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Description
Thunder and lightning are commonly known to be electric charges that nature creates within rumbling clouds and soaked ground. And being hit by lightning is a very rare occurrence, but not unheard of. You’d think that being hit by one of these God’s walking sticks would render you burnt to a crisp or veggie-fied, but many have survived these unfortunate meetings.

It was a terribly stormy weekend, and while my conscience knew better, my fridge was nearly empty and my stomach ruled out staying at home. I parted the blinds on my window, and stared out into the dreary streets of Seattle. The radio buzzed in my room, blurting out little bits of forecast: “...100% chance… throughout the week… advised to stay indoors… minor flood warnings…”

I sighed. What else could I do? I lived in a one-room apartment with barely enough space to stretch, much less throw a tantrum. A tiny screen flickered behind me, reminding me that I’d left my little battery-operated TV on. What a wondrous little piece of technology, capable of- ah, never mind. I needed food to appease my organs, else I’d never get access to my brain again. And so, I sighed again.

The pitter-patter of rain on my umbrella was the sky mocking me. I had not walked but two steps before the (literal) sheet of rain fell on me. Passersby were all running, hurrying, dodging the rain; cars moved slowly, their wipers shoving heaven’s tears aside into the streets; birds fell silent as they seeked shelter from this apocalypse. And yet here I was, walking leisurely, off to the nearest supermarket I could remember having come across. Times like this was when I wished I’d bought rainboots. And a better umbrella. Raindrops creeped down my red sweater, having made the journey from the sky and through the holes in my rickety ol’ dollar’s-worth piece of crap. I cursed under my breath, though I likely said it out loud under the blanket of noise.

As I waited to cross a busy street, another rainy figure came up from behind me. It was a lady, covered from head to toe with streetwear soaked in rain. I couldn’t help smiling, and I handed her the leaky umbrella. “You look like you need it more than I.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed it and held it over her head gratefully. “I can’t thank you enough! Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Of course, ma’am. Don’t worry. And you can throw it away when you’re done, I was planning on getting a new one anyways.”

“Thank you so much. Could I take you out for coffee later, or something?”

I waved my hand, “No, it’s quite alright,” and dashed across the street. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to do, giving my umbrella away to someone whom I’d never met before, but I’m not one to ignore someone in need. So I slunk my way into a little 7-11, hoping to avoid the rain for at least a few minutes. I gestured for a pack of cigarettes, and the clerk behind the counter rolled his eyes.

“Hey, man, don’t do that. I know what smoking does to you, and all that crap. Let a guy relax a bit, won’t ya?”

The clerk quickly obliged, probably embarrassed that I saw his disapproval. “Sorry, sir. That’ll be-”

He was interrupted by a ferocious thunderclap, and he choked on his words. After frantically grabbing a bottle of Evian water (which spells ‘naive’ backwards, in case you were wondering) he finished, “six-forty.”

“God damn, that’s expensive! What the hell did you give me?” I brought the pack to my eyes, and found the label as it always was. “Did they jack up the prices again?”

“You bet they did. Maybe now is a good time to quit?”

I have to admit, that was an honest attempt, but it wasn’t going to stop me. “Look, I wrestle with my demons when I wrestle with my demons. Sometimes he’s my friend, sometimes he’s not.” I handed over seven dollars, but I didn’t let go until I asked, “You got any umbrellas?”

The kid searched the cabinets under the counter, and pulled out a red single-person umbrella. “Yeah, last one. Three dollars, but I’ll just take two-sixty from you to make it even. Eight total.”

I smiled, and fished the extra dollar from my wallet. This kid was going places. “You’re a good fella’. I wish the world had more people like you, y’know what I mean?” I slapped the bill into his palm, and grabbed the umbrella from the counter. The rain had lightened up slightly, but not nearly enough to walk outside without cover. I muttered some sort of farewell, and stepped out of the store.

“Wait, sir!”

I turned to face the kid, who held up a fiver. “You gave me a five instead of a one!”

