Therapy With Satan

Oh hell nah.


“Not today Satan” I say, turning to walk out the HERE LIES THE END door with the San Serif font. I hate that stupid font.


“Not so fast” Satan calls out, and I halt. Walking away from a 3D rendered Satan may not be the best idea, especially when I have no clue where to go.


So I turn back and stand in front of Satan, crossing my arms.


“I know I was an asshole, but was I so bad I end up in the same place as Satan?”


At least it’s not Katerina from high school. Even Satan wouldn’t belong in the same room as her.


“Lay down” Satans says, his voice a calm lilt.


Carefully, I sprawl myself on the divan, making sure to check this isn’t some trap.


“How are you doing?” Satan asks.


“I don’t know, bad I guess. I’m in hell so at least it can’t get worse.”


“Oh it can” Satan says, writing something in his journal. I don’t know when he put on glasses or lit a vanilla candle, but my whole body goes rigid.


“Your dead brother James has informed me that you suffered from…severe mental problems, and refused to seek help when you were alive.”


“Yeah so?” I say. “Why do you care?”


Satan sighs, putting his pen down. And then, it clicks.


“No no no no” I say, springing up. “This is not an intervention. My family didn’t arrange an intervention for god sakes.”


“Don’t use gods name in vain” Satan says, brows furrowed. “And yes, they arranged an intervention, before you would pass on to the afterlife.”


“I don’t need an intervention!” I yell. “I’m already dead! It’s too late!”


Satan grabs my hand, a soft reassuring gesture. “It’s never to late.”


And just like that, I remember I forgot to feed Mr. Whiskers. This intervention will have to continue another say, duty calls!

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