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The Devil has a Door

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

6 Sep 18

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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