Turner Walsh was a wealthy man. A broker on Wall Street. Residing on 5th Avenue, he lived alone. He stepped on the little man to get what he desired. He did not take no for an answer. And he always got what he wanted. Although, he was not musically inclined. And that is what he wanted. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not learn how to play any instruments. His favorite instrument was the electric guitar. He hired the finest musicians to teach him how to play. However, despite their best efforts, they were unable to teach him. One night, after a long day of work, he decided that he needed a drink. He walked to the nearest bar and sat down. “I wish I could be a fantastic guitar player”, he said. “I would do anything. Give anything it takes.” “I can help you with that.” Turner jerked around, startled. Standing before him was an intimidatingly tall man. He was extremely pale, with almost no pigment save white woven into his skin. He was garbed in a suit and tie, as well as shiny, black dress shoes. He had bleach blonde hair. The most colorful thing about him was his blood-red eyes. They seemed to glare into Turner’s very soul. He felt a gripping terror grasp his chest. He suddenly grew very wary of the fact that this was no mortal man. “Wh-who are you?”, stuttered Turner. “Me?”, the man said with a smirk on his face. “I am Satan.” Then, seeing the expression of both horror and disbelief on Turner’s face, he added: “Oh, please. Was it not obvious from the beginning? Look, Turner, I can make you a musician. A famous musician. A star, even. All I need from you is your soul. No biggie, right?” “O-okay.”, stated Turner, still horrified. Turner knew now for certain that he was speaking with The Devil. “Wonderful!” The Devil’s eyes lit up. Turner woke up in a daze. A smashed guitar was laying next to him. He could not remember any of the events which had transpired last night. Come to think of it, the last few years were a blur. There were bongs and needles lying all over the floor of the room. His nose burned with a searing pain. It had been another drug-filled night for the rockstar. He suddenly had a very vivid memory of a meeting he had had with a very pale man in a bar years ago. As he stood up and walked away from the wall which he had been lying against, he noticed a shadow looming in front of him. He turned around, knowing all too well what would await him. There, standing against the very same wall, was a pale, red-eyed man. He was dressed in a suit and dress shoes. His pale skin seemed untouched by the years, unlike Turner’s, destroyed by drug use. His bleach blonde hair reflected the dim light in the room. “I’m really not in the mood.”, Turner said grumpily. “That is beside the point.”, stated the man matter-of-factly. “What do you want, Satan?”, asked Turner “Your soul.”, The Devil replied. Before Turner could protest, the man reached out his right arm. Within a split second, his arm was gone, torn from the shoulder down. A single red arm with pitch-black claws shot out at Turner. The arm tore into his body. It grabbed at his heart. It grasped it and pulled it out quickly. It then crushed it in its grasp. Turner’s soul burst out of the vital organ. The soul was then absorbed through Satan’s eyes and mouth. A dark portal to the underworld opened below him, and as quick as he had appeared, he was gone. He had returned to Hell with his spoils, leaving Turner’s still-bleeding body to lie on the floor of the dimly-lit room and rot.
Turner Walsh was a wealthy man. A broker on Wall Street. Residing on 5th Avenue, he lived alone. He stepped on the little man to get what he desired. He did not take no for an answer. And he always got what he wanted. Although, he was not musically inclined. And that is what he wanted. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not learn how to play any instruments. His favorite instrument was the electric guitar. He hired the finest musicians to teach him how to play. However, despite their best efforts, they were unable to teach him.
ReplyDeleteOne night, after a long day of work, he decided that he needed a drink. He walked to the nearest bar and sat down. “I wish I could be a fantastic guitar player”, he said. “I would do anything. Give anything it takes.” “I can help you with that.” Turner jerked around, startled. Standing before him was an intimidatingly tall man. He was extremely pale, with almost no pigment save white woven into his skin. He was garbed in a suit and tie, as well as shiny, black dress shoes. He had bleach blonde hair. The most colorful thing about him was his blood-red eyes. They seemed to glare into Turner’s very soul. He felt a gripping terror grasp his chest. He suddenly grew very wary of the fact that this was no mortal man. “Wh-who are you?”, stuttered Turner.
“Me?”, the man said with a smirk on his face. “I am Satan.” Then, seeing the expression of both horror and disbelief on Turner’s face, he added: “Oh, please. Was it not obvious from the beginning? Look, Turner, I can make you a musician. A famous musician. A star, even. All I need from you is your soul. No biggie, right?” “O-okay.”, stated Turner, still horrified. Turner knew now for certain that he was speaking with The Devil. “Wonderful!” The Devil’s eyes lit up.
Turner woke up in a daze. A smashed guitar was laying next to him. He could not remember any of the events which had transpired last night. Come to think of it, the last few years were a blur. There were bongs and needles lying all over the floor of the room. His nose burned with a searing pain. It had been another drug-filled night for the rockstar. He suddenly had a very vivid memory of a meeting he had had with a very pale man in a bar years ago. As he stood up and walked away from the wall which he had been lying against, he noticed a shadow looming in front of him. He turned around, knowing all too well what would await him. There, standing against the very same wall, was a pale, red-eyed man. He was dressed in a suit and dress shoes. His pale skin seemed untouched by the years, unlike Turner’s, destroyed by drug use. His bleach blonde hair reflected the dim light in the room.
“I’m really not in the mood.”, Turner said grumpily. “That is beside the point.”, stated the man matter-of-factly.
“What do you want, Satan?”, asked Turner “Your soul.”, The Devil replied. Before Turner could protest, the man reached out his right arm. Within a split second, his arm was gone, torn from the shoulder down. A single red arm with pitch-black claws shot out at Turner. The arm tore into his body. It grabbed at his heart. It grasped it and pulled it out quickly. It then crushed it in its grasp. Turner’s soul burst out of the vital organ. The soul was then absorbed through Satan’s eyes and mouth. A dark portal to the underworld opened below him, and as quick as he had appeared, he was gone. He had returned to Hell with his spoils, leaving Turner’s still-bleeding body to lie on the floor of the dimly-lit room and rot.
Sorry for the lack of correct indentation and such. It won't show up on my post for some reason.
ReplyDeleteJosh, why did you post your story in the comments section? It should be in your post section? This is confusing.
ReplyDelete