The Devil That Feeds My Ego – A Short Story

I was at the bar today for thirteen hours, serving drinks. The phone rang.


“Is this Oscar?”


“What do you mean perhaps? Are you or are you not?”

“Alright, you got me. Now what’s the deal, who the Hell is this?”

“This is Satan.”


“That’s right. Satan, The devil, Lucifer, whatever works for you.”

“How may I help you?”

“No, the question is, how can you help yourself?”

“Oh I see. Okay then, suck ass, Satan.”

Hung up and grabbed the small kitchen knife I hid under the bar and started cutting the phone line extension cord. It took me a while to cut it, but it was cut. Then I realized I could have just disconnected it instead. Then I started asking myself, was that really the devil?

Then some guy with a glass eye came up to the side of the bar where I was and said to me, “A scotch with water, please.” I poured it really strong. I didn’t want him to come back around here flashing that eye scaring my tips away. So I told him,

“Look buddy, I just gave you ten straight lines of that scotch just so you can sit there in that corner quietly, taking small sips and taking your time with the drink, ok?”


“You scare people with that glass eye of yours, baby. Seriously, you do.”

“What? Are you scratching my balls?”


He scratched his elbows, then he scratched his left knee, then scratched his nose, his belly, his butt cheeks, and there was no doubt this guy was a nut case.  He winked at me with his good eye. The other eye reflected horror. He walked away slowly and his walk was clumsy as hell.

As soon as he walked away toward his little corner, the phone rang again.

It rang twice, it rang three times, but it wasn’t connected. I didn’t answer it, and after a while, it stopped ringing. I poured myself a scotch with a splash of water. Took it all in one gulp. The phone rang again. I answered it.


“Your time is running out Oscar, out! Out! Out!”

“Satan, is this you again?”


“Good, I’m glad you called again, listen, why don’t you stop by and have a drink with me?”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

I hung up the phone by placing it back on its cradle. The phone line was still cut, and small electrical sparks were sparkling right on the ends that were cut. Everything started shaking, the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the bar, the bottles were shaking, some of them fell onto the floor, and none of them broke. I was confused. An earthquake in Miami? Then it hit me, it was the devil.  He said he was coming over. Who else could it be? The shaking stopped.

Suddenly my heart started beating a little faster. I looked around and I didn’t see anyone that looked like the devil, but what did the devil look like? I searched around once again and I noticed the guy with the glass eye sitting at his corner, sipping on his scotch. My heart was still beating fast and cold sweat was now sliding down on both sides of my forehead. Then everything started shaking again, the bottles, the walls, the ceiling, and there he was. Standing right in front of me and on the other side of the bar counter, looking as if he wanted to order something to drink.

“Satan?” I asked.

“Yes.” He replied, almost whispering. I asked him to make the shaking stop, and the shaking stopped.

Then he said with a smile, “I love making an entrance.”

“666… Why?” I asked him.

“Because 665 other demons had auditioned and none of them did it well enough for the honor.” He answered as if he has answered that same question a billion times before. He wasn’t bad looking. He was actually beautiful. So I asked him,

“Why don’t you go into show bizz? You got the looks!”

“Been there. Done that. And I hated it. And I hate talking about it.”

“Let me pour you a strong one.” I told him.

“Yeah, why don’t you pour me ten lines from each one of the bottles?”

“You got it.” I replied. I gave him exactly what he wanted; ten lines of each of my bottles, and I had lots of them.  I gave him his drink. He took it all in one hit. He looked depressed.

“Give me two more of those.” he demanded. I worked on his drinks and passed them to him. He grabbed them, and slammed them both one after the other.

“Why me?” I asked him.

“Why you what?”

“Why me, why did you come looking for me?” I asked him again.

“Oh, well, you’re the only one around here that doesn’t fear me.” he said.

After hearing that, I didn’t say a word to him. I stayed quiet for an unmeasured moment. I poured myself another scotch. I took it down in one hit. Almost choked on it. My eyes got watery and heavy. I felt brave again. Never before in my life did I feel so brave. I felt invincible. I felt like kicking Satan’s ass right there on the spot, but first I wanted to make sure the reason why he feared me, so I asked him,

“What, the fuck makes you fear me?”

