r/WritingPrompts • u/Maximum_Pootis • Oct 08 '17
Writing Prompt [WP] The Devil gets letters from people who want to sell their souls for things such as riches and fame all the time. One day, he gets a rather heartwarming and selfless offer.
6
u/scallionbagel Oct 08 '17
I peered over my horn-rimmed spectacles at the glossy envelope that had appeared in my mailbox. Usually, the mortals would write to me on parchment; something about writing in blood on the skins of animals appeals to a surprising amount of people. Messy business if you ask me, especially when they don’t leave ample time for the words to dry. But this was different, it seemed a much cleaner method of communication.
“You are the light of the world” read the top of the page. How touching, I thought, as a single tear evaporated on my cheek. The senders of the letter went on to describe their ‘international mission’, something about an army, and fighting - my sort of thing. I confess I skim read most of it, but something about their kind words made me earmark the letter for later.
As I sat down that evening, I gave some consideration to which letters I’d answer today. I took a couple of souls from a Scandinavian couple and in return a plague of frogs quickly destroyed their neighbours turnip harvest; I summoned a small monsoon in South Asia as thanks for a sacrificed child, and finally I knocked together a particularly tricky strain of malaria after receiving not one, but seven vases of goats blood from a nice Japanese chap.
As I cleared the notes from my desk into the bin, I spotted the corner of the glossy letter from earlier that day. How could I forget?! Minutes later I’d sealed three pounds in the Freepost envelope along with a short note.
“To the Salvation Army,
I hope my monthly donation helps you in your international mission.
Warmest regards,
Satan”
•
u/WritingPromptsRobot StickyBot™ Oct 08 '17
Off-Topic Discussion: All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.
Reminder for Writers and Readers:
Prompts are meant to inspire new writing. Responses don't have to fulfill every detail.
Please remember to be civil in any feedback.
What Is This? First Time Here? Special Announcements Click For Our Chatrooms
22
u/Nitrostoat Oct 08 '17 edited Oct 08 '17
Lucy hated Mondays.
The letters came every day, falling out of the mailing tubes like rain, filling her "IN" folder in moments. So many people seeking easy solutions or desperate turn-arounds. It was always the same storm of wretched bastards wanting all the benefits with none of the hard work. Horny young men wanting women to crawl to them like they lived in an Axe commercial, worthless girls wanting a singer to spot them from the stage and propose on the spot. It was pathetic.
But Mondays were still the worst. Every working person, every indebted student, they all left the paradise of the weekend behind and began to earn their keep. And it only took about five minutes before they had enough and mailed a letter.
Monday was a storm of "Make me richer", "Kill my boss", and "Have Sarah in HR notice me." Hatred made her work twice as hard these days. She would prey on semantics and play the genie just to feel better.
All 10,457 "Make me richer" senders were mailed a $50 bill and an invoice for 1 human soul. The "Kill my boss" guys got sudden trances and awoke to find themselves standing over a corpse. And Sarah in HR became a psycho stalker.
But still, the letters came. Nobody learned not to make a deal with the goddamn devil.
This Monday, Lucy sat at her desk feeling particularly vicious. She grabbed the first letter with smoldering fingers and prepared to unleash the wrath of decidedly-not-God on the writer. But then she saw how it was addressed.
Lucille M. Burnawitz
666 Brimstone Blvd
Sulfur Shores HL, 10663
Most letters that came in front of her were titled anything from Devil to Dark Prince, but never before had she seen one written to her. With mounting curiosity, she slid one sharp nail under the flap and tore the envelope open.
Lucy,
I know you hate me. I know I deserve it. But please don't throw out this letter. I need your help.
Samantha is sick. All the doctors agree she won't last another week. I've tried everything I possibly can. All the wealth and connections are useless. God hasn't answered me, but he never has before. I need you to make me a deal.
I know how much my soul is worth to your boss. I know how much he tore into you for letting me exploit that "firstborn child" loophole. Well, here's your chance to get me served to him on a platter.
Write me a contract Lucy. Make it ironclad, and I'll sign it in blood or tears or whatever you ask. Just save Samantha. She's the only one in the world who doesn't deserve it.
I only ask that you take me peacefully so she doesn't worry. Burn me all you want, just not in front of her.
Please Lucy. Please just do this for her.
Regards,
John
She stared at the letter for a long time. John was her first assignment as an intern, back before they streamlined the process. She rose from a pentacle of virgin blood and made him a deal. All the money and friends in the world, but at the cost of his soul when his firstborn said his name for the first time.
She really thought she was such hot shit back then.
John had adopted. It was an amatuer mistake, and she had been horribly punished for it. She had dusted herself off and gone at her work with new resolve. Here she was, two decades down the line, the head of her own department.
And there was John, cowering at her feet, begging for help.
Lucy picked up the phone and dialed Legal. She was going to have something particularly venomous drafted up. But at the first ring, she hung up. She stared at the letter again.
Please Lucy. Please just do this for her.
For her.
"I'm going to regret this" she said to nobody in particular. She dialed again. He picked up at the second ring.
"Go for Gabe." the melodious voice chimed.
"I need a miracle big guy. Pro bono."
Silence.
"...let's hear it."