Dot

Being the Devil is awfully boring. I mean, people always think you're the bad guy but in reality...I'm just like everyone else. And everyday I get the constant urge to sin. Just like you mortals. You know what sucks? Being stuck down here and listening to the same old blood-curling screams of evil. Hellfire is my only light. And when I get summoned it's the usual serial killer or satanist wanting to sell their soul for something that doesn't matter! "I wish for power" ugh "I want strength" please! "Kill this person for me" AS IF! Same old same old. In and out. Through and through. Until I met Dot.

December 15th , 1941— Days After Pearl Harbor...

This day was like any other. And I was minding my own business. You know like condemning people to burning in hell fire forever? Yeah I was doing that when someone had summoned me. And as usual I ascended up to your "Mortal Plain". And I excepted the usual creep or schizophrenic but instead I was met with her. Dot. Doesn't sound like a frightening name right? Well she was quite the badass. She was one of the first women to be in the military. She was one kick ass nurse.

And, and there she was. Sitting in her rocking chair. Looking out the window. She was playing with her wedding ring. She was, quite startled to see me.

"Oh hello," she had said to me those many years ago. Tears stained her rosy cheeks. And she was wiping them away. Pretending. I had realized that I was staring. So, I put on my devil face and spoke.
"Why did you summon me!!!" Her face turned dark and she began to cry.
"I'm just so lonely!", she sobbed. She reached for her tissue box, pulled one out, and blew. I, of course, didn't know how to act. I was big bad scary devil that damned many to hell. I wasn't suppose to comfort her.
"He's really gone.." she trailed off and I walked over to her.
"Who's really gone?" I placed me hand gently on her arm and kneeled to look up at her. She was beautiful. One of the most gorgeous humans I had ever seen.
"HE'S gone" she spoke pronouncing "he" prominently. I rolled my eyes. Trying to coax information out with your looks should be easy. But not with her.
"I was hoping you would know," she said quietly. "My husband...died. The seventh". She choked on the word "died". She needed help. Bad. But she was true. December 7th 1941 was Pearl Harbor and many showed their faces at my doorstep like stray cats begging for food.
She was right. I would know. Smart.
"His name was...Robert. Robert Scott." She laughed "Mine is Dot Scott. But you would know that. You're the devil" she laughed again holding her hands to her gut," I'm crazy! I'm talking to the devil! I wonder what Robert's parents would think of me now?" She turned to me and placed her hand in mine. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

I smiled.
"No".