When a Hero Fall (Revised)

During my first year at the university there was a lot of buzz going on throughout the campus. Moral amongst the student and faculty were at an all-time high, riding the high from the state championship win two months prior. The star quarterback threw for an amazing 500+ yards and five touchdowns clinching the first championship win in twenty years. I thought that the hype would have subsided after two months but there was a lot the school had to celebrate as the basketball team won their fourth straight game. The star quarterback that led his team to win a championship was now dominating the court and once again leading his team to another championship.

                Just a few weeks before March Madness and after an astounding 123-78 win, The coach had cut weekend practice and gave everyone a deserving day off. With a huge win underneath them and no practice the next morning, the team partied through the night. The school hero was not a drinker and rarely stayed out that late; but at that party he partook in a few drinks, making out several girls, and overall just let loose. Just before the sun was coming up the party was still going strong but he had enough fun for one night. Not a single responsible person was at that party and let their hero drive home.

                Eventually the school calmed down as their dream for a second championship came and went, disappointed that they didn’t even make the playoffs and that the rest of that semester was without their hero. Tears flowed from everyone for the unfortunate event that occurred to their fallen hero. His former team played with all heart as they dedicated the rest of the season to him, but disappointment when they fell short and realized exactly how important and irreplaceable he was. That night after the party was the night that the school died.

             

 The following semester after the summer break students and faculty returned to their classes and it seemed there was a hint of normalcy. That first day back I sat outside my class room and watched as friends ran to each other to catch up in the previous months. Everyone was excited and full of life; I watched in amazement as it was seemed as if nothing happened the year before; how an entire campus could die one day and thrive the next. I watched until 8:00am when class was to start, held the door for the few stragglers I saw running to class. A few minutes into the class and while discussing what was expected we were interrupted when the door opened. The room filled with gasps and then a deadly silence as everyone looked to the door. Motionless and utterly shocked, everyone staring as a fallen hero enters the room.

                For the remainder of the semester awkwardness filled the room. Students walked on egg shells around the once hero. Everyone tried so hard to assist and accommodate him; holding doors open for him, picking up dropped pencils, and never spoke out aloud about what happened or how he looked. Towards the end of the semester he would wait until everyone left the room after class before he would leave. I would sit with him sometimes and talk to him; I’d asked about classes, home, and even asked about the accident. He would open up to me and pour out his soul. His eyes would fill with tears when he talked about the pity and how he was being treated differently. He had accepted that he made a mistake and owned up to it. He was old enough to know he shouldn’t have driven and described how he felt being the university hero and how he was untouchable and indestructible, or so he thought.

                His writings were some the best I had ever seen before and since. In the beginning he wrote of a life he should have had; first round draft pick for the NFL, married to college sweetheart, making lots of money and praised by everyone, he was going to be a household name. As we continued our talks and with each passing day his writings started to change; they became stories of recovery, healing, happiness and overcoming the odds. Those stories were touching and heartfelt, they were about a boy once out casted treated like a leopard or a wondered dog and returns victorious. Not as a hero as he was done with that dream, but as a man that is accepted into society, a man that can walk again, a man without a wheelchair.

                The semester soon ended and little had changed by the end of the year. He was still being treated as a crippled in a wheelchair. He wasn’t invited to parties; the football or basketball games, or really even talked too. The thing he felt was the worst part about the whole situation was that no one talked to him about it or sincerely asked how he was feeling. Had they asked then maybe they could have understood better about what happened or about him; that he accepted what happened and doesn’t blame anyone. Maybe then they could have moved past the wheelchair and see that he was still a person, he was still the same person as before.

                During that summer he met with his doctors and there was a lot of discussion about some of his options. Quickly he decided that he wanted to walk again; he wanted to be as close to normal as he could, he wanted to walk again. He told me a week before the surgery that he was tired of the looks and the special treatment. As strong as he was on the outside and when we would have our talked, there was still a large part of him that cried at night. To be accepted by all his peers one day and then forgotten the next was too much for him to handle and that was why he went through with the surgery.

