It was around the day of January 17, 1937. And from what I could tell, it was the same as any other miserable day of my wretched life. I went about the somewhat normal routine I always undertook. After begging in Times Square, I retreated to the nearest alley and criticized my very being. As far as I could remember, life had been like this since the day I was born. Sleeping on the bare cement and asphalt floor of New York City with my mom and getting by with the ungenerous donations of various strange people. That is, until she died last year. I didn’t know what the cause was because, as you might have already guessed, we were to poor to afford any sort of medical attention. So I was forced to bury her limp body just outside the downtown junkyard. There were no guests besides the salt water that flowed from my eyes and the wails that absolutely no one could hear in the close to abandoned place. So there I was…forced to fend for myself at the age of what I believe was fifteen. I couldn’t be sure. It’s hard to remember and keep track of these things when you have more important things to worry about. For example, trying to obtain a slim amount of food each day so I wouldn’t end up dead like my mother or looking for a place to rest for the night.
I looked at my overgrown and dirty fingernails. Coated in fungus and wrapped in a gagging stench. The palms of my hands were equally disgusting. Calices stretched in each direction and cracks filled with blood blanketed their mountains of puss and crust. The soles of my feet were so damaged that their very existence was erased when I walked. Caverns of holes and other imperfections along with fungi provided an unimaginable stench. I had one pair of clothes. Both my shirt and pants were torn beyond recognition. I myself had grown use to the foul stench of my breath, but unfortunately other people weren’t as lucky. I stared out into the street and saw another boy that was about my age. Everything about him was absolutely different. His stature, confidence, clothes, hygiene, nutrition, and any other thing that you could imagine. I stared at him in sad envy as I thought of how different my life would be if I were in his shoes. This thought immediately vanished from my head as I saw a streak of black fur scurry past me. It was a rat. I ran after it with the thought of dinner in my mind. It was obviously too fast for me and when I reached the end of the alleyway, it bolted into a small hole. I fell to my knees and stared at the hole in disappointment. This was my destiny. To grow up and die a street urchin. I raised myself and slowly began to turn around.
To my utter and complete surprise, I was met by a lady. It was as if she magically appeared simultaneously with the event of my turning around. She was a fair woman that wore white heels. She had slender beautiful legs. Her white dress stopped just above her knees. She wore bright red lipstick and carried a dead ferret around her neck. There was a bleak and dark aura about her that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. One side of my brain felt an everlasting lust for her and sought to ravish the attractive being. The other side was repulsed and wanted nothing to do with her. It was a confusing occurrence. We stared at each other for 30 seconds. 1 minute. 2 minutes. 3 minutes. 4 minutes. 5 minutes. The waiting was agonizing. Then finally, she spoke. "Would you like to be rich?" It was as though a statue spoke. "Would you like a life of immeasurable luxury? Beggar." I willed myself to be a statue as well. The moment felt like a trap. It had to be a trap. The woman’s teeth picked up a light that wasn’t there in this dead of night. Everything else was in a haze yet her incisors gleamed. It was as if she had an eternal fire? She gave a raspy laugh. "Let’s keep this easy." She reached inside her the cloak she was carrying and took out a small purse. As white as new snow on January’s day. "Name the amount and it will give you as much as you ask. There’s a catch though." I thought to myself how odd the situation was and how familiar it seemed. "You can’t talk, scream, or use your voice in any way for six years, six months, and six nights." I thought to myself that this was indeed the devil. "You’re right on that one." She replied as if reading my thoughts. "And I bet you’re also wondering why I don’t take your soul. Well, that’s getting a bit boring. I want a bit of competition. Not make it so easy. The gamble is on after you take money from the bag. Your soul is taken when you talk. She put the purse on the ground. I stared at it and pondered whether or not I should partake in such an affair and whether or not it was true. I picked it up and asked for 150 dollars. I reached in and pulled out the exact amount. I looked up to find the lady only to see that she was already gone. I stared at the money in awe as the fact sunk in that I just made a deal with Satan.
To be Continued
Honestly though, I don't know if I should continue this one though. Cause after I finished writing it, I realized a story where the main character can't speak might be a little bland to you guys. Then I thought it would be an opportunity for you guys to get inside his head and figure out what he's really like. Tell me what you think and I'll make a new one if you want.