User blog comment:HumboldtLycanthrope/The 666 word pasta write off!/@comment-27905100-20160412164907

This pasta is exactly 666 words long. I couldn't think of a title, but here it is. It's kind of forced because it's hard to rhyme well with an exact word limit, but I tried. Sorry about the grammar.

Here it is:

Inside his mind, the young man cried. One of his friends was going to die. He thought and thought for hours on end, Deciding which life he should spend.

For if he chose wrong, His life would be gone So the most cherished had to go. But his dearest friend, Their life would end, So what to do, he did not know.

His time began to wane quite quickly, As he was taking too much time. He felt a pang of guilt, and then He changed his mind.

He’d made a deal That’d seemed unreal. One soul per year For power. But the choice He had to make, Left him feeling sour.

The one who made it demanded that he Kill his brother to prove loyalty. The man did it without complaint. But now, as the time drew very near, The man decided that, in pain,

His most cherished friend, Their life would end. He felt that he had to go. After all, it was them or him, That much he was allowed to know.

A pentagram of chalk he made, A wood cross in the center, A place, he knew, in hours time, His friend’s body had to enter.

There was no mercy To the hunt For him to find his friend, Because if he didn’t He knew that Soon his life would end

His friend was hiding out in the place, That she suspected would not be checked. In an old, foreclosed home That in some weeks would be wrecked.

For the man had confided in her What had happened the night he was alone How every year from here on in, Satan sold him his life for the souls

He knew his friend well enough To know where she would hide, He got in his car and set off To see whom he could find.

She heard his footsteps in the place, Unreal, too heavy, too slow. And then she heard the knob open And thought This is the end, I know.

But the knob was to A different door, Near hers, but not there. Attempting to calm her very own nerves, She took her hand and flattened her hair.

The thundery steps were drowned out By a huge bellow in rage She began to cry as she sat inside The closet, her hide-out, her cage

He heard the crying as he listened close, And stopped stomping around the house He followed and listened and followed the noise, Behind him, he heard a mouse.

The knob was jimmied The knob was jammed He had to get that door open Or in some time, He would die, And for this he was not hoping

She grabbed the knob, And with all her strength, Tried to keep it closed, But with his supernatural strength, A threat to him she didn’t pose.

The door was thrust open wide, And he looked around the closet, But he found nothing at all inside, Because she was running like a faucet

She sprinted away, He ran after, Gaining on her quickly, She looked back, And noted that With too much power, He looked sickly

He tried to grab her But he was Losing energy fast But he tried a little more, Hoping this day wouldn’t be his last

A swipe at the collar, A grab at the shirt, He grabbed his friend, She hit the dirt, He brought her back Into his Derelict Car’s trunk He stuffed her inside the car, And closed it with a thunk

She screamed and screamed On the ride home, But was powerless To make it stop When he got home He opened the Trunk up with A chop

He found his sacrificial knife, Still sheathed from when he got the thing, He grasped the handle, pulled it out, It came out with an evil ring.

Inside the pentagram, He cut open Her skin, and placed inside, The soul-taker, The wooden cross, And he did hide. Satan came, took her soul

And he cried.