Adrienne Rex
I am not your giving tree
You may not eat my fruit
You will not break my branches
You cannot cut my roots
You shall not carve off parts of me
My bark’s grown thick with thorns
I will not be a giving tree
Not yours
Not yours
Not yours
Adrienne Rex is a writer, a Texan, and a weirdo. Find her here: https://adrienne-rex-writes.carrd.co/
“Is it even worth it?” Dorothy stared ahead at the supermarket shelf, thinking hard.
The shelves here shuffled the stuff you were likely to buy right in front of your face according to the height on your biometric tag. She’d been about to grab her usual choice when this high end goodie was shoved in front of her nose instead.
Max leaned on the shopping cart, drumming her fingers along the handle. Advertisements scrolled in holograms under her hands. “I mean it’s not a necessity but—“
“So we shouldn’t get it.” Dorothy looked down at the price tag again. It flashed happily, not understanding she couldn’t afford what it offered.
Max sighed. “You know what? I’ll get some extra hours at work. Put it in the cart.”
Dorothy perked up. “Really?”
“Sure. It’s my apartment too.”
Dorothy mentally promised to cover takeout the next three times her and Max ordered in. She hefted the container into the cart, careful not to squish the grapes.
‘Quality air! Ultra filtered’, the label promised. The company said this stuff came from actual living trees, but Dorothy knew that was probably just a marketing gimmick.
“It’s nice to have a little luxury,” she sighed, and adjusted the straps on her respirator.
Adrienne Rex is a writer, a Texan, and a weirdo. Find her here: https://adrienne-rex-writes.carrd.co/
“There.” The parchment burst into flames once the man was done signing it with his own blood. The horned figure in the summoning circle smiled, teeth like needles. “The pact is sealed. Now we may discuss payment.”
The man took a deep breath, dredging up the tears he’d practiced. “I know… I hate myself for it, but I can only offer… My firstborn child!”
The demon blinked. “Oh. No, sorry, we don’t accept those.”
The man paused, crocodile tears on hold. “What?”
“See under payment options we clearly state—” The demon re-summoned the contract in a burst of flame, licked its finger with a forked tongue, and flipped through it. “Valid payment options include ‘your soul, hopes, dreams, skills, body parts—“
“But why wouldn’t you take a child?! Their soul must be far more valuable than mine.”
The demon rolled its yellow eyes in a way that made it seem like it had explained this before. “For the same reason you can’t go to the bank and take out a mortgage in someone else’s name. It’s not yours.”
“Oh,” The man said meekly.
The demon laughed. “Did you think I’d let you weasel out of this that easily?”
“I thought you just cared about souls,” the man defended, sweating from more than hellfire heat.
The creature’s grin deepened impossibly further. “No. Demons care about consequences. And I think it’s time I delivered some unto you.”
Adrienne Rex is a writer, a Texan, and a weirdo. Find her here: https://adrienne-rex-writes.carrd.co/