Fifty Words Story: The Debt Collector


Whistling, he enters my room. My heart races like the hooves of a doomed deer. Leaning close, he pricks me, then takes a hanky from his pocket; wiping my blood from his horn.

My soul oozes from the hole he made in my skin, and it pours into a jar.

Read a poem about bartering with the devil by clicking

↪️ ↪️ ↪️ ↪️ ↪️ ↪️ ↪️ HERE ↩️ ↩️ ↩️ ↩️ ↩️ ↩️ ↩️

(Photo by Roar Petersen of


  1. Hmm, difficult one this…In my mind, whilst reading I saw the wine flowing freely with the bubbles the soul of the grapes, the apple, adam and eve in paradise…Plop..back to the whole thing in a muddle, I think. xxx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Welcome back to the dark side Rose.
    I knew you’d make it.
    Was it scary over there on the
    Light side? 😧

    Great piece of flash fiction. 💀

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Does it use the same jar for multiple souls, or one soul per jar? I would prefer my own jar. One never knows what sort of vermin one could be rubbing metaphorical shoulders with in a collective soul jar.
    Love your poem, Rose, and that is quite a handsome horn. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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