Life at best is hard. When life is hard it brings a certain degree of satisfaction. The trouble with my life was that it was too easy. I soon became depressed and openly despised any thought of my continued existence. Suicide became my obsessive ambition. Despite the simplicity of execution, a straight forward suicide was unacceptable. I held a certain obligation in life. I was obliged by my immediate relatives not to commit suicide. Suicide brought the burden of shame to those closest to the deceased. In achieving my self destruction I was not willing to disrupt those around me more than necessary. No, I had to ensure that my demise appeared to be acceptably accidental.
My immediate inclining in this line of self murder was to fail to look both ways while attempting to cross a busy thorough-fare, or perhaps to misuse an electrical appliance. Which ever way I considered it, this avenue of abortion was simply too sloppy and was surely insufficient to overlay my intended auto-abortion.
Once again I put my terminal desires on the shelf for the mean time and resumed my dosage of that slowest acting poison - life!
I have always been something of a religious man, though I must admit that my regular attendance at my parish church is more a matter of habit than faith. It occurred to me that my belief in God inherently implied my belief in the Devil. This reasoning manifest itself in my mind during a some-what incoherent 'Hammer Horror', and evolved itself into a clearly thought-out solution to my existential problem. Rather than tangentise from the central scheme of suicide, I could extend the process and so-by transmogrify the shame into splendour. I considered the KamiKaze, taking the basic ludicrousy of suicide and combining it with the glory of dying for a cause.
I hadn't actually got a cause but Hammer films had allowed me to fabricate one. Their writers seemed to believe in the invocation of the Devil for the purpose of barter and trade.
While following the films somewhat outré directions I considered my pitch. I was actually quite surprised when the Devil appeared with much pomp and ceremony in the unceremonious surroundings of my bedsitter.
He was very business-like and after I confessed that I didn't know what I wanted he offered various suggestions, the typical things; cadillacs, wealth, whisky, murder, and carnalities. I was considering my choice, being a man of no aspirations or ambition I found nothing inspiring until I noticed how fat the Devil's fingers were. They were stubby and fat and red and hairy, with the most gruesome of claws. I made my request somewhat apprehensively and the Devil was clearly quite shocked by my trade. Still, he was a man of business and after some consideration he agreed to give me the little finger from his left hand in return for my soul. He left and returned shortly with a knife which he offered me. I hadn't actually intended to perform the removal myself and apologetically explained this to the Devil.
He was very matter-of-fact about it and without further ado sliced the digit from his hand. He was clearly in a lot of pain and I could see tears welling in his eyes so I offered him a bandage. He refused politely, and gave me a year for the delivery of my soul. I told him an hour would be sufficient. He thanked me, shook my hand (my right hand) and left.
It's somewhat ironic, as I sit looking at the clock with the Devil's finger in my hand, I have the most stunning idea for a musical stage show!
THE END.