white lighter (Jim Morrison one shot)

white lighter

My feet intentionally shuffled slowly down the dirt path, not wanting to reach their destination. I couldn't bear to look up from them, in fear that I would see my friend awaiting my arrival.

"Maybe I should have kissed Pamela one extra time." I thought to myself, already beginning to regret my choices. I hadn't ever regretted my decisions because I knew that life was a short ride and that if I didn't take my chances I'd disappoint myself. But, I also hadn't feared death until this point either. You can hold the hedonistic and devil-may-care attitudes as long as you'd like, but when lady death comes knocking you're really never as prepared for your exit as you lead yourself to believe. You begin to wish you told your wife that you loved her one more time, or that you were able to smell the delicate fragrance of honeysuckles on your daily walk once more.

I continued to stare at my boots as I made the trek to my meeting place. But I was brought to a halt when black unearthly smoke danced over my leather shoes. I could feel my heartbeat quickening in anticipation, and in a sick way I was loving the high that the rush of adrenaline gave me. I slowly looked up, observing my little friend as I did so; smoke pouring from where feet should be, legs longer than I was tall. A waistline so thin and void of nutrition that Her ribs were as visible as a mod in a group of hippies. A dress made of black silk with tattered long sleeves that swung around where ankles would be on a normal woman. Skin as pale as death, yet somehow smooth and void of any blemishes. And then there was Her face; I had to lean my head back nearly completely to gaze upon Her haunting yet beautiful form. Her piercing, all white eyes observed me as she looked down on the small human before Her. Her long, black hair danced in the wind, crossing over Her lips that were adorned with a single red line going down the center.

I looked to my left and right, realising that I was at the Crossroads. I sighed and looked back at the nine foot tall deity before me.

"What's a beautiful broad like you doing out here on a night like this?" I sarcastically asked Her, earning an unamused blink.

"James Morrison, son of George Morrison; you know why we are here. It is time for you to fulfill your part of our bargain." Her powerful voice bellowed, a murder of crows fleeing from a nearby tree. "In the year of 1965, you called upon me to bring your ambitions into fruition. And, in exchange, you promised me your soul on the third day of July in the year of 1971. I have delivered. And that day is today, James Morrison." She explained, Her voice never faltering.

"Yeah, about that, is there any way we can do a raincheck? We've got this album coming out soon, and to be honest I'd really like to spend some more time with my wife before I-"

"Do you dare to go against our contract? The contract was written in our blood, James Morrison. Contracts of that kind are not so easily broken, you know that." I was silent. I knew She was right. If I didn't give Her my soul by 11:59 pm that night, She'd ruin not just me, but Pam, Ray, all of them. Anyone I had any inkling of a feeling for would have their lives turned into more misery. I nodded my head as I stuffed my hands into my front pockets. My fingers brushed up against something in my pocket and I paused. That day had taken a lot out of me but I knew for sure I didn't have anything there before. I carefully gripped it and brought it into the moonlight to inspect it.

A white disposable BIC lighter. I had always heard of the myths of them existing in these sorts of deaths but I didn't think it was true. My brows furrowed as I tried to remember the origin of the foreign lighter, but the strong voice of Satan brought me back to my reality.

"You must find the purest strain of diacetylmorphine and smoke it with this lighter. No other lighter will do. It would be best not to lose it, James Morrison. I wouldn't want to hurt a single red hair on her head." She instructed carefully, and Her voice raised an octave playfully upon mentioning my wife. My blood boiled, and everything in me told me to lunge with reckless abandon. But I knew I was defenseless against Satan Herself.

"Why this lighter? What's so special about it?" I asked Her with a timid voice, at that point giving up any idea of living to see the 4th of July.

"It will make it less painful, and quicker. It also marks your soul for me to reap once you have passed." She told me. I stared at the little lighter in my palm, wondering how such a mundane item could be used for one's downfall. I closed my eyes as I tried to collect all my thoughts and come to terms with my predestined fate. "Okay. Nice knowing you." I said to Her, giving Her a dull wink as I turned my back on Her and began heading back to my apartment. I could feel Her smirk as She watched me leave.

"You will continue to know me, James Morrison. Forever and onwards."