Sell My Soul

A writer wants to create stories to escape from reality; he never thought it would cost him his soul.

He sat in his office day and night trying to write a stroy to escape his reality but he could never come up with a world that was good enough for him to escape into. As he sat in his in beaten up wooden chair at his desk, he sat there day and night thinking. Every once and awhile he came up with a story but then he would get tired of it; eventually his stories turned into nothing at all and that old wooden chair he sat in at his worn down desk turned into kindling for his fireplace that he sat next to every night as he finsihed off another botte of whiskey.

One early morning he was awaken from a knock on his door, it was a man no older than 45 standing there in his doorway. He asked the ma what he wanted and in a sift gravely voice the man said, "I'm here to help." The man promised to help him create stories that no one in this world has ever seen before, and that he would create worlds to where he would want to escape to and spend the rest of his days.

So he let him show him how to write these stories; months past and he wrote stories that he never could have dreamed of. One day as he finished writing a story that he thought would take him to a whole 'nother level, the older gentleman came to him and asked for compensation for all of his help. Since the man made so much money from the stories he had been writing he agreed and was more then happy to share his wealth with the man who helped him achoeve his goal, but when he handed the old man a stack of money the old man refused. The writer was confused by this and asked why he refused; the old man said that his payment comes in another form somehing more valuable then money.

The writer was puzzled and started wondering what could possibly be worth more then money; the old man started to grin and looked up at the riter and said, "I have given you such wisdom for writing stories that not only you love but thousands of people love, money is not a good enough compensation for that type of wisdom. WHen you agreed to me teaching you you agreed to a deal with me. The currency hat I am after is your soul, you see I have been on this Earth for quite some time now, making deals with people just like you. 

The writer was frightened and headed for the front door of his cabin but as he reached for the door handle it disapeared. He turned arounf and the old man had a wicked grin on his face, "I'm sorry but you cannot escape me, we made a deal and now it's time for my payment." The old man walked over to the writer and put his hand over the writers chest; "People always say they believe in the devil but when he knocks on their front door they think it's something else."

His entire career he always wanted to write stories that not only he could escape into but also thousands of readers could jump into the world he created and escape reality fror a short period of time. He always hated reality and thought fiction was so much better, he never knew the fictional stories he had been writing for so many years would come knocking on his cabin door one night.