The Devil Made Me Do It, I Swear

A human’s potential lies sealed behind a door that is unlocked with the key of will. Skill is but merely a medium, and without will, that voice inside every human gets buried along with the silent stars that have been snuffed out by the darkness. In a sky of million people with the potential for stardom, it takes a special madness to keep the spark alive till the universe decides to pay attention. On contemplation, the fundamentals of greatness lie in the unspoken words and unseen tears that lay hidden behind a masked smile. Yet, the power of a diplomatic smile pales in the fear it instills in one’s foes in comparison to a ravenous laugh upon success. 

Years of yearning for the spotlight could never bring me closer to realizing my dreams and desires. Amidst these polarizing thoughts, a singular infernal hunger burned like a wildfire. It consumed the midnight oil till I was on the verge of burning the candle at both ends When your heart beats for your passions, an insatiable need to pursue it till all posterity keeps the light glowing behind the curtains of one’s eyes. The simplest things in the universe are a marriage between polarizing opposites that complement each other. Thus, it was inevitable that the flame inside of me was drawn to the dark realm of hell. I still remember the fateful night where it all began – the night where I sold my soul to the devil himself. 

Forging the forbidden deal out of the inability to resist the temptation of instant gratification is common throughout human history. However, I was not cut from the same cloth, I did not wish him to grant me fame or power, but the ability to do what I love without his malicious intervention. He saw the spark inside of me and knew what I truly desired, and he granted me a pen – one that used my blood to bring my tales to life. The deal was done, a soul replaced by a burning passion like none other. The pen was the writer’s boon and curse to frantically fill the pages in the hopes that fate will turn the page in time. My business with Satan should have ended then and there, but destiny had other plans. 

For the moment our eyes met, It felt like looking in the mirror: the same flawed obsession hidden behind a veil of mindless purpose. Was it love or lust? I reached to feel his touch between my fingers. I couldn’t help but lose myself in the smooth curvatures that my hand traced and with every second I could feel the desire to pour out our deepest thoughts to each other. It took me a moment to come back to reality, as I rushed back home as fast as my legs would take me. No, I wasn’t running away from duty. I was eloping with my beloved. As we sprinted together, with him securely nestled in my grip, I felt a sense of certainty wash over me. The way our bodies moved in sync, it was as if we were two parts of a single, unstoppable force. I knew then that we were destined to be together.


I woke up from my bed in a daze with my head spinning with a million thoughts. At that moment, I realized that I wasn’t alone in bed. I saw him still holding onto my hand and I couldn’t help but smile at the prize that I had fished for and caught.  It wasn’t too long before my infatuation turned into a full blown obsession. While I was at work, my mind would fixate on him, his sleek body, and I would long to be able to feel his touch back home again. We soon began to work together and spend the nights in the same room. I still remember the first time we decided to go the distance, and my nervousness to unsheathe his inner beauty. 

For a while, I felt like the mother that had to preserve his virginity, until I finally found the courage to unscrew the pieces that covered his lustrous insides. I could feel his fluids flow through his body, my blood pump through me, and thus followed a song and dance that would let our animal instincts take over. I quit my career to spend more time with him. He remained forever loyal and took me in as his only partner. 

There are countless stories that we wrote in our life together that are beautifully unforgettable. It was an ill-fated and damned relationship, but love is blind, and blinded we were. Every time we reached a climax, we felt invincible at the mercy of each other. His life found purpose in my hand, and my purpose found a life through him. Our excitement around each other was nothing like the world had ever seen before. Sometimes, if he ran out of juice too soon, we would take a moment to refill our needs and go for another hour or two. It was the perfect relationship when we ignored the fact that it was toxic and was beginning to eat us alive. 

I could no longer be at social commitments, for I was his property to get him across the edge and let his insides flow through his tip. I was addicted to the pain and pleasure, and while it was nice to share my thoughts with him, he seldom listened past story-time. The world admired our love for each other, but they did not see that we needed each other to survive. Yes, addiction had evolved into dependency, and the consequences of our twisted relationship were soon to take over our lives.

