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Heyo! I’m Lauren, a high school sophomore who loves reading too many fantasy novel series, listening to music, and eating a probably unhealthy amount of ice cream.

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Is there anything I can revise or improve? Please let me know, I really appreciate it! :3

Devilish Wishes

August 7, 2020



The Devil was bored. Perched on his inherited throne of obsidian, which still echoed with the shrieks of sinners from time to time, he filed his talons with a wayward spurt of hellfire and hummed Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. Dun dun dun DUUUUN.

Today had been another dull day of work—judging sinners, supervising torture, writing soul contracts, being summoned a couple times by deluded Satan worshippers—ah, after a gazillion years of doing his job, the devil was truly and utterly bored. He snapped his talons, extinguishing his fiery nail filer, and slouched on his throne. He could do anything he wanted—raise a couple more obsidian mountains in his domain? Pff, no problem. Fling a sack of criminal souls in a whirling vortex of their own pain and suffering? Pff, no problem. Encircle a whole planet with fire? PFFF, no problem. He had done that before, in all actuality, and it had been uproariously fun…at least until his holy colleague from the heavens above had intervened.

And yet, he was still tremendously, profoundly, extremely bored.

The Devil got up from his throne, stretched irritably, and teleported out of his throne room. He reappeared in his palace gardens with a tremendous bang and a sprinkle of sparks, impeccably unruffled. The palace gardens were one of the devil’s few sources of enjoyment, and his true pride and joy.

It was a veritable maze of jagged obsidian, twined with glowing blossoms—like snarled fangs hissing up into Hell’s crimson sky, echoing with the choruses of demon shrieks. The Devil grimaced contentedly as he trailed among the hell-fire pruned trees and pearly flower bushes. Curling up on a bench in a convenient cranny, he contemplated his options. They were limited, indeed, he noted dismally.

He could create several more obsidian pillars, except that took him mere seconds at best, and after admiring them for a spell, he’d simply be bored again. He could engage in a hellfire sculpting contest with one of his demonic ministers, except they all happened to be busy, and such contests, though conceptually exciting, weren’t much fun. He was their superior, and the supreme ruler of Hell, so of course they would always let him win. Their toadying manners were exceptionally comical.

The Devil, chortling to himself, recalled his last contest with Olgrollag, arch-demon of after-life finances, who administered his fine work ethic to the sorting of sinners’ pecuniary matters. The Devil, going first as always, had sculpted a fiery dragon; and Olgrollag, though perfectly capable of sculpting a castle or a Pegasus or even a 10-story soup tureen, had made a withered, depressed-looking tree and promptly proclaimed his defeat. Another contest now would probably be along the same lines and equally monotonous, but the Devil was at least mildly intrigued at what intentionally shoddy sculpture his ministers would come up with this time. Still, he crossed it off his mental list. They were busy, after all. Olgrollag, if the Devil recalled correctly, was dealing with an extraordinarily obese soul who had been a stingy businessman. The soul, practically wobbling in his corpulent, metaphysical bulk, had been unwilling to part with his Earth assets, which he still clutched in his incorporeal sausages of fingers. The Devil harrumphed. Humans were always mind-bogglingly stubborn.

He contemplated a third option. The Devil could go upstairs and talk to his heavenly counterpart…but what for? God was a thunderous being who loved His black coffee and never failed to offer a mug, which the Devil positively despised. God also never failed to remind the Devil of the last time He had to intervene in the planet issue. The Devil rolled his eyes. It had all been in good fun, and no one was hurt! Well, most organisms were fine. One poor fellow had unfortunately wandered too close to the ring of fire and gotten a full-body extreme tan. God had never let the Devil live that down, and it was a sure thing for it to be mentioned for the 101,537th time if he visited now. The devil crossed out the visit idea.

He sighed. With that, he had plain ran out of ideas…or had he? The devil shot up from his seat and gave a mighty crow of realization. He stomped his fire-proof loafers on the scorched grass and did a little jig on the spot. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He cackled, teleporting out of the gardens, waving gleefully to the puzzled demon birds as he winked out of sight in a burst of fiery sparks. The devil knew just what to do, and he wasn’t bored anymore.

The Devil stood on the house porch and contemplated the doorbell in front of him. It was rather dusty and more than a little rusty, but it worked when he pressed it with a well-manicured talon. Immediately, a frantic cacophony of barking exploded behind the door.

The Devil groaned inwardly. He never did well with dogs. The creatures disliked him, loathed him even. The Devil straightened his impeccably-ironed suit jacket and took a calming breath.

Coming up to the door were muffled, slipper-clad footsteps—slow, methodic, and shuffling. The Devil groaned again. He’d been hoping that he’d get a sprightly young person. Sprightly young people always wished for the cool things in life—like lots of money, or a spanking neon green Lamborghini, or an enormous mansion—all of which he’d be willing to grant, at a price of course. He’d be a bad businessman if he didn’t. Old people, like the person he’d undoubtedly meet in a few moments, wished for stupid, sentimental things like going back in time for a bit or seeing bygone friends again, or worse, nothing at all. The last human the Devil had offered wishes to was an old man who’d turned him down completely.

That was why the Devil had stopped giving out wishes for a bit—for what was the point of giving out wishes when no one wanted them? However, he was bored and wanting of some entertainment, and so, willing to risk all and go for it.
The door creaked open, revealing an elderly lady with pink plastic curlers arranged in what was left of her hair and reading spectacles drooped low on her nose. She smiled brilliantly at the Devil.

