With Deepest Regret...

Before I begin, I beg you not to read this. The consequences far outweigh the benefit of this. That being said, here is my story…
Everybody knows that Charlie Daniels song “Devil went down to Georgia”, right? Well, believe it or not, that shit’s no joke.
The Devil definitely gets bored at times and goes “soul hunting” here on Earth. The thing is, he hunts musicians. I mean, let’s face it… who’s more desperate for fame than a musician? Or am I wrong?
All any of them wants is to be on a stage in front of thousands of people with them all cheering and shit. Some get so desperate for this, they’ll do anything. And by anything I really do mean ANYTHING!
Why do I know so much about all of this? Well, I’m one of those broke ass struggling guitar players you’d find in any part of the world. I’ve been playing for years and am an adequate musician, but not near what I’d like to be. I made a deal with the Devil not so long ago, but I’m afraid the price is just too high for me to pay off my debt to the Devil.
I suppose I should start at the only logical place… the beginning. I started playing guitar when I was 12 years old. I never took lessons because most of the players I idolized didn’t and I figured I could be just as good as them without the lessons.
Turns out that I was dead wrong. I never really excelled in music in any form. I was a decent singer, guitar player, and drummer, but never more than just kind of good. I would have given anything to be as good as Hendrix. Hell, who wouldn’t right? I played in a couple of crappy bands that had no chance of success but what did I care; I was the star in the bands being the more talented of any of them.
I got pretty cocky. After all, there aren't a lot of greats in the middle of Nebraska and of them all I was one of the better known names. With my ego a little over-swelled, I moved west to L.A. where I spent the next few months auditioning for bands, trying to start my own, and looking for crappy studio musician jobs just to pay the rent on my crappy little apartment. I called home regularly. Mostly seeing if any of the guys from the old bands wanted to come west and set up with me.
Of course no one was interested in uprooting their lives for a silly childhood dream so here I was, alone in a city I hardly knew a damn thing about. I got pretty down on myself and started playing solo acoustic shows in run down bars on a relatively questionable side of town. It was after one of these gigs that my life all seemed to change.
I had just finished my first set that night, I think it was in October, but honestly I can hardly remember what day it was, let alone what month. In any case, I was sitting at the bar having a beer when a man in a white suit sat down across from me. “You have potential” he said to me. I laughed him off thinking he was some drunken fool with no idea what he was talking about. He said if I signed a contract with him, I’d be bigger than any of the names I grew up idolizing.
Out of a red leather briefcase he pulled a silver pen and a contract. I wish I had looked more thoroughly at it but the header had the name of Demon Records. What was then an up and coming record company, although now I doubt you’ll find it ever existed.
Without hesitation I signed the contract. The man told me to call him Lou. He gave me a cell phone with his number set to speed dial, and set me off to start my final set that night. Somehow, my hand and voice seemed to be controlled by something other than myself. I was able to sing and play notes I had only previously dreamed of in the past. Everyone in the bar began to cheer as I finished the first song.
All I could think to do was to play again, and again. After an hour and a half I was too tired to continue and I ended my set with a tribute to Hendrix, only played better somehow than he had even played it.
Within days I was recording an album. Weeks later I was on a tour. And just two months after I signed with Demon, I was the biggest name in rock music. I had money, cars, a huge house, and any woman I wanted. Nothing could touch me. Or so I thought.
One night Lou visited me in my home. He said it was time to fulfill my end of the contract which he presented before me. In the fine print he said I was to write the true story of my fame. How I had signed a contract with the Devil in order to gain my fame. I asked him why such a simple task?
It’s not like anyone would believe the Devil had given me my fame. He laughed and said that once someone read my story, they were forever marked. The day they read the lines of my story, they were forever marked as the Devil’s property and their soul would become his. Even after my death, the Devil will collect the souls of those poor bastards who read this.
I am truly sorry to condemn you all to hell in such a way. Had I only read the terms I might not have signed. I beg your forgiveness my dear friends, family, fans, anyone who should read this. I am truly sorry…
And I’ll see you all in Hell.
Category:Demon/Devil
Category:Reality