{Just a little piddle. It's late, I'm off to bed...wanted to write something, since I haven't written in ages...will probably delete it in the morning, I never like anything I write when I'm tired...lol... Thanks for viewing, comments welcome as always.} It had been six months, to the day, since the diagnosis. Inoperable. That was the term the doctor had used. Inoperable. He had said it more times than I could have counted while my mind was spinning in a fog that morning. The tumor was inoperable because it was in an inoperable place in my head, and operation would likely result in death. I had begged him to do it anyway, since either way it was a death sentence and at least the surgery would have given me a chance. He had declined, and suggested I get a second opinion if I found what he was telling me to be undesirable. How could I find it desirable? He was telling me I was going to die whether I got the surgery or not. I think anyone would go a little insane. The tumor was inoperable. I was unfixable. Perhaps to the doctor, expendable. Not that it mattered much. I had few friends. Both of my parents and my only sibling were deceased, and I was single. No one would miss me. Chances are I wouldn’t miss myself. The fact that death at twenty-five was my conclusion was not something to easily come to terms with, though I was not surprised much. The demon known as Fate had been seldom kind to me. It had been six months, to the day, since the diagnosis. The anniversary of this day was spent in a diner, waiting for a guest to arrive. The location was cliché and perhaps, so was the reason my guest was coming. This did not deter me. I raised the chipped mug of coffee to my lips and took a slow sip. It was bitter and stale, and the viscous liquid stuck to the surface of my tongue despite swallowing several times. The action was monotonous, and I tasted nothing. A twangy country melody rattled an old radio from somewhere, sounding forced out of a tin can, the lyrics indistinguishable, there for the mere aesthetics though it was displeasing. Fluorescent lighting flickered above me, sending its pale glow onto my skin and turning me a yellowish shade of alabaster. I turned and glanced at myself in the window beside my booth, and a corpse stared back at me with hollow eyes. It was a familiar sight in the mirror every morning, and did not scare me. I was at peace with it. What else was there to be? The old, rusted cowbell that hung from the door of the diner clanged noisily, alerting me that my guest had arrived. My eyes were fixed on the coffee mug clutched in my hands as slow, steady footsteps got increasingly louder. I swallowed hard as the scent of expensive cologne replaced that of the coffee and kitchen grease. It that moment, it was uncertain which was worse. Without notice, a dark-haired stranger slid into the chair across from me. I huffed a sigh, knowing who he was before he even introduced himself. Hands folded in front of him on the table, he settled into his side of the booth and gave a friendly and aware smile. It lit up his handsome facial features and dark eyes. "Hello, Phoebe." "Hello." It came out strained and tired. "Do you know who I am?" Amusement rang in the question. I glanced up and glared, my upper lip curling in a sneer. "Of course I do. I’m not stupid." The stranger laughed in a disgustingly chipper way. It nearly sounded like a song. "Well then, since you know who I am, you already know why I’m here." "I do." His hands slid forward on the table and he leaned toward me, grabbing my hands as they hugged my coffee cup. The action lacked any malice. In fact, it was curiously gentle and tender. "You don’t need to be afraid of me, Phoebe. I’m not here to hurt you." "I’m not afraid of you," I replied, easing my hands out of his grasp. He returned to his original position in the booth and sighed lightly. "You know...all I want is one simple thing. Is that honestly too much to ask of you?" "What you want is very precious to me," I retorted coolly. "It’s not something I’m letting go of that easily." "But you know I can’t just take it without permission." "Yes. Yes I do. That’s why you want it so bad. Because you can’t just take it." The smile widened. "No need to try and outwit me, my dear. As I said, I’m not here to hurt you." I set the coffee cup down on the table and crossed my arms tightly in front of my chest, leaning back against the torn cushion of the booth. "Yeah. And as I said, I’m not stupid." The stranger chuckled. "Why, Phoebe? Why do you make this so difficult for me?" "All things need to be considered before I make a choice that’s so serious." "What is there to consider? I only want what’s best for you, that’s all. I know the pain you feel. I know you better than you know yourself. Why do you deny me?" His eyes traveled down the curves of my collarbone and to the open buttons of my blouse. A brow perked in curiosity as he saw the golden crucifix that hug from around my neck. "Ah, I see now." He wagged his finger at the pendant. "You’re still loyal to Him. That’s why, isn’t it?" I averted my eyes to the table. On instinct my fingers began drumming against my upper arm. "You would be the first to know how it feels. To wonder how an endlessly forgiving Father can seemingly abandon you. In fact...I’d say you know better than me." "Yes. I know the pain. But don’t you see? I’m trying to free you from the curse that your God has cast upon you. If He loved you, would He let this happen? Would He allow you to suffer? I wouldn’t, if you were one of my children, as you are one of His. Don’t you ever wonder why He gave you this tumor, why He makes you endure this pain?" At the mention if it, the pain in my head throbbed even harder than usual. The stranger went on. "Don’t you wonder why He took your parents and sister from you? Doesn’t it ever haunt your dreams?" His questions did not rattle me, though the memory of my family clouded my eyes with tears. "Yes...it does. I think of it a lot. But I guess...if my parents and sister were still here, they would be sad about what’s happening to me. At least now it’s not hurting anyone." "It’s hurting you, Phoebe," he said, his voice passionate. "If you would just accept me, I could make that go away. Do you need proof? Is that what you want? Proof that I will keep my word to you?" "Yes," I replied. He nodded quickly, anxiously reaching out for me. "Come, give me your hand. I’ll show you." I allowed my hand to go limp, and extended it across the table. His fingertips touched mine. It was like ice water traveled through my veins, up into my head, behind my eyes, at the back of my neck, everywhere. Ice water, freezing every thought in its place, and then a gentle numbness. The pain I had been feeling for the last year was gone. I had forgotten what not being in pain was like, and despite every effort not to, a sigh escaped from within my lungs. It was a sigh of relief. "Do you see what I can do for you?" the stranger whispered. "I can take all of your pain, all of your suffering...everything you are enduring...and make it go away. If only you give me that one little thing." He raised his hands, and the palms were smooth. No life lines, no lines of any kind. Yet, I suppose he would not need them. If he did not die, why was there use for lines predicting his lifespan? "The little thing you’re asking for isn’t so little," I murmured. When he did not reply, I added, "As I said, it’s precious to me." "Don’t you see, Phoebe? It’s precious to me, too." "Why?" A smile unfolded on his mouth. "Because He wants it. After all He’s done to you, He still wants it. I’ve done nothing. Out of the two of us, wouldn’t you say I deserve it more?" I did not answer his question. "I’m very young...and have a lot of things that I’d like to do before I die. But those won’t happen now." "They will, if you do not deny me," he said. "It’s your choice." "Yes...it is my choice. It’s a choice I’ve already made." "You will not give me your soul?" My pupils locked with his, and without a moment’s hesitation, the answer came forth from my mouth. "No." His lids lifted wider, and his mouth twisted in a scowl, distorting his ageless face. "If you already knew what the answer was, why did you beckon me here?" I smiled, warm and gentle at him, as our minuet of words ended. "Just so I could say I lived long enough to stare the Devil in the eyes...and tell him no." An animal hiss came from him, and with a gust of wind, he was gone. The cowbell on the door did not announce his departure. Kitchen grease took over the scent of his cologne. The waitress came over and asked me if she could get me anything else. "I’ll have a slice of apple pie, please," I replied. "Extra whipped cream." A small trophy for the last victory that would ever be mine.