                The day of the surgery I phased out and quietly sat with him in the doctor’s office.  When they came for him I say him kiss his parents and with a big smile quietly got wheeled away knowing that in a few hours he would be walking. I walked with them down the hall to the operating room as they set up and prepared for the 12 hour surgery. As the anesthesia was applied they asked him to count backwards from a hundred. 100, 99, 98, 97, 96 and quickly he started to doze off. 95, 94, 93, 92 he’s was almost out completely, but just before he was out I made myself visible to him. He saw me but was confused why I was there, I mouthed “I’m Sorry” and his face dropped, but I wasn’t sure if he knew why I was there or if the drugs too hold. I sat in that room for 11 hours of that surgery and watched over him. At the 12th hour the monitors went off and made all kinds of noise, doctors began running around in a panic at which time I stood up and slowly walked out.  

 

Two Plus Four Equals... Still Short (Revised)

It was only about 50 years ago that man would die off from the most simple and now common diseases and ailments. With the arrival of the technology age, man had made huge strides in modern medicine and eliminated the risks of many diseases. Man is just steps away from immortality. But until then everyone is vulnerable, even the happiest and perfect of families can be torn apart in ways that medicine and science can’t mend.

                A woman will still weeps a year after her husband dies in a drunk driving accident on his way home from the grocery store to get her ice cream. Her soul and her heart find what little peace they can when she is around her beautiful daughter. Together they cope with the loss of a husband, father, and a friend the best they can. The daughter goes to class and loses herself in the dramas of high school and graduation just one year away. Mom, broken hearted, stays active and borderline over-protective with the daughter’s life ensuring no harm or pain comes to her.

                With such pain still close to the surface mom and daughter will fight. Above even the love of a spouse, a mother’s love for a child and the primal nature to keep them safe can be over-powering. Not meaning to smother her daughter, the mom will overreact to the simple things. By wanting to be closer to the only remaining family she has, mom will ultimately push them apart. Ironically the only way for the two to reconnect and care for each other as they did before the accident is when mom is given 2 months to live when she gets diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Chemotherapy, a relatively new product of Modem Medicine has been said to extend lives six months and sometimes more.

                Two months to live, seven months to daughter’s graduation, and four extended months from chemo still leave mom a month short. Faced with her own mortality she reflects on the life she had. Everything was great with only two regrets: asking her husband to go get ice cream and losing touch with her daughter. Not dead yet, she decides there might still be time to fix her relationship with her daughter. For the first few months the two become close as the daughter is needed to assist mom to her doctor’s appointments for chemo; and while the two sit there for the two hour treatment, they begin talking again. By the end of the third month mom is still technically alive, but only in the shell of a person she once was. Chemo is a brutal treatment that kept her alive but she was miserable and the daughter could see it.

Pleading with her daughter, she begs to get off the chemo.

“I DON’T FEEL ALIVE ANYMORE AND I CAN BARELY REMEMBER YOUR FATHER,” she yelled with a pain and strained voice.

Tears feel her eyes as she continues in a tired whisper:

“Let me go, I want to feel again…” she pauses, “I don’t want to forget your father.”

Against the doctor’s recommendation and the acceptance that mom will not see her graduate the daughter does not take mom back for a single treatment. Slowly, color returns to mom’s face, strength to the limbs, and her head began filling with the long forgotten memories of her husband. Not expected to make it even a few days, mom beat the odds and lived on; each day getting stronger and stronger. What was once acceptance that she would not see her daughter graduate soon became a reality that she would.

                The medical world would argue that it was the 3 months of chemo that slowed the growth of the cancer that would eventually extend her life. Man hides behind the delusions of science and that it will one day birth immortality. The reality of it is that, yes medicine does help extend life but it will never give immorality.

Medicine didn’t even extend this woman’s life; a few words written on a piece of paper did. Come the day of graduation, the daughter walked proud that she had competed a huge chapter in her life and as she grasps the diploma in her hand, she catches sight of her mother still alive and tears fill her eyes.  After the ceremony the two walk to the car and are interrupted by a car of celebrating graduates. Her friends tell her about a party and insist she goes. Hesitant at first, she resists wanting to make sure mom gets home safe. But mom is so happy and proud of her daughter. Mom ensured her daughter that she was feeling fine and could make it home. Mom pushes her towards the car of new graduates and tells her to have fun. The two hug each other and she mouths a “thank you” to mom and jumps in the car.

