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The VoiceThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Andrew Rochester | |
| Sunday, 10 February 2008 | |
Alan had just lost his job for no apparent reason. He began to doubt the existence of a God, and he was contemplating suicide. Alan had no one, and no other means of support; he wouldn't be able to get another job, he just knew it. He wasn't serious at first. He knew that Satan Himself wouldn't pop out of the ground with a contract when he tried to sell his soul. Or, at least he... thought he did... "I should sell my soul to get my job back," Alan said, almost jokingly. He walked to his small apartment and watched television for a while. He turned the t.v. off, and the second he did he heard a voice so loud, yet, it seemed to be a whisper at the same time: "Just what the Hell makes you think that i would want your ******* soul you son of a *****?" was what the Voice said. "What?" Alan muttered, his voice cracking. "What the Hell makes you think that I want your soul?" the Voice repeated Am I crazy? Alan thought to himself and a split second after the thought went through his mind. "No, no you aren't yet. This is surprising to Me. Most people go crazy after hearing My voice." Alan moved to his kitchen counter and rummaged through the drawer for a few moments. He didn't want to go into his bedroom or the bathroom because all of the lights had gone out a few days ago, Alan now wondered if Satan had anything to do with that. He walked back into the living room with a bottle of amber colored fluid in his hands: his emergency stash. "You are back so soon?" whispered and screamed the Voice. "Y-yes..." said Alan "Do not speak. I can hear your thoughts" Okay. The bottle of alcohol suddenly exploded in Alan's hands, suprisingly, he wasn't cut at all. He suddenly jumped up and ran to the door; It was locked. He ran to the window; he looked out into an abyss instead of a third story city apartment view. The Voice laughed. Alan sat back down and was back where he started, only a little more shaken than he originally was. What do you want? "To know why you thought I wanted your soul." I have always been told... that... You wanted to corrupt our souls. "Our? Maybe you have gone crazy." Well... in The Bible it says- The Voice of Satan seemed to be in great pain and was screaming in rage and anger. Alan cowered on the floor. "Never say that, or any... 'holy' word around me ever!" Alan continued to cower. The Voice was quiet for a while (was it a second, or was it an eternity?) When It spoke again, It was not enraged. "I will forgive you this time. You did not know, and as you will see, I am a very fair being. I give people what they ask for during their life, but right now, I am curious. Why were you willing to sell your soul to me? You would have made it to heaven, and to tell you the truth, you would have found another job in eight days." I was angry that I lost my job. I let my emotions get the best of me... and...I would have made it to heaven? "Yes you would have, but that oppurtunity is now past. You have made a small problem into an eternity of damnation." If I am condemned to Hell, then why are you toying with me here? Why don't you go condemn other people? "I can split my shape into many forms. How do you know this isn't Hell? Nothing to do but talk to Lucifer for all of eternity?" I expected more medieval torture devices. "Oh, those! Ha. They are waiting for you in the next level." Level? "Hahaha." I can't be in Hell. I haven't died. "No?" What do you mean? "I can make your death whatever i want. Alcohol poisoning, you could hang yourself, you could have slit your wrists with those glass shards over there." Alan started to cry. Maybe this was Hell. Maybe he was crazy and was having illusions in some padded room, a straight jacket restraining him from harming himself or others. But there were no others. He was alone. "You realize the truth." "Yes," Alan said aloud between sobs. Alan walked to his room to get his copy of The Bible. He would read psalms until this nightmare passed. That would work. As he passed through the door, he came out into the living room. "What the ****?" Alan said, clearly expecting to be facing a bed rather than the entrance to the room he just left. "You didn't think that the Prince of Darkness, The Father of Lies would be so easy to be rid of?" screamed Satan, "Did you thing that every other person who has ever gone insane has not tried that exact same move? How should I put this? Checkmate, my friend. You are in Hell and you will be here forever. There is NO escape." "Leave me alone!" Alan choked out, hysterical now. "NO. NEVER." Alan sprinted to his room, which didn't turn out to be the television room this time. He had a different intent, and Satan could read his mind. He grabbed a few ties and belts. Alan put one around his neck, tied the others together, and attatched the last one to... Nothing here, he had never hung himself before and forgot that there was nothing on the ceiling strong enough to support him. Satan had been disturbingly and utterly silent throughout this whole affair. He ran to the broken bottle and found it to be still there. Better idea, he could cut himself with it. He cut his wrists open, then sat down to enjoy his last moments of life. Satan gave him no such luxury. "You wish to go to level two, then?" Alan panicked. He tried to stop the bleeding quickly but the more he tried to stop the bleeding, the more it gushed out. Alan's wrists suddenly started to feel sharp pains. He was feeling the cuts. He sat down again, having given up all hope of survival. "You realized it is useless. Good. I wish to tell you something: Although you were technically alive, you would have been found in your apartment days later, clearly insane. You would have been sitting on your couch screaming nonsense at the top of your lungs. Now, it is time. Come with me to level two." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Six days later, Alan's nosy neighbors in the apartment above him complained about a disgusting smell coming from the apartment directly below them. The landlady got the surprise of her life when she walked in and found Alan's remains. What was left was quite rank. The eyes were closed tightly on his lifeless face, and tears were sliding down his cheeks. Copyright 2008 Andrew Rochester |
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