Die Writing

The Devil and the Musicians

Posted in The Devil and the Musicians by erdaron on July 2, 2010


A true story.

Down and low

It wasn’t just music they were playing; these were memories. From the gypsy strings, they effortlessly crawled into your heart, curled into a ball, and gave that unequaled comfort of a love long lost, of tears long since dried. In the question of who came first – the music or the Musicians – it was definitely the music. The Musicians hung off their instruments, held up by something unseen, but undeniably felt.

Meanwhile, the Devil sat in the back of the room, the never-ending cigarette between his lips. The never-ending cigarette, of course, is a perk of being the Devil. He closed his eyes, and tapped his fingers to the slow beat. This was his favorite place to be.

“I want your souls,” the Devil said without moving his lips.

“How we wish we could give them to you,” the Musicians replied with their strings.

The Devil smiled, heartbroken, and thought about all the times he’s been here already, and all the nights he was going to spend here yet.


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