Flash Fiction: Riff

1930s-delta-blues-legend-robert-johnson
Robert Johnson Photo Origin

When you sell your soul, the devil asks for a bill of sale. He don’t make you sign it in your own blood, just regular old ink. Both upstairs and down have some very specific, and arcane, laws.

For example, you get thirty days grace period, in case you change your mind. I’d seen the side effects by now, my fingers gliding up and down the neck of my old six string like magic. But it wasn’t me that was doing the playing. The music was playing me.

“Lucifer!” I cried, standing at the crossroads, “You and I gotta talk.”

~100 words

via Daily Prompt: Riff

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