Ficlets

“Hold on, Just slow down Alan. Breathe.” It was just like Dad to slow me down in the middle of a story, he had never been able to understand me when I really got into my own narrative. “You’re telling me you think your Satan?”

I took a deep breathe, allowed my excitement to die down a little, for my Dad’s sake. I nodded and grinned, threw up the metal horns and snickered.

“That’s not very funny, Alan.”

With as much honesty as I could muster, I lied and said I agreed. It was beyond funny, it was hilarious.

“I’ll admit that you are a bit of a bad apple, Alan. Calling yourself Satan seems a little over the top, you have redeeming qualities. We all do.”

I took off my toque to reveal my sprouting horns, under my feet the ground became composed of ash and brimstone. The guttural voices of Hell rose up from my throat as I spoke. “What I have yet to decide,” I said, “is how to break the news to Mom, she’ll be so heartbroken.” I giggled a little at that thought. “I think Jerry will understand though.”