You Think You Know?
Have you ever wished
yourself dead? More to the point, have you ever wished someone else
was dead? If you did, did you do anything about it, other than a
general prayer to whatever gods you wished existed?
I did. Not in a
physical, tangible way. I didn't go out and purchase a Wilkinson
Sword, eleven inch carving knife with serrated blade and
dishwasher-proof steel handle so it couldn't be identified by blood
smears, or at least, I'm not admitting to it. Nor did I go out and
buy a gun, but mostly because they're illegal in Britain and you
can't buy one anyway, and especially not if you're a fifteen year old
girl at a Catholic school and living at home with your dad.
What I actually did was
much more sneaky and completely deniable, should anyone even suspect
I was connected with a series of seven tragic, unexpected deaths;
four of whom were in my year at school, one of whom was a teacher,
one three years above me and the seventh a man I'd never met who
happened to be driving a taxi at exactly the wrong time.
I asked the devil to do
it. The whole 'sell your soul to the devil thing' isn't the urban
legend it's made out to be. At least, not if you know where the devil
actually lives, and you deliver The Guardian to him on a daily basis
for a year and a half.
© Rachel Green 2018
dwarf conifers
