A Deal With The Devil [FICTOID]

“You can’t be serious!”

“As serious as a heart attack, which I believe you just had.”

“You said I’d enjoy a lifetime as a rock star!”

“And so you did.”

“One lousy album!”

“Oh, don’t be so harsh on yourself -- after all, that’s what I’m here for.  Your album wasn’t lousy, it was quite…mediocre.”

“You cheated me!”

“You got your lifetime.”

“Three months!”

“I am not responsible for the length of your life.  Take that up with the management upstairs.”

“Can I?”

“No, of course not.  Don’t be ridiculous.  I was merely being metaphorical.”

The now dead rock star shifted uneasily.  The hot floor felt sandy beneath his bare feet, the record album with its cast iron rune on the cover now seemed silly and useless and tacky -- he gave away his soul for this?

“Is there no hope?” he asked.

The devil gestured to the old, old sign carved above the gates; a smaller sign, hung in recent years, also proclaimed:  No Refunds

“There has to be some hope,” the rock star said.

“Not short of a regime change,” said the devil.  “And as much as it breaks my heart to admit it, we have a snowball’s chance in…well, down here…of that happening.”

The rock star shook his head.  “I refuse to believe it.  I demand to take it up with higher management.”

“We have a contract,” the devil reminded him.  “You signed your name in blood as a token of your willingness to abide by the terms.”

“I didn’t realize my road to success would be a highway to hell,” said the rock star.

The devil rolled his eyes.  “Oh, please, as if I haven’t heard that one a million times already today.”

“I’ll be the torch bearer who leads them out!” yelled the rock star, believing his own hype.  “I want a lawyer to lodge my suit!”

The devil smiled.  “Who do you think has all the lawyers?”

© Buzz Dixon