I grinned, and gave him a wink. “Keep the change.” Nice people deserved nice things, no matter how small. Four bucks wasn’t going to buy him lunch, but it might just be what he needed. I continued on my way, bright red umbrella held over my head. I wondered what I looked like, red dot amongst the cold, gray buildings and downpour. Perhaps I resembled a clown. Or ladybug. Or a pimple.

Another thunderclap prevented me from imagining any further, and startled my senses. I’d walked past the supermarket, oblivious in my hungry state of the bright neon lights and welcome mat. I shook my umbrella dry and waltzed into the food haven, planning my dinner, lunch, and breakfast. And snacks. One could never forget snacks, especially living as an artist. Drawing made one incredibly hungry, though I’m not going to try and explain why. It did. I collected whatever I could fit inside my fridge and tiny pantry, and added up the prices to see if they fit into my paycheck. It didn’t, so I dropped some of the rather luxurious items off my list and proceeded to the check-out aisle. An old woman grumpily took my groceries, mumbling about back pains and the horrible rain, eventually ending with the price of “forty-two sixty-three”. She looked at me, seemingly fearing that I would give her a fifty and expect exact change back. I coolly paid ‘forty-two sixty-three’, and watched as her eyes brightened at the notion of “no change is expected”.

Holding two bags of groceries while also carrying an umbrella proved quite a challenge, but I wasn’t complaining. I had food, I had (somewhat) shelter from the rain, and Seattle’s streets are so easy to navigate that I could almost wander blindly and still find my way home. I won’t say what happened next wasn’t expected, but I suppose anyone should be shocked by it.

I woke up face planted on the ground, groceries spilled across the sidewalk, and umbrella burnt to a crisp. And a pair of cute boots standing next to me. “Lucius, is it?”

I tried to climb back on my feet, but I found them fairly numbed and tingling. “What… what happened?”

The voice spoke again. This time I could recognize it as a little girl’s voice. “Are you Lucius?”

She was a little girl, probably no more than twelve in age. She had long, hip-length caramel hair, a little woolen beanie with a cotton puff at the tip, and big, blue eyes. She had a woolen jacket on, and some slightly-oversized jeans. “Yes. What happened?”

She smiled. “Oh, good! I found you on my first try. Most of my friends don’t get their contracts on their first try.”

I slowly clambered up, stretching my unresponsive limbs out before standing up cautiously. I no longer cared that I was completely soaked, only about what happened. “Look, little girl, I’m not going to ask again. What happened?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’ll explain as soon as I can! But we should get you out of this rain. Can you walk?”

I supposed that was better than never finding out. “Yes, I’m fine. Would you be so kind as to carry my groceries, though?”

“Of course!” she cheerfully agreed, and picked up my groceries without hesitation. Something was odd about this little girl, but I was starving and wet and numb, and I was not in any mood to cross-examine her.

--

“I think I hit you on the head.”

“What?”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot to introduce myself!”

I had arrived home and taken a hot shower, and eventually the numbness went away. I felt somewhat self-conscious about bringing such a young girl into my apartment, but she insisted that she follow. She was just about to start messing with my paints when I repeated my original question.

“Well then. I’m Lucius. Lucius Greenwood. Who might you be?”

“My name is Dae, spelled D-A-E, like the sun’s time. I’m a demon from hell.”

“Very funny. Where do you live? Where are your parents?”

“I live in hell, and I don’t have parents. And I’m a demon. You’re my contract target. I was sent by heaven to make you more bad.”

We artists have a tendency to believe ridiculous things. I munched on my soggy bread, not sure if I should believe her. A demon? Such a cute little girl? Impossible. But perhaps the impossible was more likely than anything else. In any case, I wasn’t going to play stupid. If she wanted to be a demon, she’d need to convince me of it first. “You were sent by heaven? Not hell?”

“Nope. Hell is where we live, but heaven gives us the orders. You’re too nice of a guy, and no one is perfect in heaven, so I was sent to make you a worse person.”

“What was that about hitting me on the head, then? Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, of course not! I’m a demon, not a murderer. Have a little respect!”

I absentmindedly whipped out a canvas and some watercolor, and began painting something. An artist has to work if he is to eat. Besides, her little story might prove distraction from the cold. “Well, then?”

