[ WP ] You are a successful musician . While backstage before a show , the Devil appears and accuses you of stealing his songs . He demands payment in one form or another .

I was in the bathroom at the back of the bar after I just got finished with my show. I never made much doing this shit, but seeing people's eyes sometimes light up when i spew nonsense that I had no idea where it came from somehow brought me some level of satisfaction in my pathetic life. I washed the sweat off of my face in the bathroom sink when I heard someone come in behind me. 
 
 `` I liked your song.'' He said in an almost seductive voice. His English was perfect, which was unusual since I did n't often see any other foreigners in this run down Chinese bar before. 
 
 `` Thanks man, which one?'' I responded as I turned around. 
 
 When I turned around there was no one there. I did n't feel startled. I did n't even feel scared, but a feeling came from somewhere inside me. A heavy feeling. The lights seemed more yellow than before. I turned back to the mirror to see the man standing behind me again. 
 
 `` The one I wrote.'' 
 `` The one that you stole.'' His voice was changing. It did n't seem angry, it was almost a tone that a mother would use when she would talk down to her child. 
 
 `` I did n't steal shit, what the fuck are you?'' I responded. I was n't scared. The accusation was bullshit. Singing in a run-down bar was the only joy and sense of achievement I've gotten in my life in the last 15 years. I kept staring into the man in the mirror. He was bald. His mouth did n't move when he talked. A fly landed on the back of my neck. 
 
 `` You stole everything you've ever could. And you stole my songs.'' The voice began to echo across the room. I turned around again to see the man staring directly inside my head. I noticed that the bathroom door was gone. A fly landed on my arm. 
 
 `` The last thing I stole was a god damned GPS when I was 16, and I threw it in a fucking bush afterwards. I do n't know who the fuck do you think you are, but this is my fucking music. Put the fucking door back, and get the fuck out of my face!'' He was full of shit. I've never copied anyone. I never lied. I never stole. I never cheated. A centipede fell from the ceiling and crawled up my pant leg. 
 
 `` You never stole goods. You never stole money. You're too much of a pussy for that are n't you? You stole people's wives. You stole people's happiness. Think back, when did the words that you sing to those drunk pathetic masses come to you?'' 
 
 `` FUCK OFF!'' I shouted. A mosquito landed on my hand and began sucking my blood, the man's voice seemed to be accompanied by a light buzzing sound. 
 
 `` Think.'' He hissed. His mouth never moved. A woman began sobbing in one of the stalls. 
 
 I thought back. The words. All the words for my songs. They came to me when I was drunk. When I was drunk with someone else's woman. When I was drunk and laughing about retarded kids I used to make fun of in highschool. When I mocked the beggars in the street. The crying got louder. The door opened. The woman was crawling on the floor at a crippled pace in my general direction while dragging her face all over the piss stained floor. 
 
 `` They were my words. You stole my words.'' The man's eyes seemed to change. They did n't grow dark, they seemed to absorb all of the light around them without actually changing color. The girl continued to crawl. 
 
 I paused. `` What do you want?'' 
 
 `` You want my words?'' 
 
 `` Yes.'' 
 
 `` Let's make a deal.'' 
 
 I turned around. There was something in my hand. I brought it up to see it was a baseball bat covered in flesh and blood. I opened the door, and walked out of the kindergarten. 
 
 
 

