Crossroads Rock and Roll
Wish I didn't need it, but feel like I do...
Verse
I once met a man with no eyes, sharp teeth, and a forked tongue.
Promised me fame and riches once the deal was done.
Eat of the fruit, taste sweet inspiration in your mind
Infinite success steals all reason. The contract was signed.
I couldn't look directly at him, whatever he was. His pale skin reflected the light of the moon as his claw-like hands danced across the wooden box I buried in the center of the crossroad.
"So, do we have a deal?" The demon asked, his long nails tapping the lid of the box.
I saw his forked tongue slide across a mouth full of fangs. I closed my eyes and tried to let my better judgment take hold, but it had fled long ago.
"Yeah, we do," I said.
The wooden box in the demon's hands caught ablaze and burned to ash in mere seconds. A phantom wind swept the ashes from his hands, and where the box had been, a small seed sat in the palm of his pale hands.
"Plant the seed, nurture it, and it will bear fruit. When you eat the fruit, inspiration will flow freely within your mind," the demon said.
"And people will love the new tracks? I'll finally get what I deserve?" I asked.
"Money, power, fame, all delivered to you in due course."
I took the seed from the demon and gripped it tightly in my palm.
"When the tree falters and the fruit becomes sour, know that this will be the bell's toll for your final hour."
The demon grinned before exploding into a cloud of black smoke that soaked into the ground like water.
I took the seed home, back to my shitty one-bedroom apartment. I planted it, and it grew into a dwarf pear tree within weeks. Six feet tall, two feet wide, a bitch to move, but soon a strange fruit began to dangle from its branches.
It was unlike any pear I'd seen before. It had pale flesh and bled a crimson juice when you bit into it. The flavor was sweet, but the inspiration was sweeter. Within hours of eating the first one, melodies exploded like supernovas in my mind.
Not just notes, either. Poetic verses accompanied them like they were being hand-delivered from the place where ideas were born.
The best part? People fucking loved it.
My agent didn’t believe me when I told him it was all thanks to this new fruit. I left out the part with the demon. He didn’t need to know that. All he needed to know was that the tree must come with me on my tours.
And not only that, but the tree had to have as much security as I did if not more. When he saw what I was writing, he didn’t bother questioning any of it.
I kept the tree locked away in its own room everywhere I went. It was guarded by twenty-four-hour security and a fingerprint scanner. I paid for that fruit with my eternal soul, and I'd be damned (again) if anyone else got a taste of it.
But even with all that security, someone managed to infiltrate the room. I stumbled in that night, half-drunk, and flipped on the lights. A woman stood beside my tree, tracing the bark on the trunk with a bright red fingernail.
Her velvet black hair flowed like the night sky across her shoulders. She turned to face me. I saw porcelain skin, cherry red lipstick, and icy blue eyes that cut right through my resolve.
"How did you get in here?" I asked.
"I have my ways,” she said with a wink. “So, tell me about this fruit. Where did you get it?"
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Varla. And yours?"
"Damian. Listen, I don't know how you got in here, but you need to leave."
Varla reached up and plucked one of the pears from the tree.
"Hey, put that down!" I shouted.
Varla looked me right in the eyes as she brought the pale flesh of the pear to her lips and took a bite. The juice ran down her chin like blood.
"Delicious,” she said, licking her lips.
"That's it, I'm calling security!" I said, turning back to the door.
"No need, I'll show myself out," Varla said.
I spun back around, and she was gone. I ran back out into my hotel room and checked the hallway outside. There was no sign of her. The security guards said they never saw anyone that matched her description.
I even had them check the security tapes.
Nothing. It was like she had never been there at all.
Chorus
Here I am, side by side, yet miles away from you.
Shaking, sweating, and sobbing. Wish I didn’t need it, but feel like I do.
Hold me and tell me it’ll be alright; help me break this chain,
Dragging me down, deeper and deeper, into my pain.
It wasn't long before I noticed the side effects.
There’s always a catch.
If I didn't eat the fruit at least once per day, I’d wake up the next morning with a hangover from hell…literally.
Cold sweats, shaky hands, and brain fog so thick I couldn't finish a thought. Without the fruit, I was useless. I had to have it just to function, let alone play on tour. It didn't matter though, I was living on borrowed time anyway.
Fame, money, sex, I had it all, just as the demon promised, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Varla—the woman who entered my life and exited it just as quickly. I kept thinking I saw her in the crowd at sold-out shows. I’d see her out of the corner of my eye wherever I went.
Years went by, and I put out one platinum-selling album after another. I was on top of the world.
Then came the day when I sliced into my morning pear and watched a black ichor ooze out from within it. Maggots writhed in the gunk. I felt my blood run cold as I heard the demon’s voice echoing in my mind.
When the tree falters and the fruit becomes sour, know that this will be the bell's toll for your final hour.
"Guess everyone's luck runs out eventually."
I leapt out of my chair and turned to see Varla standing behind me. All these years, she looked like she hadn't aged a day.
"Varla?" I asked.
She walked over to the tree beside my dining room table and ran a painted fingernail across the surface.
"I'm guessing you know what this means?" she asked.
"You know about my deal?"
Varla nodded. "I do, but I'm here to help."
"Help me? Why? I knew what I was getting into."
Varla pushed aside the plate with the sliced pear and sat on the table, crossing her legs as she regarded me with her cold eyes.