As mom drives home she thinks about how she only had 2 months to live and that it was a miracle to see her daughter graduate. Not paying attention to the road she has to suddenly swerve to avoid a car accident. Shaken about the near accident she pulls off into a parking lot to catch her breath. What mom didn’t know was at that exact moment several miles away there would be a car filled with kids running a red light as a large semi clears the intersection.   

 

A Fairytale with Bondage (Revised)

Still in the early days of my new career change I would meet so many interesting people. Like this one women in her mid-20’s from Casistan. She was from a broken home on some little farm. She would spend a lot of her childhood helping the family tend to the farm. She was a cute child full of innocence and knew nothing of the outside world and some could argue that it was a perfect life. In the early 1980’s a massive winter lasting 5 months came rolling through and decimated everything. Farm land became infertile, animals froze to death, and many townspeople died.

Among the death toll from that winter was this little girl’s mom. Mom had caught pneumonia in the winter’s 4^th month and because of the blizzards the family couldn’t get her to a doctor and no doctor could make it to them. In the spring as the family, now only a little girl and her father, grieved for the mother’s passing the two tried to hold it together for each other. But as the summer rolled around dad’s attitude had begun to change. He was stressed out about the additional work load being one person down and unable to cope with his feeling of losing his wife; he became a different person. Pushed to his limit and unable to control his anger he would from time to time lose control and take it out on a little girl.

She would endure regular beatings and wonder what she did wrong, why she was being hit. She began hating herself but eventually understood why. She was being punished for mom dying; she was being punished because she was the one that was supposed to die, not mom. After some time she no longer cried and accepted her punishment. After her beatings she would crawl to her bed and from underneath the bed would pull out a box of old torn up books. She would spend each night reading tales of flying boys coming to take other little children to Neverland, or fairytales that ended with a princess saved by a handsome prince.

For years the beating continued and so did the reading. On good days when she was allowed to go into town and the bruises were visible, she would pick up supplies for father but would also quickly visit a little book shop. The shop was owned by a missionary and would engage in small discussions or debates every time she came in. The two were delighted with each other and were the highlights of each of their days. The Missionary could see the pain in her eyes and each visit he would insist on giving her a new book. Over time he would give her everything from American classics, to Russian, text books, and poetry. Each one she would have finished within a few beatings.

Her world was being blown wide open with ideas and philosophy and hopes for a better life. That realization would come a day late when that night she received the worst beating she ever had and something happened that hadn’t in years; she cried. That night after father went to sleep she packed up a few books, and 2 days of clothes. She snuck out of her house and ran, never looking back. With the help of the missionary she wAould find herself in America within a few days. With lots of help from a lot of loving and caring people she met in America she was provided government assistance for housing, and because of all the reading she had tested extremely high. With those test score she was given an opportunity to go to a real school and after four years in a high school she graduated at the top of her class.

After high school the government assistance dried up. When she stepped foot into my class it was hard not to notice that she was beautiful. She was stunning but unlike the stereotypes for someone that beautiful she was brilliant. But like the struggling college women stereotype, she was an exotic dancer trying to pay her way through school to get her license to practice medicine. She had put up a compelling front to all those looking in that she was happy. But the eyes told everything, she was miserable, and the long sleeves said there was a problem. I never noticed her in class or around campus with a boyfriend or hanging out with any male students. I always thought that was a shame because she was so bright and beautiful.

Slightly after she aced my class she had stopped by and told me she was taking a semester off due to some financial problems. She mentioned she had a few jobs lined up and planned to be back in the fall semester. In my new role I knew there was nothing I could do to help, so I wished her luck and asked her to please come back and visit. The job that she had mentioned was a model for a local convention. She was to dress up and man a booth, but she had to dress up for a fetish ball. She was into stuff like that so it wasn’t too far outside her comfort level. Something amazing happened that night and among all the sexual deviants. While she was dressed up and manning her bondage booth she was arguably the sexiest person there. So much so that a local event promoter and exotic agent caught wind of the beauty on the other end, the one with the huge crowd surrounding her. He rushed over and pushed his way through the crowd to get a look. At first glance he saw that she had a very “Dita von Teese” look to her and knew instantly he had to represent her.

