I think he pushed me to the wall with more force than I could ever imagine because the back of my head felt pierced by a nail that was hardly even there. In that moment of gushing blood and agonizing pain that comprised my burdened oesophagus, I couldn’t actually fathom much except that I was the devil. I was going to die like this and I’d probably never even have a funeral; I’d be nothing more than a ‘Local Man Goes Missing’ headline just enough to break my family and give them hope at the same time.
But if I was the devil, why was this happening to me?
And how did I even come to become the devil?
And that’s when it hit me.
You don’t sell your soul to the devil. You begin to aspire to be like him. Suddenly he’s the ambition you never admired up until now and everything else is just a means to the end. And when you do reach that end, you realise you have become the devil. But people don’t know that and they never will.
I smirked, or at least my lips did since my entire body had gone numb and there wasn’t much for me to actively control.
Funny how epiphanies surface during the worst of times.