The Devil's Dust

She bends over to pick up the mysterious crimson envelope by her doorstep. She struggles to balance the groceries in hand as she reaches out for it. It is not in her mind to put them away first as her eyes are rooted to the envelope, curiosity and wonder the two moods juggling in aura around her. All she wants to know is what is inside, why is it so inviting? Why is it so beckoning?

She gets trapped in a zone as soon as she picks it up then deliberately lets her groceries fall to the ground. The box of milk inside bursts, releasing the white liquid, unashamedly wetting the rest of the groceries and the floor, but that is the least of her worries at the moment.

Dusting off the little dirt on the envelope, she finally rips it open, taking out a small card inside. She’s left in wonder as the card has more of the dust than the envelope does, prompting her to blow at it. The dust daringly makes its way to her eyes and up her nose, provoking a series of tiny, little sneezes. She blows off the dust once more then reads the message written;

I got something that you need,

A little thanks, a little heed,

Enough to savour your greed,

Cause its flavour is honeyed,

And oh, you love what’s sweet.

Tell you what, honey,

Password is a word on the street,

My name to be precise.

Turn me over,

And oh, you’ll get what you desire.

She inhales, a rush of euphoria races within her veins. She does not realise she is in a trance, a zone, where nothing matters than that one need that gawks and mocks you for not having it. She turns over the little card, blows off the dust coating it, revealing the name, Dustin,an address and her very own need, desire, beneath the address.

What if I told you, I can make it happen?