Often, he craved for some divine intervention. He had somehow convinced himself that it would solve his problems. He begged, pleaded and even prayed to send a sign to fix the mess that was his life. One day, he kneeled next to his bed and said, “Is there a power greater than me? If yes, can you hear my pleas? Please come to earth to fix my life. Make it perfect, free of troubles. Make me a man who cannot sin or err.”
Tears streamed down his face blurring his vision. He then noticed a tiny apparition over his bed, by the window. She had pointy ears and wore red boots. She had a golden lasso and a sharp tail. Her dress was short and fit her well. She looked less like a saviour and more like the devil. He spoke to her directly, “You are going to save me?” “Do not be fooled by my petite figure,” she replied, “I will help you find your way.”
He remained unconvinced and hoped she would return where she came from. Instantly. “No. I am not leaving,” she said. “You just read my mind!” he blurted. “There is no other way to ensure our relationship stays transparent,” she replied with a smirk.
“So, tell me what can I do,” she asked floating around the room like a ghost. How was she going to help him when she had no clue what was bothering him, he thought. “I just need you to vocalise your problems. I know what is bothering you,” she said.
Taken aback, he realised it was not easy to block his thoughts and just talk. “Fine. I got thrown out of my job for turning up drunk to it five times in a row. I drink cause I am buried in mortgage and will soon sell this tiny house. Since they blacklisted me, I cannot be a gardener in the area I used to. I have been rejected for a month and my savings are now scanty,” he mumbled. A few seconds of silence later, he screamed, “Are you happy that I said it?”
She sat on top of his dresser and watched his agitation increase. She floated down and slipped in his hand a folded piece of paper with an address scribbled. She tossed the lasso in the air and it landed neatly around his leg. She tugged at it, three times. He elevated off the floor and landed on his bed, fast asleep. She looked at him one last time before she snapped out of the room.
Jack woke up the next morning with a horrible headache and faint memories of a pretty looking devil. He lay in bed to analyse the dream. It had to be a dream and a really confusing one. At that moment, he felt something in his palm. He opened it up to see a crumpled piece of paper with an address. He had no recollection of how it had gotten there.