a deal with the devil

 

𖠴

 

 

he was tapping his finger along the cold metal of the wire table in front of him, the overcast sky barley sprinkling now, but looking like it could go a few more rounds of harsh rain.

He had been asked to meet up at this small French café by an unknown sender, one who had yet to show. In his line of business, its always better to ask questions later, but as it stands, maybe it was better before.

He’s tired of waiting.

“Are you...”

His heterochromatic eyes flickered up, boring into the young man shaking near the seat adjacent to him.

“The devil?”

The young man gulped, pale hands grasping at the chair before sliding in, trying to subtly scoot away from him.

“I’ve heard that’s a lie.” The man nearly whispered as he set his messenger bag onto the table.

“What are your sources?” The pseudo-devil asked, leaning forwards at the mans attempts to escape.

“My grandma.”

He paused,

“Your grandma?”

There was a tense silence after that, the man collecting his thoughts and the pseudo-devil slouching in his chair, eyes sharp.

The man finally spoke up, with a slight waver in his voice, “Mari, she said you were a friend, although, you look different from the description she gave me...”

“I have many faces and many names.”

“She said you were as close to a God as anyone gets.” the man said definitively.

“She lied.” The pseudo-devil spat.

The man whimpered as the table suddenly became unbearably hot, “She said you were God.”

The table cooled, the sky opened up and rain poured down, and the god sagged.

“Yeah, I could be called that too.” He muttered before sighing and looking at the man, “Mari was a good women, and an even better friend so I’ll give you that. But don’t be fooled. You are still making a deal with the devil.”

“I know.” The man agreed so easily.

“So what is it that you want? Fame, fortune-“

“I want you to save my friends life.”

It was so rushed, so forced, that the god looked up.

Tears fell with the rain, but the mans face was not sad, no.

He was determined.

“Save them?” The god questioned.

“They tried to...” The man stopped, “they are in a self-induced chemical coma.”

“They overdosed?” He asked bluntly.

“Yes.” The man whispered.

“Maybe they don’t want to be saved then.” The god reasoned. To save a life was to interfere in ways he wasn’t willing to, the price would be far to great on both ends.

“They did it because I told them to.”

There was the truth, the guilt, and the sadness.

“You...?” the question left incomplete.

“I told them to end it when we got in a disagreement. I didn’t think they would take it seriously.” The man shuttered.

“Self absorbed.” The god spat, “why do you think you were the final straw?”

“But I was their only friend, their only family, and I gave up on them.” The man sobbed out, reaching for the tissues nicely tucked in his bag.

“Then why do you think they want to live?”

“Because I need them to.”

“To clear your conscious?”

“No.” The man replied, “to give them a better shot at a life I ruined. I want you to give my friend a second try.”

“That’ll cost you.” The devil grinned, non-believing.

“Whatever it takes.”

The devil shrugged, pulling a contract from thin air and slidding it to the man, a pen accompanying it, “sign here, and your friend will be born anew.”

The man signed without further pretense.

The devil laughed,

“That was a mistake.”