[WP] I got called in to work on my day off to sell to a customer who is 45 minutes late. Tell me a story.

This was it: the end. This suave man, in a black on black, pin stripped suit, jet black hair slicked back, and a clean shaven face with a jawline sharp enough to cut waves through a sea of people, was waiting to destroy the world. The Anti-Christ, set upon earth to atone for all the wrong doings of man, was sitting next to me on the plane, asking, “Why not?”

“You…you can’t do that.” The meaningless words dribbled out of my mouth. For the past hour, he recounted his plan to me, step by step, how the world was to fall.

“Why not?” he repeated in a stern, yet open minded tone.

“Because…because I promised my daughter I would see her again.” I blurted out a lie, unable to think of any truth in my life worth mentioning.

“It will take some time to bring down the entire world. If you drive fast, you’ll see her again. Besides, you don’t have a daughter.” The devil exposed his knowledge of my life in a casual tone, unnerving me. “There is a reason why I’m telling you this. I don’t particularly care if I destroy the world; in fact, it seems like a pretty cool place for me. Why, corruption and destruction are everywhere you look, the temperature is rising, I could think of a hundred reasons as to why I shouldn’t destroy it. But then again,” he leaned close and his tone shifted suddenly, the true threat behind his words revealed as his whispered words scratched my ears and riveted my skull, “I really would enjoy it.”

“So I’ll ask you again, why not?”

I thought for a long time. The man beside me picked up his newspaper, pretended to read it while bigger plans danced in his head.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” “Have you ever met someone that really changed how you looked at life?”

“I have met lots of people; most have little of substance in their minds, just empty bags going about their day with no ultimate purpose, but yes, one or two have left impressions.”

‘Well, so have I.” I had no idea where I was going with this, or how it would help, but I had to try something. “I ran away from home 15 years ago, I was 16 at the time. I hopped on a train and rode it all the way to the end of the track. I had $5,000 dollars from selling my father’s car and the clothes on my back. But that’s not important I guess. What are important, though, are the people I’ve met since then. I’ve gone city to city, festival to festival, with little more than this notebook to show for it.”

I reached into my backpack, and showed a beat up old notebook to the man. It was a composition notebook, held together with duct tape and stickers from all the places I have been.

The man put down his newspaper and looked at the notebook, intrigued.

“This notebook contains a message from every person I’ve ever met. And not just a few words, but rather a challenge. A challenge to complete something I’ve never done before. No matter how difficult or how vain, I will complete each and every challenge in this book.”

The man was genuinely curious about the notebook. His dark eyes change from a storm of contempt to a sea of interest. His stiff posture relaxed a bit as he repositions his legs to fit more comfortable on the economy seat.

“In this book, there are challenges from people in Australia and India, Machu Picchu and Myrtle Beach, from my best friends to the most bitter of rivals. I will complete them all. You see, on that train 15 years ago, I met a girl. She was leaving her life behind as well – fate brought us together. She rode with me to the end of the tracks, and we shared our stories, our fears and desire, what we saw and heard and felt and dreamt. I exposed the rusty cogs of my soul to her, and in return, I received the tattered blueprint of hers. We departed from that final station; she turned to the right, I to the left. Before a wall of darkness was built between us, and we were never to meet again, I turned around to see her tempting eyes looking back at mine. She walked up and handed me a book. She said that I must finish this book, front to back, before I die. I agreed. In return, I challenged her to overcome her greatest fear, humiliation, by singing, alone, in front of a group of strangers.

“Now, I do not know whether or not she ever did sing that song, but I can tell you, I am nearly done with that book.” I pulled my worn copy of Ulysses from my backpack, and showed it to the man. “I have 40 pages left, 40 pages of the most agonizing and incoherent words known to mankind. And I will finish it. It may take 15 more years before I am done, but I will finish it.

“If you destroy the world, and I do not finish this and every other challenge on the list not yet crossed out, my life would have been for naught. All my efforts, my experiences, and the people I’ve met along the way, ultimately meaningless. My life, their lives, would be nothing more than the empty vessels you are so prone to finding.

“You asked me to tell you why not. This is why not.” I held up the notebook again. “And to you, I ask that you put down, in this book, a challenge for me to complete before I die, and, so long as I have the will left in my spirit, and life left in my blood, I will do it.” I laid the ragged notebook on his tray table, waiting for his next move.

The man curled a shrewd smile, revealing imperfect, white teeth in the corner of his mouth; his eyes glowed with imagination, sparked, no doubt, by the countless terrors he had envisioned in his mind.

He opened the notebook, pulled out a cold, metallic pen, and wrote, in the blackest of inks, a message.

I challenge you to climb Mount Saint Helen before you die

“Wait, what!?” I was taken back, surprised by his challenge, not one that would expose me to physical or mental anguish, but rather a very real and attainable challenge that would test my fitness and endurance.

“What?” The man asked light-heartedly, accompanied by a deep chuckle, a sound that did not belong to a shrewd businessman, let alone the Damned. “I like to go climbing. See nature. I have my hobbies too. Mount Saint. Helen was one of my first, and still is my favorite, climb; I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.”

I was held speechless.

“Oh, and it’s not open this time of year, so you might have to wait a few months.”


Inspired by the Ulysses Bucket List post a while back and a prompt I saw yesterday but was deleted (I think) before I could post

/r/WritingPrompts Thread