“We demons are called to heaven for contracts, then sent down as lightning. It’s the fastest way down, you know. Some of us get little quests, like to kill a rat or some lesser mortal, but others are sent to make a contract with one of you greater mortals. I guess I hit you.”

So I wasn’t kidding when I said ‘anyone would be shocked’, pun intended. I was struck by lightning. Either this girl was a demon, or she was devilishly good at spinning stories. I continued to paint, an image slowly surfacing. “So what’s this contract all about?” If she was going to stay here, she might as well entertain me.

“Well, I have a whole list of contracts for you to choose from.” She pulled a few pages out from her messenger bag, which I swear was not there a couple of minutes ago. “For example, I can ensure your entrance to heaven if you let me control your body.”

“Nope. Next.” She seemed a bit too serious for this to be a made-up fantasy, but a fool is one who chooses to be a fool. I’d remain cautious before jumping to conclusions, though either way it was still a pretty far jump.

“Uh, give me all your happiness and I can-”

“Next.”

This went on for about twenty other contracts, until her voice grew hoarse and she was near tears. “Lucius, you have to choose one! If you don’t, I’ll get sent back down to hell, but a special hell for demons!”

“Mhm. Next.”

“This is my last one, okay? You have to choose one after this.”

I made no response, but I finished the last few dabs on the painting. It was of a little red dot in the middle of a gray city. Deja vu? Maybe.

“I know it sounds weird, but I’ll grant you any wishes until your death if you promise me your soul to bring back to hell.”

I observed my painting, satisfied with the result. “You’re right, it does sound weird. Explain.”

“Well, the main task is that I need to prevent a perfect you from entering heaven. At this rate, if you die you’d be sent straight through the gates. No judging at all. It’s not fair, you know? for all those people waiting in line. And I can’t let that happen, so I will have to bring you to hell with me.”

“Hmm… Will I be suffering in hell, then?” I asked, finally paying attention to the teary-eyed demon.

“I promise I’ll take good care of you, I swear.”

“What if I do bad things under this contract? Enough for me to be judged?”

“Uh…” she flipped through the papers, “... you will be sent to heaven, but I will have broken the contract and I would be sent to hell hell.”

“Hell hell?”

“Hell for demons. It’s complicated, but it exists.”

Seeing that this one sounded the most interesting, and fairly entertaining for an artist like me, I supposed I had no choice. I was a nice person, in any case, and I wasn’t going to send this little girl to hell hell or whatever, fictional or not. Besides, fun and games helped my artists’ block. “I’ll take that last one. That wish thing? That one.”

Dae squealed. “Really? Oh, thank you so much!”

“Well, isn’t this a contract? Do I need to sign something?”

“It’s technically a contract, but you don’t need to sign anything. Just put this ring” she produced one “on your right index and we’re good to go!”

It was a smooth, silvery ring, extremely cold to the touch with an absolutely perfect surface. I cautiously put it on, slightly apprehensive of unwanted consequences. As I slid it into place, it burst into a red hue and a ring of ruby appeared around it. “Whoa… you’re really a demon…”

Dae looked hurt. “Of course I am. Did you doubt me this whole time? Oh, and that ring can never be taken off. If you rub it a little I’ll appear right next to you… if I’m not busy, that is… so I don’t have to follow you everywhere.”

Some spark of brain power surged through my head, which some may call being possessed by a higher power, and I realized what was so weird when I first met her. She wasn’t getting wet from the rain. I supposed that was just something a demon could do.

“Well then, do you want to grant me a wish right now?” I sighed as I sat back in my chair. Was my age catching up to me? Rain seemed to make me ache.

“Of course!” Dae grinned. “Your wish is my command, as the saying goes.”

“I’d like my umbrella back.”

She stared blankly at me. “What?”

“You burnt it when you hit me. Can I have it back?”

“Oh! That red one? I can’t give it back but I can make you a new one, if you want.”

