Maya P., Student Writer

There once was a girl who lived down on Blackbird Avenue.

Black hair, a bright scarlet streak running through it. Olive skin, which faltered only on a small part of her neck; a black triangle with a straight line bisecting it, and the number 042 beamed off her skin. Yellow eyes, that only the devil himself could match. 

She never left the house. Only a few nights, she exited, or so it was said. Some would say to acquire food. Others would say to acquire Hibiscus and Mercury, or whatever other entities would satiate her dark heart.

Her door was never knocked, and so it was never answered. 

But how could they know she existed? How did she know she existed? Living a life, or breathing the cool chill of death, this was the line between the two converses. 

All she had was one memory. Maybe not even that. 

There were guests in a house down Blackbird Avenue. 

The girl perched on the edge of her seat inside. Even then, she sat quietly. 

Though the home is her own, in name and right she preferred to listen to others over talking. Chatter rattled the room, so loud it was hard for one to differentiate if one even made a sound. 

Then suddenly, silence. 

The room was almost empty. 

A man in black, with bright red eyes sat opposite of her. 

“I am known by many names, my dear. But I am everywhere. Located in the voids between the atoms. Located in the atoms themselves,” His face convulsed into something, everything, as he continued: “You all, however, prefer to think of me as solid. Call me whatever you want. Lucifer, the devil, anything. All you need to know is that you are going to die here, in your own house, at your own party alone, and that I want your soul.” 

“If I am to die, why?” She responded, practically mute with confusion. 

“Because, I will let you live, I will only take a piece of your soul, in exchange for immortality.” He responded, practically uncaring, “And if you wonder, I cannot lie.” She looked at his face, trying to study his eyes filled with blood and death. 

“I agree to your terms.” She finally responded, ready to believe the devil cannot lie but only spin the truth. And what truth in his words was there to spin?

Even if she wished her answer away, the same scenario would play out. Her answer was given. There was nothing left to be done. 

His face morphs and darkness spews out of his mouth. It forms a circle around the two individuals. It surrounds her neck, choking her. She tries to speak, scream, yell, but as she expected, nothing. 

It leaves suddenly.

And she is back in her house. Her hair streaked and face scarred.

And the next day, nothing.

And the next day, nothing. 

And the wheels of time kept turning. 

And the story repeats forevermore.

There once was a girl who lived down on Blackbird Avenue.