"Those fuckers always prey on the creative types. The artists, the writers, the rockstars. I've seen how your work affects people. I’ve seen the way it inspires people to be better, to be stronger. You put more into the world than you take. I'm not God, but I think you deserve another shot."
My heart was racing; my hands were already starting to quake. The fruit was rotten, but my junkie ass wanted it anyway.
"I appreciate you saying that, but I'm only here because of the fruit," I said.
"Are you?" Varla asked.
"Of course. Without this shit, I'm nothing. I can't write hits the way I can when I’ve eaten the fruit."
"Well, then, why don't we make a deal? Judging by the tree, you've got a week left. You'll try to eat around the rotten parts, but soon, even those will stop growing. Kick the fruit, write a new track without it, and I'll get you out of your deal."
"You can do that?" I asked.
"I can, but only if you keep up your end of the deal. The next seven days are gonna make you wish you’d been dragged to hell instead. You'll want to lick that plate clean, maggots and all, by the end of it. Think you can handle it?" Varla asked.
"I've got no choice, do I?"
Varla smiled. "Oh honey, there’s always a choice.”
Bridge
From on high, an angel descends, taking pity on man.
She rewrites the contract, changes the devil's plan
Divine intervention, one last chance to break through
But without the fruit, can inspiration rise anew?
She wasn't lying. That week felt like an eternity. My body was on fire every second of the day. My mind was a black hole that devoured any and all inspiration the moment it sparked. My hands were too damn clammy and shaky to even hold a pen.
I was a mess.
Varla took care of me, though, for reasons I couldn't fathom. She ran her fingers through my sweat-soaked hair as I laid naked on silk sheets, sobbing and screaming in equal measure.
I had a show coming up. I had to write something.
Anything.
I hated everything I wrote down. The notes wobbled like my vision. The words were barely legible. The message was incoherent. The audience would boo me right off the stage.
But I kept trying.
With every draft, every crumpled piece of half-finished sheet music, things got a little better. It was slow. Almost imperceptible, but Varla kept pushing me. She believed in me more than I believed in myself.
She was my rock. My muse. My anchor in the stormy seas of my mind. No matter how many times I went back to the drawing board, she was there. No matter how many times I fell, she picked me back up.
So, I kept going.
For myself. For her. For the fans.
The day finally came. I had to perform that night, and the audience was expecting a new track.
Another hit.
I could hear their muffled voices chanting my name as I looked down at the sheet.
"Crossroads Rock and Roll. I guess it's ready," I said.
The door to my backstage room flew open. The foul stench of sulfur filled the air.
The demon sauntered into the room, grinning from ear to ear.
"The tree falters, but the show must go on! One last show, then your soul is mine at dawn!"
Varla emerged from the shadows, waving a single finger at the demon.
"Azathoth, you haven't changed one bit," she said.
The demon hissed. "Lilith? You dare show your face here?"
"I go by Varla now, honey, and I'm here representing this human."
The demon shook his head. "No! The human and I, we had a deal!"
"What if I sweeten the pot?" Varla asked.
The demon turned its hollow gaze to me and then back to Varla.
"I'm listening."
"Damian has been off the fruit for a week now and wrote a new track to debut tonight. If the crowd loves it, you’ll tear up his contract."
The demon’s beady eyes darted between us.
"And if his precious fans hate his work, then what?" The demon asked.
"Then you can take us both. I know how much you fuckers want me back. Think how much daddy dearest would love you if you brought back the traitor Lilith. You’d be a hero." Varla said.
The demon licked his lips and nodded excitedly.
"Oh yes! Father will be most pleased! You have a deal."
Varla shook her head. “And they say I’m the one with daddy issues.”
Outro
My hands could barely grip the guitar. My lips trembled as I spoke into the mic.
"This last one is something new," I said.
The crowd erupted with cries of excitement. I looked down and saw the demon staring up at me from the front row.
"I hope you like it," I said, strumming the first note across the guitar strings. The lyrics were the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.
I spilled my story out onto the page, for better or worse. The crowd was silent as the song went on. Their eyes were fixated on me, but all I could see when I looked back was the endless black pits of the demon’s gaze.
His eyes glistened like polished orbs of obsidian. His smile was filled with fangs.
I closed my eyes as I reached the song’s final verse:
I love the money, love the fame, but I’ve never been whole.
Years of feeding my demons has finally taken its toll.
Time’s up, the devil wants his due, and the cost is my soul
The only thing that can save me now is Crossroads Rock and Roll...
The song came to an end. I held my breath as silence suffocated that final note.
It started with a clap and crescendoed into a roaring applause. The cheers of fans and the cries of excitement washed over me like a cleansing wave. I looked down to the front row, and the demon was nowhere to be found.
In his place, Varla stood clapping alongside the fans. She gave me a wink, and then she was gone. I felt a cosmic weight lift from my shoulders.
I had a second chance to do things right. I wasn't going to mess it up. No more vices. No more deals with demons. I made a promise to myself right then and there.
I was never going to eat a fucking pear ever again.
Thanks for Reading! Here’s Your Musical Pairing
Listen to this track after reading. Like pairing a glass of wine with dinner.
This premise is really interesting and I love what you've done with it! The maggot scene was squirmy 😂
Holy Cow that's amazing