I needed urgently to use the toilet, so I pushed myself off my comfy chair and headed to the tiny restroom. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

Silence ensued from the living room, and I’d just about finished washing my hands when I saw a burst of red light seep through the cracks of my doorframe and heard a shriek accompany it. I exploded out of the bathroom, and found Dae lying in a heap.

“Dae! Dae, are you alright?” I rushed to her side. She was but a child, perhaps I was too demanding?

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Look!” she held up a red umbrella triumphantly. “I did it! I just… never tried that before and it surprised me.”

I sighed a breath of relief. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

She giggled, and sat up. “Funny that you’d care so much for a demon.”

“Don’t be stupid. I care for anything and anyone,” I muttered as I pulled out my pack of cigarettes, “just not for myself.”

Dae yanked my purple lighter from my hand, mortified. “You can’t smoke!”

I gestured for her to return my lighter, slightly annoyed. She shook her head furiously. “No! I won’t let you!”

The adrenaline from her little accident had excited my own demon, and I was beginning to feel irritable. “I’m not going to argue about this. Give me the lighter.”

“No! Smoking rots your soul, and since I’m the one keeping it, I’m not going to let you rot it!” She blushed slightly. “And I don’t exactly want to handle a rotten soul. They stink like crazy.”

I snatched the lighter from her hand. “You brought up that contract. It ain’t my fault what happens at the end. Now if you’ll excuse me...”

She pouted and stared hard at my cigarette. I paid her no heed, and proceeded to light it - but it refused to catch. “Damned thing…” I mumbled, and tried again. A mischievous little grin caught my eye, and I realized what was up. “Dae, c’mon. Don’t do this to me.”

“Why not wish for you to smoke whenever you want?” She stared into my eyes, as a challenge. “Wish for it and it will be done.”

I stared back, realizing she’d won the game. I slowly removed the paper roll from my lips. “It’s because-”

“-because you don’t want to smoke.” Dae finished, and embraced me. Her arms weren’t nearly long enough to wrap around my thirty-year-old body, but she tried her hardest. “Please, let me get rid of your demon.”

“Alright. Go ahead.”

Description
Thunder and lightning are commonly known to be electric charges that nature creates within rumbling clouds and soaked ground. And being hit by lightning is a very rare occurrence, but not unheard of. You’d think that being hit by one of these God’s walking sticks would render you burnt to a crisp or veggie-fied, but many have survived these unfortunate meetings.

It was a terribly stormy weekend, and while my conscience knew better, my fridge was nearly empty and my stomach ruled out staying at home. I parted the blinds on my window, and stared out into the dreary streets of Seattle. The radio buzzed in my room, blurting out little bits of forecast: “...100% chance… throughout the week… advised to stay indoors… minor flood warnings…”

I sighed. What else could I do? I lived in a one-room apartment with barely enough space to stretch, much less throw a tantrum. A tiny screen flickered behind me, reminding me that I’d left my little battery-operated TV on. What a wondrous little piece of technology, capable of- ah, never mind. I needed food to appease my organs, else I’d never get access to my brain again. And so, I sighed again.

The pitter-patter of rain on my umbrella was the sky mocking me. I had not walked but two steps before the (literal) sheet of rain fell on me. Passersby were all running, hurrying, dodging the rain; cars moved slowly, their wipers shoving heaven’s tears aside into the streets; birds fell silent as they seeked shelter from this apocalypse. And yet here I was, walking leisurely, off to the nearest supermarket I could remember having come across. Times like this was when I wished I’d bought rainboots. And a better umbrella. Raindrops creeped down my red sweater, having made the journey from the sky and through the holes in my rickety ol’ dollar’s-worth piece of crap. I cursed under my breath, though I likely said it out loud under the blanket of noise.

As I waited to cross a busy street, another rainy figure came up from behind me. It was a lady, covered from head to toe with streetwear soaked in rain. I couldn’t help smiling, and I handed her the leaky umbrella. “You look like you need it more than I.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed it and held it over her head gratefully. “I can’t thank you enough! Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Of course, ma’am. Don’t worry. And you can throw it away when you’re done, I was planning on getting a new one anyways.”

