A Deal With The Devil
Five months ago, I made a deal with the devil. It sounds so dramatic, but it is so, so simple; and once you know how, it is hard not to. But you must resist, for if you don’t, you will regret it later. Trust me on that. First, a little something about me. I’m what you’d call a slacker, a slothful waster, or even a ‘bundle of disappointment’. That’s all anyone’s ever called me. I’ve made peace with that. Truth be told, these epithets have become more truly my friends than any other I’ve ever known, following me everywhere I go and in all things I do. But it does hurt sometimes, for I’m not without feelings of my own, and I have periodically been beset by resentment for these companions of mine.
It was in one of these periods of discontent that the devil approached me with his deal. That’s what he always does, to all of his victims. It’s been said before, more often than not on this very website, that when the devil approaches you, he’d affect a character that you’d immediately like and be impressed by. It’s absolutely true. When he first came to me, he seemed more than anything a dazzling showman brimming with charisma and a touch of ridiculousness, not unlike a circus clown. I’m sorry I can’t be more dramatic, but the truth of the matter is, it happened when I was just sitting at home eating popcorn, and the details of the encounter are too hazy. (for reasons I’d rather not divulge: suffice it to say, I’ve found less than healthy ways to deal with my problems) I remember only two things: the first, an unearthly, unforgettable orange-golden glow emanating from his person, and the second, the indescribable hatred in his words, which seemed to dragged from a deep well of loathing and blinding rage hidden within him. His offer was simple: he asked of me only that I be a tether for him to this world, and to support him, however I felt, in all his endeavors. In return, he promised me (hindsight is always 20/20, isn’t it) what I had always desired most from this world: to be known, talked about, and a subject of strong feeling among my peers. He was very outspoken about his plans, schemes of evil rarely witnessed before in the world, but I thought then that he was only posturing: surely he would never divulge his plans to a mere mortal. How foolish of me. Each day, the burden in my heart grew heavier and heavier still, and beset by guilt, I began seeing him everywhere: when I watched TV, he would become one of the characters and spew his hatred and rage on all others; when I walked the streets, I would so often by ambushed by the bright orange glow that I had begun to dread as the very symbol of evil; I have spent the last five months evading him. And worse still, strangely, it is as if his aura clings to me; everywhere I go, I can feel eyes digging into my very self – disbelieving, disapproving eyes, more full of contempt and dislike than ever before: he offered me a chance to be noticed and felt strongly about – and he has given me that. But the deal is done: it can no longer be called off. I have but myself to blame for that. But however bad any of these things are, none of them come quite close to the occasions I dread most – his meetings with me. He summons me at times when I least expect; he ambushes me with the sharpest weapons he possesses: his words. For hours on end, he would speak on about the most abhorrent matters imaginable – as I stood motionless and wide-eyed behind him, my lips parted in disbelief and disorientation, the orange-golden glow exuded by him piercing my eyes, he would unravel his dark plans for us, plans I don’t care to elaborate here. Two weeks ago yesterday, all this came to a head. I have said before that he enjoys ambushing me at times when I had my guard down, and that day he unraveled the worst surprise he had for me: staring at me in five bold, short words from a piece of paper as white as chalk, was the ultimate denunciation and condemnation of all I had endured; the greatest and most heartbreaking disavowal I have ever encountered. Written in a nondescript, matter-of-fact way were the words: TRUMP PICKS VP MIKE PENCE An authentic page from the diary of Chris Christie Credit: Michael Orwell Admin Note: Yes, it’s true that I usually keep parodypasta limited to April 1st – but this one is (hopefully) only relevant until November, so I hope everyone will forgive me for making an exception! Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.