“Your genius, I fear your genius.”

“Fair enough, Satan.” I agreed. This angel from hell knew really well how to feed my ego. Still, my genius was not enough reason for his fear. I felt he was being extremely nice and didn’t want to tell me why he really feared me.

“You know what Satan?”


“I’m not really convinced that you fear my genius, I think there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

“You’re just too much Oscar. You’re right; there is something else I’m not telling you.”

“So, what is it?”

“You see, Oscar, I’ve been following your life story ever since you were born, and since that day of your birth, you’ve been the brightest of them all, and now, at the age of 35, without you even knowing it, you’ve written masterpieces that will someday soon make you immortal,” he told me.

“Why are you being so nice with me, huh? Aren’t you supposed to be all mean and evil? I don’t know Satan, I have a feeling you’re scratching my balls.”

Right after I told him that, he just stood there in a pensive way. He rolled his bloodshot eyes to the left, then around to the right, and said,

“Alright you got me again. I’ll tell you the reason why I came here. First of all, I wanted to have a couple of free drinks. Second, you’re fearless; you don’t fear anything, not even me.”

“Very true.” I replied, and at the same time thinking, damn, this Satan guy makes me feel a million dollars’ worth. Then he said it.

“Oscar, I need your help.”

“What is it?”

“Well, about two days ago a woman I know asked me for a favor, she asked me to give her immortality and money, lots of money. I told her that what she was asking for had a price, and she told me she would do anything I wanted her to do, so I told her that she needed to go on six dates with me for six nights, and each night of those nights, I would make love to her six times until sunrise.”

“Is she a looker?”

“She’s a knockout Oscar, and she didn’t have a problem with the conditions I gave her.”

“So what do you need from me?”

“Yeah well, I’m gonna need you to take over my duties for me.”

“Your duties? What kind of duties?”

“Well, for the next six nights, I’m going to be showing her the amusement park I have down in hell.”

“Amusement park?”

“That’s right, and a few of those nights I’m gonna be taking her to this little love shack I constructed right at the core of the moon.”

“Right inside the moon?”

“That’s right baby, and I want you to take care of all my duties here on earth.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Oscar, don’t sweat it. All you have to do is answer every call, tell anybody who calls that I’m out on vacation, and to leave me a message.”

“That’s it?”

“That is it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why should I lie to you?”

“Because you’re Satan.”

“Good answer, but you’re safe Oscar, no need to worry,” he said with a smile.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Whatever you want,” he said.

“How do I know you’re gonna keep your word?” I asked him.

“Stop being a bitch about it Oscar, just do it and you’ll get your reward.”

I didn’t respond to that comment.

For some reason I trusted him. He had fed my ego long enough for me to like him. I felt extremely flattered that he had asked me for the favor. We both just stood there across from each other not saying a word. I poured him another round of scotch. He drank half of it. He placed the glass on the surface of the bar counter, and then he pointed at it with his finger. I looked at the shot glass. Then I looked at him. And with his eyes, he offered me the scotch that was left in the sweaty glass, and I drank it. I took out a pack of camel cigarettes I had under the bar and lit one.

“You’re a badass Oscar,” he said with a spark in his mind reading eyes.

“I know,” I answered him.

“So what’s it gonna be, Biscayne Poet?”

“Six nights?”

“Yeah, six nights.”

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“You’re a good sport Oscar, don’t worry, I’ll hook you up.” he said, and with that he disappeared.

I had knots in my throat. My ego was still pumped. I poured myself another scotch. I noticed the guy with the glass eye get up from his corner, and his walk was clumsier. He walked right by me and exited the door. I took all the scotch in one gulp, and didn’t even feel it. My ego was still pumped. I was still brave. Braver than ever. I still couldn’t believe Satan had come all the way from hell just to ask me for a favor. Just for him to get a piece of that human ass that wanted it all. The bastard sure knew how to feed my ego.

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Oscar Fuentes

People know me as The Biscayne Poet. I write personalized poetry with one of my vintage typewriters.