The man eventually became her agent and began plans to market her. He had visions of global fame both inside and outside the exotic/fetish world. The two began working very closely together on best ways to sell the image, which talk shows to do; there were even some early movie scripts. Day and night the two would spend all of their time together. Naturally, being in close proximity to someone and always talking about fetishes and sex toys the two quickly turned the professional relationship into more. Everything was moving so fast that the sexual relationship spawned into love. The first time since her mother died she felt love, love from a man. It scared her so much and at times she thought about leaving him. But like after her beatings she read and fantasied about a fairytale ending and she was convinced that this was her happily ever after.

She did come back to visit me a few months later and told he all about the adventure she had been in. I joked about how that was her fairytale ending complete with a prince saving her from the shackles of a dungeon, and she would joke that her prince actually puts her in those shackles. Shortly after my visit she was married. I phased out and quietly attended the wedding, and it was a beautiful reception, fitting for a princess. The two made plans for a tour across the country to headline fetish balls. They had agreed to take some time off after the tour to pursue a family, complete with child. The first stop of her tour she dressed up as he did a hundred times before and manned a similar bondage booth. The difference in that booth was a new project they were promoting and came complete with hand/foot straps and a throat strap. Once she was bound the throat strap was put on. This was the first time she had tried out this product and thought she could work it. Tragedy struck that night as the throat strap was placed too tight around her neck and the fail safe refused to engage. No one was able to get it off until it was too late. She died thinking, “Remember me at my best; let my worst die with me.”

The First Soul- A Father's Sacrifice (Revised)

April 3, 2004

My first soul claim came from a twenty-something out of Somewhere, U.S.A. He was a relatively smart kid, thought he knew everything, much like all the others his age. Two years prior to taking my class he was on top of the world, untouchable, and could achieve anything he wanted too. He had several friends and was life of the party. He was the guy with groups of people crowded around him waiting for the next funny thing to come out his mouth or to see if he would actually get naked. He seemed to have this gift, one that makes the rules of normal man not apply to him.

By the time I met him something happened to him and left a shell of that man. His eyes used to burn bright red, like fire, with passion and determination. That fire was the same fire that burned deep within his heart and was the source of his entire being. That raw burning passion was the reason why he lived. He would see and want something and it would drive every fiber of his being to accomplish. He wanted a house and months later he bought one despite not making enough money. He wanted a girlfriend and then weeks later he had one. He wanted to go back to school so he did. He was on the path to greatness; he was on his way to his ultimate goal/dream, in that everyone would know who he was.

When I first saw him his eyes were dark, cold, and empty. He was defeated and pathetic. His life seemed to be turned upside down and spiraling out of control as everyday he fought to get up and keep trying to regain his claim to glory. Nevertheless each day took its toll on him and added more and more weight to his shoulders. I was amazed at the strength and will power he had. It was quickly becoming clear that he has reached his threshold and couldn’t maintain it much longer.

The day he turned in his paper he had sealed his fate, but weirdly enough he smiled. Why after all this time, when nothing was getting better, would he smile? I followed him home that night to find answers, trying to understand why he was so happy.

He arrived at his house and checked the mail. When he opened the mail box a dozen envelops came flooding out. He picked them up and walked into the house. He sat at the table and began to open the mail: “Bill, Bill, Bill, Overdue, Second notice, final notice.” He opened all the mail and added all the bills to an existing pile of bills on the counter. I was shocked at the lack of worry and concern in his face.

He goes to his room and sets an alarm for three hours later. I was curious why he needed such a small amount of sleep; I couldn’t find it in me to leave. I watched him sleep alone in the dark, quiet, and lonely house.  After the three hours he rose, looking exhausted and like death he got dressed, grabbed his keys and left. As he began to drive I saw a name tag hanging from the rearview mirror and assumed he was going to work. As he drove, he turned up the radio as loud as it would go. I sat back and enjoyed the ride. Not paying attention to him I started to notice that the car was drifting from side to side. I looked over and he was sleeping. I yelled at him and he startled awake and regained control of the car.

Once at work he clocked in and walked to the back of some office, sat at his desk and began working. His desk was plain and boring. There was some hand-me-down calendar, paper everywhere, a few empty soda cans and surprisingly a couple pictures of a beautiful little girl. He was some kind of accountant or something as for hours I watched him enter numbers from one spread sheet to the next. I was shocked to see that he was actually pretty good at what he did. He was good enough to finish his work in six hours and when he finished walked to a break room and slept for the remainder of his shift.

