seaomelette

United Arab Emirates

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.

Message to Readers

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

Devilish Wishes - 3

September 26, 2020

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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.

Tabitha Rawlings sat frozen on her sofa. Then, very gently, she placed her bone china teacup on the table. In all her 65 years she had never witnessed something so earth-shakingly surprising. Had it all been a dream, brought on by an excess of overly-steeped Black Assam tea?

She leaned forward and stared at the empty teacup the Devil had so carefully placed on the table. The faint smell of a bonfire still wafted around her living room. No, it was not a dream.

Tabitha leaned backward in her armchair and tilted her head up to look at the ceiling. Ah, Martin. Her husband, Jerry, passed away not long ago, and she missed the two of them terribly. The pain lingered still.

She had met Jerry when she was sixteen, and they married early at twenty. Their first years weren’t easy, as they teetered through college and part-time jobs and financial straits, but eventually they had settled in a small, old house and revamped it completely with their own hands and hammers. And then…they had Martin. Martin Alexander Hopkins Rawlings, a big mouthful of a name, and just as big of a soul. Since he was born, Martin was an energetic handful. Everything he did radiated with energy—he didn’t walk, Jerry used to joke, he ran.

Tabitha thought of the garage. It was cold now—overrun with dust and emptiness—and wreathed with sorrow. The tools hung limply from the walls, and the skeleton of a vintage yellow Mustang languished like a beached whale. But the garage hadn’t always been that way.

Back then, it would resound with the clanking of tools and the whizzing of drills. And when Tabitha sat in the living room, she could hear their laughter, wheezing and uproarious. The yellow Mustang was the last project Martin had ever worked on. And after their last argument, Tabitha had never seen him again.

Tabitha’s eyes grew misty again. All she ever wanted was to apologize, but after that fatal day, she never got the chance.

Then, a deal with the Devil? Tabitha had no idea what she’d just walked into. Yet, a part of her kept hoping.
I just realized that the Chapter 3 on the super long piece with conjoined chapters was not updated according to the Word draft I was working on and.... *facepalm* It is updated here! 

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  • September 26, 2020 - 12:34am (Now Viewing)

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