Untitled

I hate suits. I didn't used to. Not when I was alive, I loved suits and ties. I wore them all the time. But this suit was itchy and rough and hot, and the tie always seemed just too tight for comfort. I shifted around in the crowd of people dressed in the same uniform and cocktail dresses, bumping elbows with them and trying to get away.

It was another one of those "parties" with music and alcohol...like all the others.  Really,  I don't like alcohol. Used to. It used to be all I drank. But I WILL NOT drink it even though I'm always thirsty.

At these functions, the music is always the same: upbeat blues rock with irritating solos on harmonica or guitar. I hate it. I hate music. I didn't used to. I loved music. I used to play in a band: base and vocals. I blocked that train of thought and shuffled down the empty hallway, staring at the checkered linoleum floor.

In my room, it was stuffy and stagnant, like I'd learned it always was but I ignored it anyway. In the absence of any other thought, I lied on top of the comforter and stared at the ceiling. Two days prior, I'd had a meeting with the devil and the deal I'd struck with him wouldn't take too long to go through.

"What, now? You don't like it down here?" He drawled with a lazy, thick southern accent with a wily smirk crooking the side of his mouth. A strange twinkle shone in his eyes as he gazed steadily at me. His jet black stare was intimidating me so I focused, instead, on the shining black locks hanging around his face. He cleared his throat and I met his eyes again.

~~

"Well, I could make a deal with you. Whadda ya got?" He watched me carefully, grin in place, waiting to pass judgment on my character by my response. I didn't really want to make a deal but maybe I could get out of this and maybe I wouldn't have the hunger eating its way through my abdomen and the thirst that itched the back of my throat like spiders scratching in the sandpaper. What could he want? My fortune is all I have. I had my doubts, though I'd been worth several millions of dollars.

"My fortune; I have several million dollars to my name." He smiled wickedly at me, contorting his pale face. He waved a dismissive hand at me after a second, pausing to take a sip of whiskey.

"Worldly possessions," he stated around a gulp, "Don't count. Nothing on Earth belongs to you, " he pointed a sinewy finger at my chest, "anymore." He raised an eyebrow. He's the devil; I should have known. I thought, sighing resignedly.

"My soul... " I offered quietly. He smiled in satisfaction.

"Now, my friend, we're headed in the right direction ... " I gulped and prepared myself for what was to come.

By Katherine

Leon High School, 10^th grade