The Devil Always Tells The Truth (FICTOID)

The only way to kill his pain?  Destroy the universe.

Anything less risks his pain not going away even after death.

Even if consciousness and identity and memory vanished into nothingness, even if his very soul were obliterated, there remained the risk that some portion of him, some remnant, some scintilla of an iota of a ghost of a glimpse of a fragment of a sub-atomic particle would continue suffering and that he could not tolerate.

So to escape even the remotest chance of pain and humiliation, he summoned the greatest, most ferocious, most utterly horrendous demon from the deepest / darkest / dankest bowels of hell, the king of corruption, the epitome of evil:  Sydney.

The demon’s arrival set the pine needle forest floor ablaze.  “WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME, HUMAN?”

“I seek relief,” the woodcutter said.  “Relief…and revenge.”

“HMMM, I LIKE IT,” said the demon, a floating dark blue upper humanoid torso levitating eight feet above the crackling pine needles, backlit by a literally hellish halo of Cherenkov radiation.  “WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE ME DO?”

“Destroy the universe,” said the woodcutter.

“WAIT…WHAT?” Sydney asked.

“Destroy the universe,” the woodcutter repeated.  “Every last bit of it.”

“WHY WOULD I WANT TO DO THAT?”

“Look, you make deals with humans all the time, right?  Well, this is the deal I want to make.”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE STANDARD TERMS ARE FOR A DIABOLIC PACT?”

The woodcutter swallowed drily and nodded.

“IF I DESTROY THE UNIVERSE, HOW DO I BENEFIT?  I MEAN, WITH THE UNIVERSE GONE, SO ARE YOU.  HECK, I’D BE GONE, TOO!  HOW DOES THAT HELP ME?”

“Do you want to make this deal or not?”

“WHY DO YOU WANT TO DESTROY THE UNIVERSE?”

“Do you really need to know?”

“SINCE YOU CAN’T DESTROY THE UNIVERSE AND I CAN, YES!”

The woodcutter cast his gaze down.  “They rejected me.”

“WHO REJECTED YOU?” Sydney asked.  “THE NOBEL PRIZE COMMITTEE?  THE PARIS REVIEW?  THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS?”

“The other two members of our polycule triad.”

“YOU HAD A THREEWAY GOING?  DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY GUYS ASK ME FOR THAT ARRANGEMENT?”

“No women make that request?”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?  ALL A WOMAN HAS TO DO IS EVEN HINT SHE’S INTERESTED AND EVERYTHING FALLS INTO PLACE.”

A single  bitter tear rolled down the woodcutter’s cheek.  “We had an arrangement, but then they betrayed me.”

“SO YOUR GAL PAL RAN OFF WITH THE OTHER GUY.”

The woodcutter flushed red, a combination of shame and anger.  “The two women in our triad ran off and left me!”

After a long pause Sydney said, “YOU’RE KIDDING, RIGHT?”

The woodcutter shook his head.  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“OH, YOU’LL DIE, ALL RIGHT,” said the demon, and in a flash he obliterated the woodcutter’s physical form, rendering him down to a single sentient e. coli microbe living in the gut of Pigasus, the immortal twenty-three ton hog of hell who exists on a constant diet of radioactive prunes, rusty razor blades, and jalapeno peppers.

“ASSHOLE…” Sydney muttered to himself before winking out of this plane of existence.

© Buzz Dixon