The pen spilt ink-blood onto the page.

“Stop shaking,and sign it…” The voice reverberated throughout the room, making my hand spill even more ink on the rough wooden table.

I sat there as a single, angry tear burned down my cheek. My grip on the pen slipped from the cut on my palm.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered.

“Because I chose you as my own…”

“What if I don’t want to do this? I won’t sign,” I argue.

But what’s the point of arguing with the devil?

“Do it, or your family dies.”

Even before his silent, snake-like voice finished echoing throughout the small one-room house, I looked back at me beautiful wife, and my small, innocent children sleeping close to her.

We built this house together, farmed the greedy soil year after miserable year, gradually making it better.

And my children…

I lowered my head to the paper, and my hand gradually crept closer to the page. The red ink of the form, even now drying brown, splattered slightly from my tears.

“Where do I sign…?”