Whole Souls

The devil deals only in whole souls; I accept bits and pieces.

Ain't no cash, no credit these days. Sure as hell ain't no credit! Not off my cart, anyway.

Bartering, folks used to call it. Back before, when it was done just 'cause. Just for fun. Not like now.

Now it's done to survive.

Gettin' harder and easier at the same time. Used to run into whole compounds of people. Then camps. Then a few people here and there, dragging busted suitcases and dirty kids and little red wagons; pushing shopping carts and strollers with what they had. Bumblin' down the cracked asphalt. Stumblin' down the rusted, twisted tracks.

Lucky to pass one or two folks every...what, week? Fifty miles? A hundred and sixty renditions of "I Can't Get No Satisfaction?" Time. What a concept. Who were we kiddin’?

Boy, those one or two folks you pass, though...they're desperate. On their last leg. Say they just want a bite of bread. A drop of water. Some shoes or a wool hat. That's all they want. They don't have much, maybe I'd be willing to share? Sure would put me in God's graces.

Uh no, nooo, NNNO!

Bartering. Surviving.

They all got that one thing. That tidbit they've held onto. Through it all. Those baby shoes, worn and ragged; the feet that used to fill them dead and buried in a grave so shallow the topsoil and dead leaves have blown away in the frigid wind and the constant sub-freezing temps have charred the tip of that little toe sticking out of the ground.

That heart-shaped locket with the faded picture of the woman that couldn't stand the famine or the drought or the isolation and her mind, twisted and tortured, turned on her and convinced her that death was the only way out.

What's this worth to you, they ask.

What's it worth to you?

They never have an answer. I know what they don't. It's worth their life. It's a little bit of their blessed soul, wrapped up and carved into those little items. The ones they swore they'd hang onto in the end.

It is the end.

So they hand it over, that little piece of their soul for a bite of bread. A drop of water. A blanket! Where on Earth did you get chocolate?

Enough to replenish the body for a few minutes. A couple steps. A long refrain.

The only thing that was feeding their soul now hangs off the side of my cart. Dangles and dances in the icy breeze. I keep it close. This most minute fragment of their slowly fading soul. They wander off into the frozen beyond of whatever is left. Looking for a place to die.

They’ll accept it now. Now that they’ve relinquished that one thing. That one thing that kept them going. That kept them rooted in the past. They need to be in the past. They need the memories. Because there’s nothing here anymore.

There was that one thing. But now it’s gone.

They didn’t give it up to a bite to eat or a drink of water. They gave it up so they could let go.

Does seem like a waste of bread and water, though, don’t it?

That’s okay. I’ve got plenty. I’m doing God’s work. Didn’t you know? A million tiny things. Bright, shiny, dingy, dirty, broken, loved, wonderful little things. Each one graced with a piece of them. A single piece of their soul.

I keep it safe.

They don't know.

They were bound to go.

The devil deals only in whole souls.