              “How may I help you?” she asked in a sweet, wobbly voice.

The Devil startled to attention, preening a bit and giving the old lady his best business grin.

            “Well,” he drawled winningly, “You may know me. I go by many names—Satan, Lucifer, the Devil, and I’m willing                to offer you the prize of your lifetime.”

This impressive statement appeared lost on the old lady. She squinted near-sightedly.

            “Mister, you seem to be one of those trouble-making youngsters who delight in pranking old women as me, so I                recommend you to educate yourself and—” she began.

The devil interjected,

              “Oh, no, ma’am,” he said, “You’re quite mistaken. I am the Devil.”

He demonstrated with a fancy flourish of hell-fire, with which he conjured a fizzing aerial whirlpool of marshmallows, which exploded and coalesced into a steaming mug of hot chocolate. He proffered it to the old lady, who now looked extremely alarmed.

              “Good heavens!” she exclaimed, and began to close her front door.

The Devil, unperturbed, continued smoothly,

              “I can introduce you to Him if you’d like, or grant you anything you wish.”

The old lady stopped and peered at the Devil from the tips of his fire-proof loafers to the top of his vaguely-disguised horns.

              “Introduce?” she asked, curious despite herself.

The Devil snapped to attention.

              “Of course!” he said.

And he opened an old-lady-sized portal to heaven. Through it, he could see the gag-inducingly white clouds and the oh-so-holy angels, and he could smell God’s coffee. Then he turned to the old lady.

                “Here, ma’am, the portal to heaven,” the Devil announced proudly. “Just step right through and I’ll charge                 you a week later.”

The old lady was now completely flabbergasted. Dumbfounded, she goggled at the shimmering portal.

              “I-Is t-t-that?” she stammered.

The Devil beamed ginormously.

              “Indeed, ma’am, exactly what you asked for, a visit to Heaven.”

The old lady gawped.

              “B-but,” she sputtered.

The Devil frowned. His patience would only go so far, and he wished the old lady would just hurry on through the portal so he could visit the next house he’d located on Google Earth. He flickered the portal on and off impatiently.

The old lady gathered her composure.

              “Sir, if you truly are the Devil, what business do you seek around this neighborhood?”

The Devil heaved a sigh, and the portal disappeared with his disappointed exhale of air.

            “Ma’am,” he began, slowly and methodically, “As I’ve previously stated, I’ve come to grant wishes. A certain             entertainment on my end, if you must say.”

             “Wishes?” queried the old lady, now looking very confused.

            “YES! WISHES!” howled the Devil hysterically, having lost his cool and his patience. “ANYTHING YOU DESIRE, I             WILL GRANT IT TO YOU!”

He flung the conjured mug of hot chocolate into the air, where it dissipated into a pleasant-smelling mist. The old lady waved her wrinkled hands in a vague motion of appeasement.

            “Hush, there is simply no need to speak so loudly, my hearing aids are perfectly functional,” she said. “Now tell             me, what kind of wishes?”


The Devil was now feeling the complete opposite of being entertained. Instead, he was supremely irritated, nearing irate, and he thought nothing more of abandoning this wishes idea and leaving the daft old lady on her doorstep. The daft old lady herself, on the other hand, had sunk into a state of contemplation. Several seconds passed, until she stood up quite straightly and looked the Devil in the eye.

              “Sir, I’d like to make a wish.”

The Devil sat on an antique, surprisingly uncomfortable sofa in the old lady’s living room and sipped tea from a teacup he’d been offered. The dog he’d heard earlier had finally summoned the courage to make its appearance. It growled at him from time to time, flattening its white triangles of ears and curling round the old lady’s legs protectively.
The devil snorted. He was tempted to send a small flare of hellfire to tickle the dog’s nose, but refrained from doing so. Apart from his lapse in good temper, the devil was on his best behavior.

The old lady, seated across from him in an equally ancient armchair, sipped from her own teacup and eyed him seriously.

              “I’d like to see my late son again,” she said, clutching the bone china cup tightly.

              “Hm, hm,” mused the Devil, “What was his name?”

The old lady paused and looked over the Devil’s shoulder. Her eyes grew misty. The Devil stiffened uncomfortably. He hated it when people cried, so he turned awkwardly and looked behind him.

On the mantelpiece, among assorted trinkets, stood a framed picture of a family. A middle-aged man with graying hair had his arm round a middle-aged woman, who the devil instantly recognized as the old lady at a younger age. A sprightly young man stood between them, grinning with such effervescent energy that it was impossible not to smile along with him.

              “Martin,” said the old lady haltingly. “He died in a car accident several years ago.”

The Devil regarded the old lady solemnly.

              “And you’d like to see him again?”

The old lady nodded wordlessly.

               “Alright,” said the Devil, “I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll give you an entire month with your son, without                 any payment required.”

As the old lady perked up considerably, the Devil peered at her.

              “Mind you,” he said, with his business smile pasted on again, “There’ll be a slight catch.”

Getting up from the uncomfortable sofa, the Devil placed his empty teacup on the table between them.

              “A pleasure conducting business with you, Ms. Tabitha Rawlings! Expect to see your son very soon,” he grinned                 enormously, vanishing in a puff of smoke.
A novel?/novella? project I've been sitting on for quite a while now. I've already written up to 4 chapters, and now that I've rediscovered Devilish Wishes, I'm gonna revise it completely.

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