Romancing Satan
She converted to Satanism in the summer of 85. Swaying her head like the heroin addict she told her 8th grade school counselor
she aspired to be on career day, Sally lit the black candles on the window sill.
Sally never was normal.
Upon first viewing of Rosemary's Baby, she got a Mia Farrow haircut assuming the devil had a thing for
short-haired girls. Reagan. Damien. Pillars of devotion and her role model.
Mother didn't approve of Sally's behavior. Ever.
It was when Sally turned nine that her mother knew there was going to be a problem.
The quaint starry landscape father had painted on the walls became a barrage of pentagrams
from floor to ceiling. But, there had been four stars in each corner Sally hadn't been able
to reach that would later symbolize the small hope her parents held on to that she'd marry a minister.
Sally's mother wore tight blonde curls and seasonal aprons and could never figure out how she could birth
a girl like Sally. Ready with a "no" every time Sally would ask for black nail polish. But always the problem
solver, Sally began to slam her fingers in the bathroom cabinets until they were the perfect shade of black and
her mother had to child-lock everything until the day Sally moved out on her eighteenth birthday.
But it hadn't just been her mother. The nun's at Sally's catholic school had never prayed for one girl
more in their entire lives. The lessons on sinning were the most troubling to the nuns. Sally would be
sat in the back of the room furiously writing every word down and when asked why she had become so intent,
Sally would say she was appreciative someone had already written out a guide to obtain the love of her future husband.
Now worse than any prediction the nun's had made, Sally killed a match on her tongue and struck another. The night
was still boiling, considering Sally owned no air circulating appliances, and numerous small flames around the apartment
only made the temperature more blistering. Some collected pots and pans, but this was her way of preparing for her dream home.
Earlier this evening, Santeria Sally had been busy what with all the stalking of the night and bringing home a human sacrifice.
Luring a drunken man from the bar with her voluptuous hips and red pout wasn't difficult. And she preferred the drunken ones,
they came pre-aenestitized. The pleasure didn't lie in the actual killing of the men she brought home though, Sally didn't
see herself as a violent person, but in knowing she was giving something to her husband. Long distance relationships can be
strenuous, so the little ways of showing her love meant the world to her.
Behind the door of four locks, Sally had gone to work fairly quickly on the man. Meticulously cleaning each part
after she'd carved it away from the figure. Then laying them out just so. And with a half a roll of duct tape and
five amputations later, Sally was done.
Setting the box of matches down on the coffee table, its shadow made monstrous on the wall by the amber
glow of the candles, Sally nodded in approval. Candles were lit in an assortment of sizes, the pieces
of the man arranged beautifully within the pentagram on the carpet. The apartment was a hell on earth.
It was perfect.
Sally began twirling around imagining she was waltzing with the devil. Envisioning the smile on his face
as he saw his gift. His firm embrace and fiery kiss. Sally spun like a jewelry box ballerina from
the dark side. Quite a lot of work done tonight, but well worth it.
After all, romancing Satan was no easy task.
Keimi Yamagata
Email: Keimi Yamagata
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