“Thank you so much. Could I take you out for coffee later, or something?”

I waved my hand, “No, it’s quite alright,” and dashed across the street. Perhaps it was a stupid thing to do, giving my umbrella away to someone whom I’d never met before, but I’m not one to ignore someone in need. So I slunk my way into a little 7-11, hoping to avoid the rain for at least a few minutes. I gestured for a pack of cigarettes, and the clerk behind the counter rolled his eyes.

“Hey, man, don’t do that. I know what smoking does to you, and all that crap. Let a guy relax a bit, won’t ya?”

The clerk quickly obliged, probably embarrassed that I saw his disapproval. “Sorry, sir. That’ll be-”

He was interrupted by a ferocious thunderclap, and he choked on his words. After frantically grabbing a bottle of Evian water (which spells ‘naive’ backwards, in case you were wondering) he finished, “six-forty.”

“God damn, that’s expensive! What the hell did you give me?” I brought the pack to my eyes, and found the label as it always was. “Did they jack up the prices again?”

“You bet they did. Maybe now is a good time to quit?”

I have to admit, that was an honest attempt, but it wasn’t going to stop me. “Look, I wrestle with my demons when I wrestle with my demons. Sometimes he’s my friend, sometimes he’s not.” I handed over seven dollars, but I didn’t let go until I asked, “You got any umbrellas?”

The kid searched the cabinets under the counter, and pulled out a red single-person umbrella. “Yeah, last one. Three dollars, but I’ll just take two-sixty from you to make it even. Eight total.”

I smiled, and fished the extra dollar from my wallet. This kid was going places. “You’re a good fella’. I wish the world had more people like you, y’know what I mean?” I slapped the bill into his palm, and grabbed the umbrella from the counter. The rain had lightened up slightly, but not nearly enough to walk outside without cover. I muttered some sort of farewell, and stepped out of the store.

“Wait, sir!”

I turned to face the kid, who held up a fiver. “You gave me a five instead of a one!”

I grinned, and gave him a wink. “Keep the change.” Nice people deserved nice things, no matter how small. Four bucks wasn’t going to buy him lunch, but it might just be what he needed. I continued on my way, bright red umbrella held over my head. I wondered what I looked like, red dot amongst the cold, gray buildings and downpour. Perhaps I resembled a clown. Or ladybug. Or a pimple.

Another thunderclap prevented me from imagining any further, and startled my senses. I’d walked past the supermarket, oblivious in my hungry state of the bright neon lights and welcome mat. I shook my umbrella dry and waltzed into the food haven, planning my dinner, lunch, and breakfast. And snacks. One could never forget snacks, especially living as an artist. Drawing made one incredibly hungry, though I’m not going to try and explain why. It did. I collected whatever I could fit inside my fridge and tiny pantry, and added up the prices to see if they fit into my paycheck. It didn’t, so I dropped some of the rather luxurious items off my list and proceeded to the check-out aisle. An old woman grumpily took my groceries, mumbling about back pains and the horrible rain, eventually ending with the price of “forty-two sixty-three”. She looked at me, seemingly fearing that I would give her a fifty and expect exact change back. I coolly paid ‘forty-two sixty-three’, and watched as her eyes brightened at the notion of “no change is expected”.

Holding two bags of groceries while also carrying an umbrella proved quite a challenge, but I wasn’t complaining. I had food, I had (somewhat) shelter from the rain, and Seattle’s streets are so easy to navigate that I could almost wander blindly and still find my way home. I won’t say what happened next wasn’t expected, but I suppose anyone should be shocked by it.

I woke up face planted on the ground, groceries spilled across the sidewalk, and umbrella burnt to a crisp. And a pair of cute boots standing next to me. “Lucius, is it?”

I tried to climb back on my feet, but I found them fairly numbed and tingling. “What… what happened?”

The voice spoke again. This time I could recognize it as a little girl’s voice. “Are you Lucius?”

She was a little girl, probably no more than twelve in age. She had long, hip-length caramel hair, a little woolen beanie with a cotton puff at the tip, and big, blue eyes. She had a woolen jacket on, and some slightly-oversized jeans. “Yes. What happened?”

