He was a good man with great moral values, a man with such a light spirit. He was kind and generous and everything fell right into place with his life. He lived a good life, a life that filled the criteria for one who desired to live the American dream. He had a wife and child, a big house with a white picket fence, and the open plains of the countryside. He was a loving father and a caring husband. He was the man who always went to church on Sunday mornings. He was happy and maybe a little too comfortable with his daily routine. Either way, many people loved him and no one had expected it to be him, no one could grasp the reality of it. He was a holy man but I guess that is of the past.

It was a Friday when he and his wife found out, they were devastated with the news. Their son had a disease that was gnawing at his time on earth and there was nothing that they could do. His wife was overwhelmed and after a year the depression got to her. It was a Friday when he buried her in her grave. He lived in agony and he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. He felt the powers of the Devil force themselves upon his being and take grasp of all the happiness there was. It was a Friday when he cracked, a Friday when he sold his soul.

It was his only way out he thought, the only way that brightness could enter into the eyes of his son. His name was Emmanuel, the man who sold his soul. He had made a deal with the Devil, he had asked for a wish to be granted and for his life to become lightened. He had wished to waken the spirit of his son and give rise to his health. It was a Sunday then, a Sunday when the little one arose.

They became united and tied by the laces that took hold of the bond between father and son. They lived in peace and shared in a harmonious relationship like no other. As time passed, their lives went back to normal with the little one in school and Emmanuel attending mass every Sunday. Emmanuel thought that God had ended his nightmares and that His protection worked as his shield. Perhaps he did get too comfortable and perhaps he was not as holy as they thought. It occurred during mass when the Devil came for him and the nightmare came back from its commercials.

Satan called upon him in the form of the Lord. He had called Emmanuel from the front pew and forced his voice into a snake-like whisper only heard by the man’s ear. He called Emmanuel forward and Emmanuel began his journey up the long aisle. He handed him a knife but nobody moved. He mumbled a few words and Emmanuel held the sharp blade above his head and stabbed his soul away as payment. He did not know, he did not think it through. He did not look into the black eyes of his deceiving commander.

It was a Sunday when he killed himself, at least that is what the town people swear by. A longing for his wife is what the rumor says killed him, a lack of intimacy. I know the truth because I saw it with my own eyes. I heard the voice, the one that whispered upon his ear. It was the Devil, the one who mocks the Father. It was the Devil, the one who came for Emmanuel’s soul on a Sunday.