When he had awakened from his nap he got back in his car and started to drive forty minutes back towards home but he stopped at a restaurant. He reached inside the glove compartment and pulled out another name tag. He changed his shirt in the car and put on this ugly green shirt, clipped on his name tag, and walked inside. Once inside he checked the seating sheet and stood waiting to greet people. For eight more hours, I watched dumbfounded at this burst of energy from this kid, who only a few hours earlier was sleeping while driving. Table after table he took orders, brought out food and cleaned up empty tables. The restaurant located a few blocks from the collage so the late night shift was packed and never slowed down.

Once he got off work there he returned home for a couple hours to sleep. He would repeat that first day again over and over for the better part of the next year. The only time he seemed to smile were the two days in the week he was off from both jobs and would pick up his three year old daughter to stay with him. Once that little girl got out of mommy’s car something amazing happened… the fire in his eyes and heart flared up again. I never saw this look before; the happiness the two shared for each other was like something out of a book. Yet that fire burned out just as quickly as his daughter left. This man had only one thing to life for and it was her.

For one year I watched this guy kill himself working countless hours with no rest, he never ate, hardly smiled and never had fun. Night after night he repeated the same tasks over and over and over; never gaining any ground to improve his situation and everyday he lost a little of who he was. He worked to barely survive while he watched everyone around him getting everything they wanted. Nightly people called or texted him about all the fun they were having. Friends were drinking and partying, someone was getting married, or a few close friends of his were getting promotions and making something of their lives. Every one of those calls and texts added more and more burden and regret. The news of everyone’s’ great lives improving caused fewer smiles to escape his lips. He did not smile but at the same time he did not hate or envy them. Within his heart he was genuinely happy for them.

As the last of his days close in on his year, he was informed of some predominantly good news. An ex-girlfriend, who had stayed close over the years, was dating again. Of all the good news that he had heard over the last year, this one was different. This one seemed to hit especially hard. He called and emailed her to congratulate her. After a few days pasted with no reply the pain became overwhelming. He stopped going to work, stopped eating what little he normally ate, and closed off to everyone. The only time I saw him leave that last week was to run a few errands. He went to work and visited the HR Department to check the details of his Life Insurance. He talked to the neighbor kid to see if he would watch the animals for a few days and he offered pay for his services.

That night he fell asleep relatively quick and had this relaxed expression as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. I would watch him sleep for a close to a year and never did he look so peaceful. He reminded me of his daughter when he was sleeping. His daughter slept happily with not a care in the world. As a child with no responsibility or worries; her only job was to get a good night’s rest so that she could laugh, smile, and play all day tomorrow. There were no alarms set and I watched him as he slept in for several hours. When he woke he slowly opened his eyes, stared out the window to catch a few rays of sunshine, and stretched. Moving slower than I have ever seen him move, I continued watching as he dressed into some jeans, a black button down shirt, socks and shoes. He walked over to the TV. Atop there was a bowl. He took the key out of and put it into his pocket. The next thing he did caught me off guard and never saw it coming. To the left of the TV there was a small box. As he stood in front of the TV and bowl, he moved contents from the bowl to the TV. Inside the bowl was a Money clip that he had for years and carried everywhere for years, a few used earrings (one had some kind of charm on it), a watch, and four rings that he always wore and rarely took off. After he added those items to the box he reached for his wallet, closed the box and left.

He left the house and drove to a greyhound bus station. I watch as he slowly but calmly walked to the window, ordered a ticket, and then walked to sit down on a bench. He sat there quiet for about an hour when bus 212 pulls up. He stood up and patiently waited for everyone to exit the bus and grab their bags. Once the bus was emptied he started to walk onto it but found it difficult to get on the bus. He reached the door and froze.  I watched as he took a few deep breaths then continued onto the bus; he never looked back. He closed his eyes as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Minutes later the bus driver closed the door and began to drive away.

