Downward you drift, and the farther you go, the more power she gains, the less friendly your foe. What started as a light game of Head-and-Go-Seek, has become the worst torture you've suffered all week! In over your head, and you feel like such crap, and then hate turns to rage and you suddenly
Your plan becomes clear, you must set her a trap, or just wait for the witch to make some minor mishap. She’s throwing things at you, like forks and steak knives. Aimed at your forehead-- She doesn’t play nice! But you wait for the right shot, straight up from beneath, and making your move, catch a knife in your teeth.
She plummets toward you, in anger and surprise, but you turn your head slightly and stab her in the eyes. And without thinking twice, yank it back and restart-- get a slight bit of leverage and stab her in the heart. Her wailing is music to your ears as you float, but just for good measure you slice open her throat.
Something’s come over you, something evil and great, something far worse than anger, revenge, or just hate. The gasping old woman who ruined your life, now limp at the mercy of a fork and a knife. And you glare at the witch through crazed animal eyes, lick your lips and begin, to cannibalize.
“Now that’s using your head!” says a voice from afar. You choke on a liver and look up, alarmed.
Satan appears, glowing red with a grin, a triumphant parade of all evil and sin. He flicks a long finger at the pile of guts, and for a second you think he might heal all her cuts, but instead, the dead witch disappears with a flash, reappears in a bucket labelled "666 Trash".
"Congratulations," he says, "pack your bags and get dressed. Took you awhile, but you've now passed the test."
"The test?" you inquire, "what test? Am I free?"
"Heavens no!" Satan laughs, "you're coming with me."
And then, to what's left of your horror, he tosses you, into the bucket on top of the carcass you'd previously slaughtered and then slightly devoured, which admittedly still has you feeling empowered.
Bucket in hand, Satan zooms up the pit, and along the way finally explains things a bit.
"You're my new secretary-- 'slave', if you will-- replacing that witch you so scrumptiously killed. She was on her last leg, she's been trying my patience-- I've been looking for someone to replace her for ages. It's a hell of a task, finding someone who's brutal, who's loyal to no one, whose existence is futile, who's terrified of pain though they dish it with ease, so that not even God would give in to his pleas."
"I'm… not all that bad," you start to defend, but the bloody arm next to you seems to contend. "Okay, so, maybe I am," you confess, "but that's all your fault! You started this mess! I was fine before YOU showed up, if you recall…"
"You just needed tweaking," says Satan, "that's all."
"So you planned this whole thing from the very beginning? When you bulldozed my body just because I'd been sinning?"
"Of course," Satan chuckled. "What'dja think I was doing? Think I waste my time watching ALL idiots pursuing cute girls that are out of their league, just for fun? Fighting God tooth and nail for their souls when they're done?"
"Well, sort of…" you mumble, but get lost in a thought, a glimmer of hope that you nearly forgot.
"So does this mean I'm going to get powers, like her?"
"Yeah right!" Satan laughs. "Tell ya what, lesson learned! That's the last time I EVER have a witch for a slave, such a hassle to make that damn woman behave. Could've taken her powers from the start, to be honest… but I overlooked one major detail. You see, Thomas... How'll I torture you if-- like the witch-- you're immune to the pressure, the heat, and the stench? No thanks, not you, you'll be sitting at the desk, for twenty-two hours a day with no rest. You'll have two separate 1-hour breaks," he explains, "which you'll spend mopping up the discarded remains of the people on spikes, on the walls or in chains, and you'll suffer every drop of the acid it rains."
At last you arrive, Satan opens the doors, reattaches your body-- the crap one that's yours--, shoves you into a chamber that reeks of despair, then turns on the spot and just leaves you there. You wobble on your body, your head sort of spinning, then he rushes back in, a bit flustered but grinning.
"Whoops! Almost forgot to make you immortal! That'd be funny," says Satan with a lighthearted chortle, "after all that trouble, the whole rollercoaster ride, if I brought you to Hell and then you just died!"
A flick of his wrist, and your fate finally sealed, no cute gory rhymes to portray how you feel, you collapse into doom, crumpled up at the desk, in a dark dusty room almost picturesque in its absence of life, its refusal of death, no purpose in being, no need for a breath. Nothing left to look forward to, nothing to dread, no challenges, dangers or trouble to tread. And yet still as you sit, it remains to be said, whether you should have quit while you were a head.