The time he lasted began to shrink, and the more I gave him, the more he wanted from me. He would soon start whispering at night and fill my head with guilt for choosing to rest instead of spending the night with him. He cared more about what I could help him do, rather than what he could offer me. But, who am I kidding? I loved it and I hated it. My indecisiveness would always err on the side of our thirst to be together. He took advantage of the space I had given him in my life. The more pages of my life that I gave him to fill, the more his confidence and authority began to grow. Unwilling to rock the boat, I too danced to his every tune. If I am being completely honest, I was afraid that if I refused, he would leave me and make someone else feel this special. After all, we were soulmates. Who else could I blame but myself for wishing upon this predicament?

Exclusivity was the concept that kept me invested. Our once-sweet times began to sour and leave a bitter aftertaste of resentment in my mouth. It didn’t help that he was starting to drink a little too much every night.

Of course, he had never been a stranger to the bottle, but until then, he would drink only under my guidance and supervision. His newfound power over me had turned into brazen boldness that made him command me to get his every refill. I was now truly at his beck and call. The stories that were once ours slowly began to become his own.

On the surface, everything still seemed agreeable until the night of our anniversary. Admittedly, we were a bit tipsy and had plans to spend the perfect night to celebrate our partnership.

An hour must have passed by, and I could sense between our hushed voices that his mouth was beginning to turn paltry. His lips on his gilded face were hungry and thirsty for the suspense of the unknown. Alas, they had already explored every line within me. 

I made a futile plea to call it a night and instead spend the remainder of our time cherishing each other’s company. Who knew that disagreement would spell out the beginning of the end.

He rushed me to find his bottle, and as soon as he spotted it, he lunged at it. He flipped it over for a drop of midnight elixir, and to his dismay, the bottle was as empty as my eyes when I saw his perverted hunger devour his love for me.

He would not take no for an answer that night, and in a moment of desperation, he gave me a papercut and watched fresh blood trickle out of my skin. He drank it up to satiate his desire and swiftly urged me to follow his lead in indulging in our shared passion.

I helplessly sobbed in pain while a more sinister being within me began to laugh like a maniac. My manic tendencies had taken over, and both of us had thus reached a point where we were driven by pure lechery for our art.

Yes, it was art because it was a manifestation of the beautiful pain we hid within my heart through the only one who could make me confess those feelings. In many ways, it was a tale of love written in blood.

As we approached our final climax, I want you to be aware of the bleeding edges of these pages, for even papercuts can cut deep into your soul when they come from your partner in crime.

We disagreed yet again on the position he wanted me to play for his cravings. In a heated argument, I lost my cool and threw him across the room with a surprising amount of force. The impact cracked his head, and blood trickled out onto the cold, stone floor. 

I shrieked, and inconsolable tears flooded my eyes. He was my captor, but he was also my consort and companion. At times, even my concubine. Now, his gorgeous body lay disfigured and lifeless, and I was the hand that murdered him. I picked him up and tried to hold him tight within my hand in desperate hopes that he would hold it back the way he did so many times before. 

I buried his body in my backyard, but no matter how many times I tried, I couldn’t wash the blood and sin from my hands. 

To the world, it was only a pen, but to me, he meant so much more. He was my Parker, and he had made me the prolific writer I am today. 

I had already mentioned that the writer’s curse and boon was the devil’s pen, and Parker was my Achilles heel. Now that I had to bid adieu, my soul now belonged to the grim reaper.

Even the afterlife had other plans. Plans that I remained oblivious to at the time of penning this tale, but destiny demands my story to continue by doing the Devil’s bidding. 

The pen is indeed mightier than the sword, and the pain and bloodshed one can cause is a testament to that. 

These days my spirit lies awaiting unsuspecting readers who read my cursed tales. Thus, to my dearly departed reader, it is nothing personal. I hope you know that I truly love you. But all good things must come to an end, and so must you for learning of my wicked deeds……

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