Satan appeared to me one Wednesday morning, stepping from my mirror into the hallway. Did I forget to mention it happened to be the communal mirror I shared with all the girls in my dorm? Well, he came to see me, so I suppose it doesn’t matter. “Hi, I bought your soul about a month ago and,”
“No returns, refunds, or complaints. I am, however, open to adjusting my exchange policy.”
“Please. It’s making me and everyone around me depressed.”
“Tough. Live out two thirds of your life with it as is, then maybe you’ll find your Prince Charming and he’ll make you think differently. Hey, that’s all the advice that I ever got.”
“I’m begging you. This soul is killing me slowly.”
“If I knew how to deal with that, you would’ve had to find another seller.”
“So find me another buyer. Before you tell me no, think about this: are you as happy with your end of the deal as you thought you would be?”
Was I? Was I better off on this side of the mirror than I was on the other one? I was. Was I good to go? I was.
Thanks for reading this simple little piece.