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The Devil has a Door
yando

"I'd sell my soul" thought McDunfer, "for just one accolade
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on my new book." His portly wife brought him a tray of treats.
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"Not now," he snarled. "I have no time for cakes and marmalade,
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I'm too distraught to eat, take them away!" She made retreat,
 4
 
 
but not without a heavy sigh. A short time passed when cold,
 5
foul-scented wind blew past his neck. He turned to see an old
 6
and grizzled unwashed bum, pulling up a chair. "Don't let my looks
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deceive you, friend. I spend much time in slums, with thugs and crooks.
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McDunfer almost screamed, but something crossed his mind before
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his fears could take control. "I said I'd sell my soul. Are you
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the Devil?", he asked with breathless awe, "from ancient Bible lore?
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The old bum laughed, "One of my better stints, got quite a few
 12
 
 
unopened souls. I'm pretty much small time these days, not that
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there aren't billions. It's that they're so asleep, they don't have guilt.
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Now what can I do for you?" McDunfer gulped and said, "I've sat
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for months, and wrote a book." "I know, Satan said, "dull to the hilt."
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McDunfer pressed on and said, "I want fame. I want to be someone big."
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"Well isn't that special? Most people want the Midas touch, Samson's strength
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or Casanova's charm. I think that fame would be a gig
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that I could dig, but then again, I've been well known for the length
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of time that men have thought themselves to be the cat's meow.
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Okay, my friend," The Horned One spoke, "See you in Hell!" In shock,
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and stunned, McDunfer lay upon his couch, and thought, "I can't see how,
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what happened could be real," His eyes closed, then slept like a rock.
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He woke with a start to hear his wife yell, "Durk, get the phone!"
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He stumbled to his desk. "Hello," he said, " Is this Durk McDunfer?
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a voice asked. "Yes", he replied. "I'm calling about your book. Mr. Stone,
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your publisher, wants you to know your book is number one."
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The coldest thrill he'd ever known ran down his back. "It's true!"
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he thought," with an icy edge of dread. The voice went on,
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"We've sent a check to your agent." "H-How much?" he asked. "Due to
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the printer's strike, six point nine mil, but soon, to hinge upon
 32
 
 
your next 2 books, another twelve." "My God!" he thought. "I'm rich!"
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He thanked the man and called his wife. "My book is on the list
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at number one! We're millionaires! We're going to sell and switch
 35
our home for one on up the hill". He leapt and pumped his fist.
 36
 
 
His wife just gave a heavy sigh. Next day he learned that he
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was set to be on Fallon and Colbert, to show his wits.
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He had no doubt his fate had turned around. "Finally it's Me!"
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he said to the moon. Over time he traveled, and made a blitz
 40
 
 
appearing almost every night on someone's cable show.
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Everybody loved him for his common sidewalk sense.
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He even went to England as a guest on Pierce's radio,
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to wow the Brits, with every farthing of his hot two pence.
 44
 
 
To crown it all, the White House called, with Fox and Friends, to see
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if he was free to torch and denounce Hillary's emails
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at a North Dakota rally. He couldn't wait to go. His glee
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he tried to share with his plump wife, "We're going to meet the Dan Quales,"
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but she just gave a very heavy sigh. Later on, she would stayed home
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when Durk went out, not caring for the endless prattle drone
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of "I" minded tour guides of self. A blond gal said, 'a groupie of the tome,'
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when Durkster asked her what she did. Later, he was not alone
 52
 
 
when checking in the Tilt Motel. He learned new things that night,
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that rocked his world, a bit too much. They met at least two times a week
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to celebrate the Library of Love. And too, the plight
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of poor book whores, kindled his concern for sheik and sleek
 56
 
 
devotees of his golden pen. One day a peer of wide repute
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for many good books had died. Mcdunfer loathed this likely gay
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destroyer of the written word, and told him so. Acute
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became his rage to learn, the will, required a column say,
 60
 
 
'McDunfer was a plagiarist who stole an early manuscript.'
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This wasn't true, but the lie had widely spread about before
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poor Durk could protest high and low. His publisher had stripped
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the order for his two next books. He meant to go to war,
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but when he called his agent up, he found that he'd left town.
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He called the bank to bleakly learn that not a single cent
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remained. On top of that, a shyster famed for 'biting shark' renown,
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had called his cell, because his sighing wife had sniffed the scent
 68
 
 
of perfume (which she never wore) on his silken boxer shorts.
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The jackleg said she'd get the house and alimony yet
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to be assessed. And finally, he learned there were reports
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that Trump denounced him as 'the biggest liar he'd ever met!'
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Two hundred feet above a rocky shore, McDunfer stood
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and wept beneath the moon. His losses turned, as on a spit
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within his mind, each one groaning out, 'Loser, you're no damn good.'
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Stepping up and peering down, McDunfer resolved to quit
 76
 
 
his tortured life, but then he heard the Prince of Darkness say
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into his ear, "Before you go I want to show a view to you."
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His head was filled with images and sounds, of kids at play,
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with happy laughter in the surf. He smelled the barbeque
 80
 
 
of grilling meats, and watched the teenage kids, cavort and flirt.
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In less than a second he circled the Earth, and saw every waterfall.
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mountain and lake, and every green thing that grows in dirt,
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and petted every wild beast, as if it were a doll.
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Lamenting then to the Lucifer, "I might have had it all.
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I've changed my mind, I want to live for beauty, truth and love!"  
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But Beelzebub dismissed his change of tune, as weak and small,
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then hissed, "now you know what Evil is", and rendered him a shove.
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6 Sep 18

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Comments:

what's the function of the 'poeming' in this, the line breaks? they're like an access-ramp so, as i sometmes need, you can avoid steps? or, tomavoid the crit you'd get in a prose-crit site for a short story?

this is 'yong-adult' level writing. professionally, would a 14 year old fid this easier to get into than as a paragraohed piece? and, just because, "nobody can say what a poem is", would a semi-literate accept this as a story just because it "tells a story". wouldn't the poem thing put him off? like, "boring poetry shit" stuff that takes too long to read...?
 — cadmium

very interesting... is the devil a rothchild? this is good writing
 — unknown

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