Pact

Desperate people do desperate things. -Michael Brooks
==Prolouge==
"Mommy, I wanna be a ballerina." the little girl twirls in a pink tutu. 
Her mother laughs.
They are happy.
I used to be that girl.
I still am that girl.
Only I haven't suceeded.
I was so close to landing the role and the job.
So close.
But mother caught a disease.
Malaria.
From a mosquito.
Alana landed the role.
And the job.
And the man.
Mother said to do anything I could to suceed.
So I did.
Pacts with the devil are dangerous things, but I had to risk it.
I hated it.
The pain, the practice, the pain of the costumes to tight, the almost non-existent meals.
But, I wanted it more.
I wanted the attention, the standing ovations, the thrown flowers, the beautiful lights and brilliant dances.
I wanted the money.,
I took a deep breath when I saw him.
Dark, ever-changing face, red, slanted eyes.
He smiled, and I could tell he knew what I wanted.
"Exchange, my dear Isabelle. Your mother's poor soul, and yours to join her."
I gulped.
Whatever it takes.....
==Chapter One==
I wake up in my bed.
Strange.
I was supposed to be rich by now, right?
Instead, I was still in my shabby 1 bedroom condo with a tiny bathroom ,a tsmall kitchen and a bad living area, with only a sofa bed , a coffee table laden with weird magazines,a home telephone, a notepad with a pen, and an old no-color tv.
I sighed.
I guess deals with the devil took time. 
A lot of time.
I figured since I was going to be at home today, pitying myself until I became rich, I pulled on a pair of sweats and a raggedy-ann t-shirt.
I made the coffee and grabbed a magazine -Interior Decor, Christmas edition-and sank down in my couch, whic groaned under my 100 lb weight.
Just great.
I swallowed two pills- one fat, long and purple, the other small and a poppy red, and chugged it down with bitter coffee.
Gah.
Just as I was feeling comfortable, my cell phone rang.
It was faint, and I nearly spilled my coffee all over the magazine.
I raced to the kitchen and pulled it out of the charger.
Incoming Call: Laine Brooke
Laine.
I opened my flip phone and breathlessly said "hello?"
"Isabelle?" she sounded cross.
"Yes, this is she."
"Apparently some big-shot russian guy didn't like Alana. Danny said he was going to pay for the production, and promote it aroung Europe to let them see that american people know the arts."
"O..k?"
"Anyways, hun, you're in luck. You were going to audition, but you had to take away of her mother, right?"
The words clumped in my chest.
My mother.
"Hello? Izzy?"
"I'm sorry, Laine. And that was before. She passed away yesterday."
"Huh. Well, hun, I'm sorry for the loss, but unless you want us to give the role to Christy,which will about 99.9% result in the job."
Omigod. It actually worked. The pact worked.
"'Kay. I'll be there in 30."
"You'd better be.Plaza hotel. Roon 328. Tell 'em Laine sent you."
She then hung up.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
It actually worked.
==Chapter Two==
Category:MonkeySlippers
Category:Stories