A few days later as I followed and studied a few other students through their last year I stopped cold in my tracks as I overheard a news report of a man found dead in his sleep in a greyhound bus. The report indicated that his identity was unknown along with the cause of death. After hearing this report I went to his house and stood in front of the small box labeled “Princess’ Box” and re-read his paper. After I finished reading his essay I grabbed a piece of paper from my bag and wrote a letter to his daughter that only she could see and read.

“Your father was a very tired man. He lived a good life but in the last few years he struggled hard. Your father could set his mind to anything and he would accomplish it. His last few years were hard and he just wasn’t able to pull himself together. That was when he decided to make the toughest decision any one person could make.  He noticed that people were doing better without him and that life would probably be easier for everyone if he wasn’t around. He spent the last year making arrangements and ensuring that everyone he cared about was happy. When the last person was able to move on it was time for him to move on.

Please don’t view your father’s decision as cowardly or of him surrendering. He believed this was the best decision for everyone. I can assure you that it wasn’t an easy choice for him and I want you to know that the hardest part about this for him was leaving you. It killed him every day knowing that he would never watch you grow up, graduate high school, get married, or have kids of your own.  Your father loved you, so please never forget that and try not to hate him so much for leaving you.”

                                                                                                                      ~Nameless,The Forgotten~

Soul Collector- Nameless the Forgotten (Revised)

Have you ever wanted something so bad that you would sell your soul to the devil?

Today marks the 9th year of my contract with Lucifer. Let me take you back to July 16, 2003. I was a proud father and happily married. Work was going great and was heading to a very promising promotion that would make me the youngest CEO in the company’s history.  I had everything going for me and life seemed to be the best fairytale story.

The morning of the 17th my wife woke me up and showered me with kisses. My lovely 5 year old daughter, followed not long behind carrying a tray. On the tray was a peanut butter and mayo sandwich, a bowl of cereal with orange juice (instead of milk), a glass of milk(go figure), and a handmade card covered in glitter and macaroni spelling “Happy Birthday Papa.” She kissed me and sang happy birthday and watched me intently, waiting for me to eat my breakfast. I didn’t want to eat it but looking at pure joy in her face, I couldn’t refuse and took a bite of my sandwich and a bite of my cereal, her face lit up. My heart filled with love and my eyes started to tear up at the smiles of my wife and daughter. I was the luckiest man alive. After a few minutes my wife gathered my daughter, “Let daddy finish breakfast and you and I will go and get his surprise at the store.” She screamed with excitement and ran to her room to get her shoes. “We are going to get daddy’s new bike,” she yells running down the hall. My wife’s face was in shock as the surprise was now ruined. Clearly she was disappointed and upset but I couldn’t help but laugh. She didn’t think it was so funny and she started to cry. I held her tight, kissed her and smilingly told her it was ok.  

Knowing what I know now I would have never let her go. She gathered the kid and left to get my new motorcycle. Hours pass and they still haven’t returned home. I called her and there no answer, it went straight to voicemail.  I started to worry and got in the car and attempted find them. As I drove down the neighborhood I noticed the street is blocked off and police are everywhere. Before I was detoured I noticed there was a red van flipped upside down. Time stopped and my heart sunk as I already know what happened.

I slammed the breaks and exited the car and ran. The policemen saw me, “Sir please get back in your car.” I threw an elbow attempting to get his hands off me and I ran to the van. Police and Fire officials were trying to clear the wreckage. I scrabbled to look inside when five or six men restrained me. As they took me to the ground I noticed two blood stained sheets. With all my power I fought my way free and ran straight to the two sheets. I knelt next to the sheets and one at a time, I pull them back.

Reports later indicated that I screamed and sobbed as I held the lifeless bodies in my arms for over an hour. It took ten men to separate me from them. The next few days were all a blur as I sat in my empty house alone and in the dark; I disconnected the doorbell and phone so not to be disturbed. Unable to cope with the death of my wife and daughter I began to contemplate suicide. Knowing that killing myself wasn’t the way I began to pray. I begged and pleaded with God, telling him I would do anything to have them back, to not have them die.

