August 7, 2015




It was a typical afternoon in early April. The day had warmed up quite nicely and tempted me to skip work and enjoy it. But I'm the dependent, responsible type who works their scheduled shift, even if it meant emptying my pathetic tip jar so I could fuel my crappy car to get to and from that job, as I was doing that day. After handing the gas station clerk all my cash to prepay for fuel I found a couple more dollars in my pocket. I took them out and just stared at them a moment, wondering how I missed them the first time.

"Do you want to add that on?" the clerk asked but his tone conveyed it would be a hassle. I shook my head.

"Give me a lotto ticket," I told him as I handed over the cash. "Quick-pick." He took the money silently, printed out the pink slip of paper, and handed it to me. I held my reason to dream about extravagant lifestyles for the next six hours in my hand as I turned around and nearly bumped into her. She was dressed like she had just escaped a rave wearing mismatched socks and a toddler sized shirt that stretched over her generous chest. Her dark hair shined under the sickly florescent light in way that shampoo companies would swoon for. Red lips shined with gloss that should have been covered in dust from the open bag of cheese puffs in her hand while a paper stick of sucker stuck out from her mouth. Big, big brown eyes sparkled with mischief as she removed the sucker with her free hand.

"Powerball, huh?" she asked me. He mouth settled into a smug little smile while she waited for an answer. I looked past the little pink slip of paper to my dowdy work uniform and worn black sneakers. I hadn't bothered to do anything more than a quick eyeliner and mascara this morning and I didn't need a mirror to know my hair was dull and flat as well.

"It doesn't hurt to dream," I said with a self-conscience shrug. She looked me up and down before peering out the window. My beat up, old car was the only one at the pumps. It ran on hope, frustration, and fear that I would run it into the next Beemer that cut me off if it didn't.

"What would you give to win?" she asked as her gaze returned to me.

"Two dollars?" I answered as I held up the ticket. Stupid questions required obvious answers but I still contemplated the possibilities. My funds were severely limited and if I had the money to ensure I could win the lottery I wouldn't pay the lottery. There was little else in my life worth the amount the ticket could win.

"Hmmm." She put the sucker back in her mouth and gave it a thoughtful twirl before removing it again. "What about your soul?"

"To who?" I laughed. "I'm pretty sure the lotto association isn't interested." It was cliché to trade a soul, something kids joked about in elementary school.

"To me." I furled my eyebrows at her as I considered the insane request. The woman in front of me was about my age but I was certain her lifestyle was far more dangerous. She probably did drugs, drank too much, slept around, and road motorcycles without a helmet. Chances were pretty good I would outlive her.

"Sure," I said. "If this ticket wins tonight you can have my soul." I figured this woman would get her little laugh from this and I could go about my day with the strangest story to tell. That was all that would come from this encounter. She put her cheese puffs down and held out her hand. I took with a confused and uncertain smile, grimace... strange facial expression. This was all too weird for me.

"Agreed, and thank you," she said as she shook my hand. It was firm and brief.

"Who are you anyway?" I asked. I wanted a name to go with my story, probably something goth-like; Raven maybe, or Ebony.

"Satan," she answered plainly. "I'll see you later." She flashed me another one of her smiles before replacing the candy between her lips and walking off.

Protip: Always find out the name of the other party before agreeing to anything.




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