“ I sold my soul to the devil today.  I was looking for a bit of inspiration, so I did the only sane thing - I sold my soul.  He said I could always get it back, but I think he was lying.  So now I have to do some soul-searching.  That is to say - searching for my soul. It seemed like it mattered, the craft, the inspiration, the gooey syrup of ideas dripping from my pen.  Now I realize nothing matters.  So what did I do with the bit of inspiration I paid so dearly for?  Well, it was so expensive that I had to save it for a special occasion; I put my prize in a box.  I was afraid to use it unless the need was dire, or the situation was important enough.  I mean, if I used it on a letter to the love of my life, and then had to give a speech to the Nation the next day terrible things could happen.  I could resent the love of my life, forever, for the rest of my life in fact.  I could look like a boring drone in front of the entire Nation.  You’d do the same.  It’s not like I can simply run out to the bank, exchange some pesos for another soul, and buy some more.  I’m only being prudent.  Preparing for a rainy day.  I put it in that shoebox under the bed.  I don’t think anyone will look for it there, do you, Damien?”
         “What?  Oh, of course not, sir,” Damien replied, backing towards the door.
         Damien held a blue Nike box behind his back, and he smiled winningly at Senõr Étien.  Étien’s gaze flitted back and forth from the sumptuous king size bed under the window, to Damien’s smiling face, which was retreating further and further toward the French doors.
         “You know it’s all I have left, don’t you, Damien?” Étien’s voice trembled.
         “Everything will be fine, sir,” Damien replied soothingly, focusing on the doors behind him.
         “What would I do without you?” Étien replied, closing his eyes, and sinking back into the enfolding arms of his leather chair.
         The doors slowly swung open without their usual groans and protestations, as the smile on Damien’s face broadened.  Muddy footprints wound their way to the bed, and Damien’s features shimmered.
        There wasn’t a trace of him when the cops came to Étien’s manor to investigate the break-in.