She smiled. “Oh, good! I found you on my first try. Most of my friends don’t get their contracts on their first try.”

I slowly clambered up, stretching my unresponsive limbs out before standing up cautiously. I no longer cared that I was completely soaked, only about what happened. “Look, little girl, I’m not going to ask again. What happened?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I’ll explain as soon as I can! But we should get you out of this rain. Can you walk?”

I supposed that was better than never finding out. “Yes, I’m fine. Would you be so kind as to carry my groceries, though?”

“Of course!” she cheerfully agreed, and picked up my groceries without hesitation. Something was odd about this little girl, but I was starving and wet and numb, and I was not in any mood to cross-examine her.

--

“I think I hit you on the head.”

“What?”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot to introduce myself!”

I had arrived home and taken a hot shower, and eventually the numbness went away. I felt somewhat self-conscious about bringing such a young girl into my apartment, but she insisted that she follow. She was just about to start messing with my paints when I repeated my original question.

“Well then. I’m Lucius. Lucius Greenwood. Who might you be?”

“My name is Dae, spelled D-A-E, like the sun’s time. I’m a demon from hell.”

“Very funny. Where do you live? Where are your parents?”

“I live in hell, and I don’t have parents. And I’m a demon. You’re my contract target. I was sent by heaven to make you more bad.”

We artists have a tendency to believe ridiculous things. I munched on my soggy bread, not sure if I should believe her. A demon? Such a cute little girl? Impossible. But perhaps the impossible was more likely than anything else. In any case, I wasn’t going to play stupid. If she wanted to be a demon, she’d need to convince me of it first. “You were sent by heaven? Not hell?”

“Nope. Hell is where we live, but heaven gives us the orders. You’re too nice of a guy, and no one is perfect in heaven, so I was sent to make you a worse person.”

“What was that about hitting me on the head, then? Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, of course not! I’m a demon, not a murderer. Have a little respect!”

I absentmindedly whipped out a canvas and some watercolor, and began painting something. An artist has to work if he is to eat. Besides, her little story might prove distraction from the cold. “Well, then?”

“We demons are called to heaven for contracts, then sent down as lightning. It’s the fastest way down, you know. Some of us get little quests, like to kill a rat or some lesser mortal, but others are sent to make a contract with one of you greater mortals. I guess I hit you.”

So I wasn’t kidding when I said ‘anyone would be shocked’, pun intended. I was struck by lightning. Either this girl was a demon, or she was devilishly good at spinning stories. I continued to paint, an image slowly surfacing. “So what’s this contract all about?” If she was going to stay here, she might as well entertain me.

“Well, I have a whole list of contracts for you to choose from.” She pulled a few pages out from her messenger bag, which I swear was not there a couple of minutes ago. “For example, I can ensure your entrance to heaven if you let me control your body.”

“Nope. Next.” She seemed a bit too serious for this to be a made-up fantasy, but a fool is one who chooses to be a fool. I’d remain cautious before jumping to conclusions, though either way it was still a pretty far jump.

“Uh, give me all your happiness and I can-”

“Next.”

This went on for about twenty other contracts, until her voice grew hoarse and she was near tears. “Lucius, you have to choose one! If you don’t, I’ll get sent back down to hell, but a special hell for demons!”

“Mhm. Next.”

“This is my last one, okay? You have to choose one after this.”

I made no response, but I finished the last few dabs on the painting. It was of a little red dot in the middle of a gray city. Deja vu? Maybe.

“I know it sounds weird, but I’ll grant you any wishes until your death if you promise me your soul to bring back to hell.”

I observed my painting, satisfied with the result. “You’re right, it does sound weird. Explain.”

“Well, the main task is that I need to prevent a perfect you from entering heaven. At this rate, if you die you’d be sent straight through the gates. No judging at all. It’s not fair, you know? for all those people waiting in line. And I can’t let that happen, so I will have to bring you to hell with me.”

“Hmm… Will I be suffering in hell, then?” I asked, finally paying attention to the teary-eyed demon.

