no one, not God, not man, not Satan. He is a divine anarchist. He belongs to a kingdom has no king and a theocracy that has no God.
He taps on your windows and raps on your doors, to let you know he is there, but if you look you won't see him, only remnants of the red clay off his boots, which he leaves on the floor of your porch, outside your window and outside your door, so you'll know he was there.
He has a distant memory of God, can barely recall his divine roots or paradisaical past, but knows his own tormented destiny and abysmal future, which he wants you to share, so he wants to trade you your soul for three wishes, which he may or may not be able or willing to grant.

He squeezes your heart and snuffs out your breath, like a candle, to make you think he is the angel of death.
But he is not the Angel of Death, not the Paschal Angel of the Egyptian Pesach, nor Azra-il, nor Azra-el, nor Azazil, nor Azazel of the Levitical Wildnerness.
His name is not Gabri-el, nor Jibril. He does not live in a lantern, a lamp, nor a cave in Arabia. He comes to you as your ancestors and forefathers, with a message from your dead mother, father, brother, sister, cousin, aunt, uncle, friend, enemy, angels, God, from the other world, from the world beyond, from the grave, the dead, from out-of-space and the invisible universe. He has 3 wishes for your soul.

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