In "Trust the Devil," the protagonist attempts to undo the past by challenging the Devil himself. The plot may seem abrupt but reveals the importance of thinking outside the box before giving you the opportunity to do so by considering what happens after the conclusion of the story. This flash fiction story was originally published by the Paper Crane Journal (be sure to check out their literature magazines at https://www.papercranejournal.com/).
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When I felt the knife at my throat, the first thing I thought of was the movie I watched last night. In that movie, the hero flipped the villain over her head and threw him on the ground, knocking his knife away.
But the thing is, I'm no hero.
So I just stood there, frozen. It seemed the only part of my body that knew it had to move was my heart, which was pounding, trying to come out of my chest, but my lungs, frozen as they were, wouldn't let it.
I had to force myself to breathe, leaving no time or energy for me to grit my teeth and ask threateningly, "Who are you and what do you want?"
Even if I did open my mouth, I doubted anything but a scream would come out. Of course, it might have been better to scream than to quiver.
Then I moved. I'd like to say it was because I realized I needed to, but, truth be told, I didn't want to move. Not that I had much of a choice.
My captor pushed me forward and I fell into the dust before I had a chance to even close my mouth.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't move (although that was nothing new).
My eyes burned from the sand.
I could taste blood in my mouth and I knew my already chapped lips had cut.
And I think I cried. What a waste of energy. There were so many things I should have done, I could have done. But I lay there, my face flat in the dirt and tears pouring down my cheeks.
"Get up," he said.
And I did. I could hear the wind cheering for me, having regained my ability to move.
"What do you want?" I asked.
I wish I could say I asked it like those superheroes, hands crossed and voice strong. But I won't lie; my question came out like a sob, a plea to be honest, to spare me the suspense.
"It's not about what I want," the man said. "It's about what you want."
"I want my mom."
I wish I could laugh about that response now: a teenager saying I want my mom. It might have been funny if I actually had a mom... if I had grown up with a mother who pampered me and spoiled me to a point where I cried for her at seventeen.
But I didn't have a mother.
I hadn't had a mother for nine years.
"And you shall have her."
I shook my head. He didn't know. He couldn't know. That didn't stop me from launching at him in anger. But my trembling legs did.
"I can bring her back."
If my heart could pound any harder, it would, but sadly it didn't want to kill me just yet.
"How?" I breathed.
"I just can."
"Why'd you attack me if you were going to offer me something?"
His smile made it seem like he was just having fun. "Do you want what I'm offering?"
"Yes. Of course. I-"
The man snapped his fingers. A moment of silence. A burst of light. A mother, looking no different than she did in the pictures from my eighth birthday.
I was hallucinating. I had to be.
I closed my eyes, but her image just appeared vividly on the back of my eyelids. I couldn't escape it. I wanted to believe she was back. I wanted to believe she had never left. But she had.
This wasn't possible.
"Sarah."
The tears that had stopped coming only a moment ago ran down my cheek again. I hadn't heard her voice in almost a decade. There were no recordings, nothing to hold on to.
Until now.
"Mom," I sobbed.
I had forgotten her voice and I cursed my memory, but this ghost calling my name triggered so many memories. I couldn't have imagined that.
She ran up to me and hugged me and I hugged her back. I could touch her.
She was real.
I felt her tears fall on my face, mingling with mine. I felt the warmth of her hand in mine.
She was here.
I could touch her. I could hold her.
And then she was gone. Just like that.
I waved my hand in the air but there was nothing to touch. There was no one to touch.
"Where is she?" I asked the man softly, as if I were in a dream.
"Where she belongs. But if you were to, say, give me a placebo, I could bring her back. Permanently."
"What do you mean?"
"A life for a life."
"You want to kill me?" If he did, there really wasn't much I could do.
"Not your life. What would be the point of bringing your mother back if you weren't here to enjoy it?"
"Then who?"
"Anyone. Your choice."
"Why are you doing this?"
"It's a game. Do you want to play?"
I didn't answer. I wouldn't answer. Yet. "Who are you?"
"Most people call me the devil."
For a minute, I couldn't breathe.
I would never have believed him had I just witnessed something which couldn't possibly be an illusion or a hallucination.
Now the question was not of belief but of trust. Was I willing to trust someone who readily called himself the devil to bring back my mother?
"How do I play?" I asked, against my better judgement.
Hans pulled a gun out from his jacket. I backed up, though I had nowhere to run.
"Relax. This is for you."
He held the gun out for me to take. I had never held a gun before and my hands trembled, but I took it.
"I'll find you when you're ready," he said and disappeared.
I hid the gun in my jacket. I stepped out of the forested area of the park and found myself in the middle of a normal day. Everyone went about their business as if nothing had happened. Maybe that was true, to them.
I could kill any one of these people, and my mother would be mine forever. But I didn't have the guts to take a life. Did I?
People were looking at me strangely, and rightfully so, as I was covered in mud and grime, and a little bit of blood. At the time, I felt as if they were looking right past my jacket to my gun. I felt as if they knew what I wanted to do. I looked down far too often to hide my face and check that my gun was secure and hidden.
I couldn't stay here.
Avoiding all eye contact, I walked. Every person I saw was a possible target. Should it be him? Should it be her?
Tears began flowing from my eyes again and I reached into my pocket. Maybe if I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger, the bullet would hit someone.
My hands closed around the gun, but I couldn't take it out.
I couldn't do this.
I kept walking, and somehow, I found myself home.
I had keys in my pocket, but I didn't want to reach into them for fear of touching the gun. So I bent down and pulled the spare keys out from under the rug.
The door opened easily and I tried to find comfort in the warmth of home, but there was no comfort to be found.
Dad wasn't home, and I didn't have the energy to call, so I collapsed on the floor. I didn't realize I left the door open until a fly buzzed in front of me.
My mouth dropped open, but I closed it instinctively so I wouldn't end up eating a fly.
Catching flies was an old hobby of mine. When I was younger, I would inspect the house for flies and every time I saw one, I would call my dad, and he would show me how to smack it with a book without scaring it away.
I didn't want to disrespect Dr. Seuss, but I just picked the book closest to me.
I hit it against the wall.
Dead.
I looked around expectantly. Where was he?
"What are you doing?"
Smiling, I turned around.
"A life for a life."
His confusion quickly turned to anger. I had taken advantage of loopholes in his rules. I had proven him a fool. "Do you believe your mother's life to be worth that of a fly?"
"No, but-"
"Get me a worthy soul!"
I had actually thought I could get away with this. I thought I could have my mother without sacrificing my morals.
I pulled out the gun he had given me and allowed my fingers to touch the trigger for the first time. He pointed to the open door and gestured for me to go find someone to kill.
But I had already found someone.
He wanted a worthy soul?
His should more than suffice.