hey all this is a lil something i wrote and i was jus wonderin what u thought of it thanx! “It’s a Deal” “You want to do what?” “I told you, man,” Neil calmly replied to the devil, “I wanna sell my soul”. He paused for a second. “I see…” Lucifer stepped out of the burning pentagram marked upon the floor. The room was thick with the musky scent of incense smoke with a hint of burned flesh and sulphur. Eerie organ music emitted from a hi-fi in the corner of the motel room. The walls were a faded white colour, and when observed closely revealed a thin line of dirt around the edges, but you couldn’t tell with the room lit only by a row of red candles balanced precariously on the window shelve. The Anti-Christ slowly walked over to the double bed, his long black leather coat trailing behind him. He sat down, crossed his legs and reached within his pocket, drawing out a rich smelling cigar. Placing it in his mouth, he lifted his right hand and clicked his long thin fingers together at the end of the cigar, and flames burst out of his talons, lighting it. “Sweet trick, man!” Neil complimented, tossing the ornate gold goblet he was clutching onto the drab, grey floor. Blood red liquid spilled out, seeping into the carpet. The Devil grinned appreciatively behind his black goatee, before frowning at the sound system on the table. “What is this junk? I’m not a bloody vicar, you know. Got any Frank?” “Frank what, Frank Zappa?” Neil questioned, a confused look on his face. “No, you insolent mortal! Sinatra! No wonder none of you long haired morons can get anywhere without diabolical help. Oh well, more business for me. This is why we’re here, isn’t it?” “Yeah, I want fame, fortune and excessive rockin’ skills, man,” Neil nodded enthusiastically. “In return for my eternal servitude in the Abyss, of course”. “Woah, hold up there,” the Devil chuckled. “These things are very delicate. Here, I’ve got a couple of sample contracts for you. This is the long time contract, favoured by the most hard-core, uh, dudes…” He handed the long haired musician a sheet of paper from inside his robes as he sucked on the cigar. Neil took it in his black nail varnished hands. “And here we have the short term success contract, favoured by bands such as Maroon 5 and Busted” Neil sniffed and started reading the first sheet of paper. “Sounds pretty cool. Uh, what does ‘protocolised’ mean?” The Devil sighed hopelessly and began to open his mouth when the motel room door flew open. A portly man in his mid-thirties burst into the room. He had a grizzly brown beard and thinning hair, and a distinct bald patch. “Neil, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Is that damn woman in here? I told security to…” He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of the leather clad figure on the bed conversing with the leather clad rocker. Paul surveyed the scene of the dank room, his small eyes hovering over the candles, the golden goblet, the leather bound tome on the floor, and lastly the upside down five-pointed star smouldering on the floor. His gaze lifted to his wayward lead singer. Seeing the contract in his hands, the manager suddenly came to his senses, running across the room and snatching the deed from Neil. “Hey, cool it, man!” he yelled. “What have I told you about contracts? Come to me for Christ’s sake! Musicians can’t make decisions for themselves”. “Yes we can,” Neil replied defiantly. “No you can’t,” Paul growled. “No we can’t. Sorry Paul”. “That’s alright lad. Now, who the hell are you?!” The large manager crossed his arms and turned to the amused looking character seated on the bed. He got up with a slightly crazed smirk on his pointed face. “I go by many names. Some know me as The Lord of Darkness, The Morning Star, The Unholy one, He Who…” The Lord of Darkness halted his monologue as a chiming jingle emitted from his jacket. He sighed and reached into the inside of his coat, pulling out a large, old-fashioned cell-phone. “One second. Business,” Satan rolled his eyes and put the phone to his head. “Yes? Hello? I’m kind of busy... No way! … That little… Well you can tell Mr. Tom Cruise that if he makes another film, he’s in breach of his contract… Deal with it! We had an agreement…” Paul pulled Neil away towards the door. “What are you doing, you crazy git?” Paul fumed. “I’m not entirely sure. This is getting weird.” He muttered. “When was it not weird? The bleedin’ Anti-Christ is sitting on your bed, smoking a Cuban and chatting into a mobile phone!” “I’m gettin’ us out of this bogus grind we’re in, man! This cat can sort it all out, make us rich, then it’ll be all good!” “Until he drags you off to the place of fire and brimstone that is,” Paul interrupted. A loud crashing noise down the corridor alerted the two men and they turned to the door in time to see a greasy, long-haired youth in his twenties collapse into the room clutching a bottle of whiskey. “Heeeyy! Here’s where the party’s at!” He slurred, his shirt ripped in half down the middle. Paul and Neil looked down on their indisposed bassist. Neil shook his head. Paul frowned. He frowned a lot these days. “Carl, are you drunk?” He inquired. Carl waved the bottle in the air as he rolled around on the floor. “When am I not drunk?!” He sniggered, hiccupped, then passed out. The Devil switched off his phone and came over to the two men. “Sorry about that gentlemen. Now, where were we? Ah yes, just sign there and in return you will receive all you desire, in exchange for your soul. Think about it. Glory, Neil, glory. Crowds of screaming fans, hordes of beautiful women, no more grubby motels, no more run down clubs, I’m talking arenas here. What do you say?” Satan raised a black quill, handing it to Neil. He paused. He took the quill, and took the contract from Paul. His despondent manager could take no more. “Hell, this is your call, Neil old chap. I’m not the one spending eternity in damnation, just get more cash…” He left the room, grumbling about being at the bar if anyone needed him. Neil signed the contract. Lucifer smiled his million dollar smile and spoke - “Lovely. I can tell we’re going to get along fine Neil. I like you!” “I bet you say that to all the heretics,” Neil grinned. + its pretty long and theres a cookie in it for anyone who finishes! p.s. cookie not real. imagination required
LOL Very interesting premise, and good descriptions used throughout. Get a real sense of atmosphere. Possibly a few glitches in the prose, not so much typos but in the way it flows. Otherwise pretty good.
