Souls

All souls are beautiful. Each is a bright flame, that only a demon can see. They all have a base colour of red, yellow, or blue. But the most vibrant, are tinged with different colours: pinks and oranges, purples, and greens. Some souls burned dimly, barely there, beaten, and battered; diminished by the cruel actions of their owners. Others burned with a fury that was almost painful to behold, casting light on all around them.

Hers was one such soul. She shone like a star. A kaleidoscope of colours, that danced and merged. The deepest of cerulean and emeralds, fuchsias, and purples. Bursting with light. An artist’s soul, that refused to be dimmed.

In all his decades of service, Jason had only seen a scattering of souls like it. He couldn’t help it, the moment he’d spotted her, he went still and languid. Shocked to his very core. He’d watched and marvelled. It had taken another human crashing into his invisible form, for him to be pulled out of his reverie. By the time, he’d gotten himself sorted, she’d caught a train and was lost from view. He nearly wept with grief. He hadn’t seen where she’d gone, wouldn’t know how to find her again.

In the days that had followed, he’d waited at the same spot at the train station. Putting his work on temporary hold and begging and praying to see her again. He’d almost lost all hope, until finally there she was. Headphones on, sketchbook underarm. He’d been dying to see her sketches. Or even to learn what music she was listening to. Did she like rock, classical, pop, jazz, or something else entirely? He knew so painfully little about her.

And though it hurt him, he knew that was how it had to stay. He wouldn’t curse her with the knowledge of angels and demons, that was enough to darken anyone’s soul with fear. And he would never do anything to diminish her light. It was also cowardice that prevented himself from removing his glamour and allowing her to see him. He knew if she saw him as he truly was, she would be horrified.

As a human, he knew he’d been quite handsome. A heartbreaker in fact. He’d been delighted by it at the time. But now, it only made him more aware of his new and hideous form. With bright red skin, he looked like a flayed man. He had pointed ears and eyes as black as night, like ink had spilled over them, leaving nothing but two dark voids to stare into. His body had been forged in hell, and hell did not make beautiful things.

So, he chose to keep his distance, watching her from afar. He made it his tradition, to get to the railway at four o’clock each day, ready to catch sight of her on the platform. He found himself spending each day in anticipation, sometimes rushing through deals, to make sure that he got there in time.

As a demon, it was his job to collect souls. To figure out what a human desired most in the world and offer it to them, in an exchange. He knew that she would make a beautiful prize. She’d be the crown jewel, in the Dark Lord’s collection. He’d be lying if he said, he hadn’t been tempted once or twice to offer her to him; wondering at the favour he would get in return.

But deep in his bones, he knew that he would never do it. He might not have a soul, but the idea of her beautiful one, glimmering out from the Lord’s mantelpiece, made him feel sick to his stomach. He would never let that happen to her. Hers was not like the other souls he collected. Usually, they were dim. The owners keenly aware, of what they didn’t have, instead of focusing on what they did. Such a practice left a void in the soul, that was usually impossible to fill, demon deal or no.

They were easy prey, for a demon such as himself. They wouldn’t earn him much in commissions, but he could never bring himself to try trading for other types of souls. Those who would have a chance to spend their afterlife sitting on clouds and drinking chardonnay or doing whatever they did in heaven. Even if he hadn’t traded in his own soul, Jason was sure he’d never have found out.

As a human, he’d been pretty average. Not exceptionally cruel but not particularly kind either. He’d been a hit with the ladies and probably hadn’t treated them as well as he should have. As a farmer’s son, he spent most of his days tending fields. His whole life might have passed him by in a haze of hard labour, sun-kissed skin, and women, if it weren’t for the one day that had changed it all. The day his sister had returned with her dress in tatters. She’d had bruises, already purpling, down the length of her body And her eyes had been full of tears.

He'd given up his soul for a name. And he’d made the owner of that name know the meaning of suffering. No, Jason likely never would have gone to heaven. People in heaven didn’t have his cruel imagination.

He didn’t like to make people suffer, ordinarily. He’d been offered a position as a torturer when he first landed in hell and had taken less than a millisecond to turn it down. He hadn’t been interested in being a servant either, cooking and cleaning for the Dark Lord for all eternity, sounded like hell to him – no pun intended.

No, his job wasn’t that bad all things considered. Collecting souls allowed him to travel, and see the wonders of the world, he’d missed in his sheltered mortal life. He could also appreciate the beauty of each soul. Those in hell, were not nearly as vibrant. He supposed, that tended to happen after centuries of being flogged and whipped and burned. In hell, there were no bodies, they rotted in the earth while the souls were laid bare, ricocheting through the void. No pretty faces to hide who they truly were.

Humans were easily deceived by a symmetrical face and a thin body. It was these such fools, that would taunt Her, whose soul was aflame but whose beauty was less recognisable in her physical form. These bullies would make jabs at the redness of her face, the extra meat on her bones. They’d knock off her glasses and make her doubt her worth. Jason had wanted to kill any that dared hurt her. But held himself back, knowing that dabbling in human affairs would draw the attention of other demons, and he couldn’t risk that.

When they came, he would watch them through gritted teeth. Only, as time went by, his hatred began to dry up, replaced with a deep sense of pity for these poor souls who couldn’t see how brightly she burned. Who would be forever blind, to what true beauty was. He figured, that might be its own kind of hell too.