Clayton Battersby took the razor and carefully made it overlap his long vein going up his arm, ready to end everything.  He felt he couldn't go on and the stench of his ratty room in the flophouse in which he stayed had started getting to him.  He was about to go through with it, until a bright black light illuminating his room distracted him.  He couldn't believe the light was black, but it was.

            A large cloud of red smoke followed the lights and engulfed the area in front of him.  When it cleared, a young woman, or what looked like a teenager, wearing a black cloak and wearing red vinyl pants stood.  She coughed a bit and then Clayton regained himself and assessed the situation.

            "What in the hell?"

            "Exactly right!  You are Clayton Battersby, aren't you?"

            "Yeah," said Clayton dumbfounded.

            'It's about time I founded you, I've been popping up all over the place trying to find you.  I just came back from a convent in Sicily and it was a hoot!  I was able to get them to think I was a messenger of God and I screwed up their entire outlook!  They'll be fun to torture in a few years," said the young woman.

            "Who are you?" asked Clayton.

            "I'll put it to you this way - Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste.  I've been around for a long, long year, stole many a man's soul and faith.  And I was 'round when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain.  Made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands and sealed his fate.  Please to meet you, hope you guessed my name."

            "Sympathy for the devil," said Clayton in astonishment.  "That's my favorite song.  How did you know?"

            "You're one of my best disciples, I couldn't let you kill yourself yet."

            "So you're Satan?  But you're a teenage girl?"

            "Well, yeah I'm Satan!  Duh!  Think about it," said Satan pulling up Clayton by the arm and taking the razor away from him.  "God is known as the Holy Father and I'm supposed to be the opposite of that.  Anyway, being a chick is more fun.  Do you know that fallen angel idea about me?"

            "Yeah."

            "It's sort-of true.  God created me and some others in the early days when Earth was young.  I'm his rebellious daughter.  It makes sense if you just look at society today.  Most of the bad names you can call people have to do with women motherfucker, bitch, stuff like that.  And you know that part about women being responsible for original sin?"

            "Not really, but I've never been religious."

            "I know and believe me, I'm proud of that," said Satan.  "You see God had one of his disciples write that when he was fumed at me when I started to take over Sodom and Gomorrah.  That's why he destroyed it.  He never lets me have fun.  But he couldn't stop me when I made hell."

            "What are you here for?"

            "First, let me get rid of this," said Satan snapping her fingers and making the razor disappear.  "Now, you see, you've got a body count going that makes me so happy.  I mean Saddam had a lot going there, but he never did it all own his own and he's caught anyway, but you're special.  You have killed over a hundred people all on your own starting at sixteen and you beat Bundy's record.  I never thought anyone could do that.  I can't let you die yet."

            "Why?  I'm going to hell anyway, so why does it matter when I die?"

            "You don't get it, do you?"

            "No, I really don't."

            "When you kill someone, they don't have time to repent.  They might have done something like being mean or something, which sends them to me.  And a lot of people are atheists these days, so those are some good numbers.  And when you kill someone, it affects everyone that knows him or her.  A lot of times, they'll lose hope in life and God.  More good news for me!"

            "Why should I help you?  Like you said, I can repent."

            "Don't be stupid - you like to kill, but don't know how to repent."

            "True."

            "And I always make a special deal with my favorites so that when they die they can torture lost souls with me."

            "How do they do that?"

            "Glad you asked," Satan said and snapped her fingers, producing a piece of parchment.  "Just initial in blood and it's a done deal."

            "You took my razor so I can't do that."

            "Not a problem," said Satan grabbing his arm and poking his index finger with her long fingernail.  "Now sign at the X."

            Clayton signed in his blood, filling with anticipation at the thought of all the people he would get to hurt.  "So, did I really send people to hell?"

            "Yeah, do you remember that little thing Tameka Suriel?"

            "Of course I do, she was the only one of them all that had her picture on TV after I killed her.  I killed her on her birthday."

            "Her fourteenth birthday.  Children are only considered innocent until eleven.  That morning she lied to her teacher about her homework and if you hadn't killed her, she would have said her prayers like she did every night and died at seventy and gone to heaven."

            "So I do make a difference?"

            "Yes!  That's what I'm trying to tell you!  Everyone makes a difference."

            "I guess I've got some work ahead of me.  I need to appreciate this extra chance I've been given and kill all those homeless bums I see."

            "That's a bad boy!  Now that my work's been done, I want to ask you why you wanted to kill yourself."

            "It seemed pointless, like I wasn't doing anything important and eventually I'd get caught."

            "Even if you did get caught, which I doubt," chuckled Satan, "just think of all the people you'd get to kill in prison."

            "Thanks Satan," said Clayton, "you've helped me a lot."

            "That's what I do keep that evil flowing!" and with that final remark Satan disappeared into a puff of smoke.

            Clayton laughed to himself and decided he should probably go kill his landlord because he could.  He should enjoy all of that extra time he had.  He went to the door and tripped over the hand of some random victim of his.