I Met SatanThrough A Mutual Friend

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Originally this piece was created as a Flash Fiction letter. It’s a first person view about the meeting in a sort of celestial/underworld type purgatorial portrayed courtroom, which takes place when a man wishes to bargain his soul in return for some type of supernatural compensation.

Submitted: April 14, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 14, 2014

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A A A


I met the Devil through a mutual friend. A stranger before this very instance, it was like meeting someone you saw in the “People you may know” side tab on Facebook that should be labeled “People you don’t want to know”. As he stood before me, I began experiencing what people talk about when meeting a celebrity. They’re never what you expect by either being too tall or too short, not as good looking maybe. I was underwhelmed, and almost let down in a sense. Although my imagination had given him too much credit, I was still fiercely intimidated at first glance. I was forced to collect the sweat from my forehead and organize it into my palm before swiping it into the air. It was hot.

“Welcome” he said with a smirk.

The room was filled with beasts, demons, angels, divine messengers, servants along with all sorts of other celestial beings that I wasn’t even familiar with. God was there, but I tried not to look at him; knowing that selling your soul wasn’t exactly something he condoned. My full attention was directed back to Lucifer and the black marble throne in which he was perched. I was having difficulty producing a response, but before I knew it our exchange of words surprisingly took off. It was almost like catching up with an old friend … but it was Satan.

I smelled burning flesh.

I didn’t want to lock eyes with him, but I could feel his head following the movement of my vision. When I finally did I could feel my pupils dilate and expand, dilate and expand. His gaze was heavy on the side of my face, almost causing me to lean a degree or two to the left. The man they call the dark angel wasn’t what you would expect; traditional stories of him hadn’t provided justice. He was actually kind of slick; with a perfect jaw line, possessing incredibly appealing facial features. When he spoke; he spoke smooth and beautifully. He threw around broad vocabulary, maybe to establish intellectual dominance in the conversation. I was beginning to think he was brilliant, and I could tell he thought so too. In the midst of this innocent illusion, I couldn’t shake the unaddressed atrociousness surrounding him. His presence made me feel like my expectations for my own existence were too tremendous. I was the butt of a long cruel joke called life.

That smell.

As afraid of his intentions as I felt, it was overcome by excitement. I knew I was moments from obtaining anything and everything instantaneously. Life would not be everlasting this way, but the living I was doing made that a positive – Our discussion was really getting off topic and I could feel myself wasting valuable time, which turned me irritable. Instead of waiting for his story about Corey Carter and Kanye West to end I decided I would speak mid-sentence.

“So is there a ceremony or something…?

The room let out a loud gasp, and the musty walls echoed numerous fading conversations. The word hanging off the edge of Satan’s mouth stuck as his facial expression froze, while his carefully tweezed eyebrows slowly ascended towards his hairline. I had just interrupted the deceiver… but his confused look quickly reverted back to a cocky smile, and he sat contently awaiting my requests.

“I’d really like to be humble, not just perceived as humble regardless of my actions.”

Nothing

“I want to be passionate about everything, and nothing.To be able to touch on sensitive subjects without any hesitation.”

Nothing

“As years pass if my skin and muscles must metabolize or diminish, let me at least keep this face no matter my age.”

His face stayed the same but his eyes sparked interest in my soul, but he didn’t move.

“I’d like to be uneasily amused, but thoroughly impressed daily.” I looked down to hide the smile I cracked, impressed with my own request.

Finally he gave off the notion of acknowledgement with an incredibly inappropriate joke, followed by uncontrollable laughter. I looked up to reveal the hidden smile – sensing that if I showed an ounce of un-comfortability it would make him feel that much more comfortable.

“You know…”

“Was that a cliché?” I smiled all the same. The spectators just as surprised by the second consecutive interruption, the weight of the courtrooms attention was placed firmly on the shoulders of my actions once again. With a brief look of frustration he broke eye contact with me for the very first time, and looked to his peers; hoping for laughter with an abrupt silence at the end he was let down.

“…and riches of course, no?”

“I had originally come here to ask for something like that, yes. Athleticism beyond human capability, beta-blocker coated blood cells, endless wealth, maybe perfect health, the strength of ten men, and the understanding of ten women; of course expecting the fame to come hand in hand with it all. ” I paused, gathering thoughts.

“But…?” He asked in the tone of hurrying me up as opposed to actually wishing to know. He was one of those guys that spoke with his hands in constant motion.

“… I’d like to see the beauty in all things, obtain endless drive and motivation while the sun is out.”

He tilted his head back, let out more laughter and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds with smiling disbelief.

“…what about nightfall?”

I gave him a dumb look. Briefly thought about asking for an uncanny knack to gracefully take my clothes off, but thought it might be a bit much. – My wishes and the way I wanted to word them were slightly hindered by the creator’s attendance in the third row back –.

 

“How bout’ that soul now.”

 

“Blood?” I asked

He nodded before I could even finish the single syllabled word. Finally some control. The crowd to my left parted and a pathetic seemingly demonic being appeared from the opening. He was something Tolkien would have thought up, stolen and plagiarized by Lucifer. Each step just as petite sounding as the last. He approached me closely now, and I noticed his severely blood shot eyes. From a small beat up satchel it attempted to hand me a knife, I took joy in ignoring him and pulled my own from my pocket. I sliced my palm open, and squeezed it offering it to the villain.

Upon leaving the room I had imagined that God would tell me I had too many tattoos for heaven anyway. I was wishing he would joke with me or something, but instead I received a downward look from him; as if he was pretending to text to avoid speaking to me. I reached out to touch him intending to distract him from his sudden fascination with his lap, but found myself a soul’s distance short. Finally finding myself trudging toward temporary greatness. Satisfied.

 


© Copyright 2020 Scottie Stockman. All rights reserved.

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