a deal with the devil | kth.

5.

"You dont remember me?" The person said with a some-what surprised tone.

"I'm sorry I have short term amnesia-"

"No problem! So, everything satisfactory, eh?" It said.

"Uh. Think so."

"Excellent." There was no hint of gleeful cackling in his voice. He sounded pleasant, like a weatherman.

"I believe that only leaves your part of the deal then." Taehyung. It was him.

"My soul." Time to learn what kind of gang I'd involved myself with.

"Exactly." He said. "I'll collect it upon your moment of death. Shouldn't be long."

"What?" I dropped my mug and it shattered on the floor.

"Oh dear, you haven't seen it yet, have you? Your left forearm."

A red number thirty-seven had been written there. Or no, tattooed. While I watched, it flickered and turned into a number thirty-six.

"What's this? What's going on?"

"Its a countdown, in minutes, to the moment of your death."

"But-"

"It happens sometimes." He said. "People freak out when they realise they've sold their immortal soul. They cant live without it. You've still got that gun, don't you?" He said with a cheerful goodbye and hung up.

I sat down on the kitchen floor. My rational mind was trying to construct a logical explanation. Last night, drunk me had won the lottery, sent a suitcase full of money to the Voice, and bought a fancy new coffee machine.

Or, Taehyung had exerted some pressure on the voice and in return he owned my soul, figuratively speaking. But how did he know the Voice?

And then it clicked. Taehyung was the devil.

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