“I promise I’ll take good care of you, I swear.”

“What if I do bad things under this contract? Enough for me to be judged?”

“Uh…” she flipped through the papers, “... you will be sent to heaven, but I will have broken the contract and I would be sent to hell hell.”

“Hell hell?”

“Hell for demons. It’s complicated, but it exists.”

Seeing that this one sounded the most interesting, and fairly entertaining for an artist like me, I supposed I had no choice. I was a nice person, in any case, and I wasn’t going to send this little girl to hell hell or whatever, fictional or not. Besides, fun and games helped my artists’ block. “I’ll take that last one. That wish thing? That one.”

Dae squealed. “Really? Oh, thank you so much!”

“Well, isn’t this a contract? Do I need to sign something?”

“It’s technically a contract, but you don’t need to sign anything. Just put this ring” she produced one “on your right index and we’re good to go!”

It was a smooth, silvery ring, extremely cold to the touch with an absolutely perfect surface. I cautiously put it on, slightly apprehensive of unwanted consequences. As I slid it into place, it burst into a red hue and a ring of ruby appeared around it. “Whoa… you’re really a demon…”

Dae looked hurt. “Of course I am. Did you doubt me this whole time? Oh, and that ring can never be taken off. If you rub it a little I’ll appear right next to you… if I’m not busy, that is… so I don’t have to follow you everywhere.”

Some spark of brain power surged through my head, which some may call being possessed by a higher power, and I realized what was so weird when I first met her. She wasn’t getting wet from the rain. I supposed that was just something a demon could do.

“Well then, do you want to grant me a wish right now?” I sighed as I sat back in my chair. Was my age catching up to me? Rain seemed to make me ache.

“Of course!” Dae grinned. “Your wish is my command, as the saying goes.”

“I’d like my umbrella back.”

She stared blankly at me. “What?”

“You burnt it when you hit me. Can I have it back?”

“Oh! That red one? I can’t give it back but I can make you a new one, if you want.”

I needed urgently to use the toilet, so I pushed myself off my comfy chair and headed to the tiny restroom. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

Silence ensued from the living room, and I’d just about finished washing my hands when I saw a burst of red light seep through the cracks of my doorframe and heard a shriek accompany it. I exploded out of the bathroom, and found Dae lying in a heap.

“Dae! Dae, are you alright?” I rushed to her side. She was but a child, perhaps I was too demanding?

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Look!” she held up a red umbrella triumphantly. “I did it! I just… never tried that before and it surprised me.”

I sighed a breath of relief. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

She giggled, and sat up. “Funny that you’d care so much for a demon.”

“Don’t be stupid. I care for anything and anyone,” I muttered as I pulled out my pack of cigarettes, “just not for myself.”

Dae yanked my purple lighter from my hand, mortified. “You can’t smoke!”

I gestured for her to return my lighter, slightly annoyed. She shook her head furiously. “No! I won’t let you!”

The adrenaline from her little accident had excited my own demon, and I was beginning to feel irritable. “I’m not going to argue about this. Give me the lighter.”

“No! Smoking rots your soul, and since I’m the one keeping it, I’m not going to let you rot it!” She blushed slightly. “And I don’t exactly want to handle a rotten soul. They stink like crazy.”

I snatched the lighter from her hand. “You brought up that contract. It ain’t my fault what happens at the end. Now if you’ll excuse me...”

She pouted and stared hard at my cigarette. I paid her no heed, and proceeded to light it - but it refused to catch. “Damned thing…” I mumbled, and tried again. A mischievous little grin caught my eye, and I realized what was up. “Dae, c’mon. Don’t do this to me.”

“Why not wish for you to smoke whenever you want?” She stared into my eyes, as a challenge. “Wish for it and it will be done.”

I stared back, realizing she’d won the game. I slowly removed the paper roll from my lips. “It’s because-”

“-because you don’t want to smoke.” Dae finished, and embraced me. Her arms weren’t nearly long enough to wrap around my thirty-year-old body, but she tried her hardest. “Please, let me get rid of your demon.”

“Alright. Go ahead.”