Just as I began to give up hope that God existed, a man visited me in my room. Thinking it was God I was ecstatic and I dropped to my knees and began to thank him for coming and for helping me. The man interrupted me and advised that he wasn’t God but Lucifer.  He pulled me to my feet and asked to talk to me. We talked for hours that night and I listened to what he had to offer. He offered to bring them back, for the price of my soul. My eyes filled with joy at the thought of seeing them again. I agreed to give up my soul to him as well as work for him as his Soul Collector. He produced a contract that I was to sign:

“By signing this I relinquish my soul and everything associated with it to the devil, Lucifer. In agreement that he will return:

                1) Wife

                2) Daughter

At the return of the (2) persons listed above, I, the signer of this contract will agree to work for Lucifer as his Soul Collector until goal is met. The goal of 1000 souls is to be collected, at which time the signer’s soul and associated materials shall be returned.”

After I signed the contract he disappeared. The next thing I remembered was standing at the Motorcycle, no idea how I got there. However, to my surprise I saw them; my wife and daughter smiling and laughing. Excited, I rushed to them. I run and picked up my daughter and threw her into the air and caught her and hugged her tightly. I looked at her face and her mother’s and there is nothing but terror. There was panic and fear. I wanted to talk to them and tell them who I was but I couldn’t remember my name. What was my name? My wife and daughter screamed, while three large men came storming towards me. They restrained me and threw me out the back door, after kicking the shit out of me.

Confused about what just happened I yelled and demanded Lucifer to show his face. When he appeared he drew caution to my tone and advised that is the only time he will tolerate my anger. He explained everything that had happened. He informed me that he moved time back to before they were killed, however since I no longer have a soul I no longer existed; that they were living a life in a time where I didn’t exist. He explained that my wife married and had a daughter with someone else.  A man with no soul has no identity, no name. He presented me with my signed contract. I reviewed the contents and quickly realized how vaguely written it was; nothing within that contract said they would return as “my” wife and daughter.

No owning a soul and a merchant of death I was able to phase in and out of the physical world and be invisible; for a few weeks I followed them around to see their life.  They were happy and smiling. They lived their lives just like they had when I was there. It killed me to see my lovely wife making love to a different man and my daughter hugging this other man calling him daddy. After some time though I grew to accept it and was happy that they were alive and happy.

Having been fucked once by Lucifer, I don’t know why I thought he would play fair. After a couple weeks, I had left the room when my wife became intimate and I left to give some privacy (frankly I didn’t want to watch) so I sat in my daughter’s room and watched her sleep. All of a sudden I heard a crash and banging around. I ran to find out what all the ruckus was and came across a stranger breaking into the house. I ran to the master bedroom. I was too late, one of the men were already in there. The other husband was beaten and tired to a chair as unmentionable things were being done to my wife as we both stared on. I yelled and screamed for it to stop, I attempted to change into my physical form but I couldn’t, it wouldn’t happen. I watched in terror as the attack continued. The fear and terror in her eyes were heart breaking. I know I should have felt something but I couldn’t, I was sorry and wanted it to stop. Finally the attack ended with the slaying of both my wife and her husband. Anger filled my body as I tried to punch and kick at the attacker but nothing happened, I just phased right through him. Once he was finished in the master bedroom he turned towards the door and exited heading down the hallway.  

As I ran to the door and down the hall I saw a bright light flash and was outside at a nearby park sitting on a bench. Sitting across from me was Lucifer. He looked at me, “It’s time for you to work now. You aren’t going to get my souls watching your old family.” Infuriated I yelled at him about what happened. “I warned you once about taking that tone with me,” he said calmly. “God in all his infinite knowledge cannot control man but knows everything that man will do,” he continues to explain. “God knew that the home invasion was coming and how horrific it was going to be. So to show mercy he took them early and in less pain. By sending them back without the accident, events unfolded as they were supposed too.” When I asked about my daughter he refused to tell me any of the details that happened… I think this was his way of showing me mercy.

That’s my origin story of how I became what I am today. I am a professor at a local collage where I teach a creative writing class. At the end of the semester each student is asked to write a two page paper titled “If Only I had 1 Year Left to Live.” The only rules to this paper are that after the year you will be forgotten, you can’t be famous, you can’t cheat (have cancer and then cure your own cancer), and can’t plan your own death.

What these students don’t know is that I will make whatever they write happen to them… ultimately getting me one step closer to reaching my quota of 1,000 souls.  These stories celebrate the last year and the lives of the now forgotten.