An Encounter with the Devil

I was twenty-three years old when my husband died, and I was twenty-three years old when I sold my soul to the Devil. I denounced God, that fateful night, and just like my husband I never talked to Him again.

I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, almost trying to look beyond the ceiling, into the stars, up into Heaven. I saw nothing. I cried out in pain for hours, mourning my late husband, but God wasn't listening. My eyes burned from the excessive number of tears they produced; I wiped them from my eyes. I looked up at the fictional dreamland with a vengeance, and I cursed the name of God. I meant it with every fiber of my being.

I went into the study and mutilated my Bible, ripping it into tiny pieces. The pages of the Bible violently soared in the air, as I fell to the floor screaming along with the thunder that rumbled in the distance. I sobbed, "I will give anything to feel the type of love that my husband and I once shared, to have a man who is infatuated with me, and for me to become alive again. I would give anything to feel that Spark! A passion like we once had, a burning desire to touch, embrace, and love." The air in the study grew cold, almost deathlike. It soon became brutally smoky. The clock behind me stopped ticking and a mysterious figure took shape in front of me.

I squinted my eyes and pinched myself, thinking it was a dream; it wasn't. The figure came closer to me, and with each step a foul odor began to surround my lungs. The figure held out what appeared to be a hand. He spoke, "If you take my hand, every man you consummate a relationship with will fall in love with you. In return, you will give me your soul." His charm gave me hope, and in my longing for desire I took his hand.

The next day I woke up on the floor of my study. Still feeling depressed I went into my kitchen and slit my throat with a fillet knife. There was no blood. I repeatedly stabbed and slit different parts of my body. I did not bleed and no scar graced my skin. I had no idea that I had made a deal with the Devil.

Without a soul I found it hard to die. I attempted to plunge to my death, freeze to death, blow shotgun holes into my sides, and finally I constructed a home-made guillotine out of my husband's weights and masses of kitchen knives. Once my head reattached itself, I checked my body for injuries. I sustained not one. My house looked like a crime scene, without the blood of course, and I did not look like a victim, I was beautiful. I had an unnatural glow, almost like an angelic being... (Work in progress)