Free Web NovelChapter 1: The Devil did not wear Prada but a Yellow Mantle
"I remember one night I died and the next morning, I got up, took a shower, got dressed and went on with my life."
...
Have you ever felt so miserable in life that you just wanted to die?
No...to die wouldn’t be the right word because in order for one to die, one had to experience pain.
And I hated pain.
To disappear.
Yes. It’s more fitting.
To disappear completely without leaving a single trace. To cease to exist without feeling any sort of pain — a peaceful end.
I wanted to disappear because of how useless I was.
But how...?
How to disappear completely?
...
I was Idal, a 19-year-old depressed boy who failed to make his parents proud. And that haunted me.
You know, when I was much younger I used to be called the genius kid or the smart kid. People said that I had a bright future ahead — they had a lot of expectations and I wanted to meet them.
And well, I failed to meet their expectations.
Grades dropped as the years passed by, failure after every failure. freёwebnoѵel.com
It was devastating.
I, who was supposed to be the genius child with a bright future, had become nothing but a failure.
And of course, any parent that spent tons of money and effort on their children but received no progress would eventually snap. It was understandable.
However.
Unlike some unfortunate people, I had the best parents in the world — they loved me and cherished me even when I was a complete failure.
They didn’t care that I was failing because they had watched for years how hard I tried and told me that it was okay to fail and that they would always be there for me.
Under the guillotine of the harsh cruel world, their love was what kept my neck from being severed.
But even with their love and gentle care, I couldn’t escape my own thoughts.
I kept thinking about what a bad son I was, relying on his parents when kids my age were doing better than me.
I know comparison is the thief of joy but I couldn’t help it.
So in order to clear my thoughts, I delved into books.
Fantasy, light novels, visual novels and webnovels.
That was how I was able to temporarily escape my own thoughts — diving into fantasy worlds with my imagination, through thousands of characters that I hated and loved.
As I kept reading and reading, I started to love stories. Reading became a hobby, rather than just a form of escapism.
As the years went by, I found a way that would allow me to help my parents and maybe...maybe make them proud.
It was to become an author, to write my own book.
You see, one could make money by getting a publishing company to publish their book, exposing it to other people.
Feeling confident, I started to write. Wrote my own story, created my characters and all.
After some time, I went to apply at a publishing company. The response was not what I was expecting — I got rejected.
It was demotivating at first, but that only motivated me further to enhance my writing skills. So I wrote and wrote, and applied again.
I got rejected a second time — they said my book wasn’t good enough for publishing.
Hearing that the book I had spent so much sweat and effort to create was "not good enough" hurt me more than I thought it would.
But still — I didn’t give up. I kept trying and trying, polishing my book, learning every skill that famous writers had, to make it perfect, if that was even possible.
But for the love of God, those bastards refused to publish my book over and over again...so I gave up.
Was my book that bad?
I thought it over and over again, so much that I started to hate my book that I once loved...the small world I had created.
"What a curse." I said as I closed the exit door of the publishing company with a file of papers in my hand. "This book is fucking cursed. Piece of shit!"
It was already night. The sky was bright, brighter than my future, with dozens of stars and the lovely moon at the center.
I threw the file of papers on the ground and stepped on it many times, cursing and cursing until all the papers were torn and dirty.
I tried to kick it away but I slipped and fell hard on my backside, making me curse at my bad luck.
"Nice, very nice. I’ll be damned." I said sarcastically as I stood up and dusted the dirt from my rear.
I put on my hoodie and decided to walk back home.
My home was 40 minutes away on foot and 15 minutes by bus, but since I was really not in the mood to be around people, I decided to walk.
Throughout the walk, all I thought about was how unlucky I was and how unfair the world was to me.
"Everything I try to do just never works." I murmured. "Did my ancestors do something in the past that made God curse our entire bloodline?"
It wasn’t ridiculous to say that, given how unlucky and miserable I was.
I sighed and shook my head slowly. "It seems that writing is not for me either."
I said bitterly.
The thought of telling my parents that I had been rejected once again — and that with it I had lost my dream of becoming a writer — made my stomach churn.
As I walked down the pavement, the passing cars flashed their lights in my face, making me wince in discomfort.
Since it was getting annoying, I decided to get off the main road and walk through an alley — a shortcut to my home.
It was kind of dark but you could still see thanks to the lights at the end of the alley. Normally, I wouldn’t walk through an alley at night because drug addicts and homeless people hung around there most of the time, raising my chances of getting stabbed, but right at that moment I couldn’t give a damn, so I walked.
I didn’t notice when or how, but the alley had grown much darker than before — I could barely see the end of it anymore. On top of that, I felt like I was being watched, which gave me the creeps.
So I quickened my steps, but just as I did I saw a tall figure in yellow robes standing at the end of the alley, blocking my path.
"What the—?" I stopped in my tracks.
I was already regretting taking the shortcut home.
The figure started walking towards me, and for some reason I felt fear — so much fear that I couldn’t move, only stare at the figure.
I just knew it. I was going to get stabbed.
The figure stopped in front of me, one arm’s length away.
My heart beat against my ribcage.
"I like your story." The man said.
What?
He continued. "And I don’t think it’s worthless at all. Only those who know what real art is can understand how great your book is. That’s the problem with humans — they can’t appreciate true art."
His voice sounded so disappointed that I, for some reason, started feeling bad for him.
The fear I had before was slowly fading. I looked at his face — it was hidden under a yellow hood, so I could see nothing but darkness, except for the deep purple eyes that seemed to glow.
The more I looked at them, the more I felt like I was going to go mad.
Mustering some courage, I said:
"I don’t know where you read my book, but I think you’re lying. My book is trash — being rejected so many times proves it."
The man in yellow remained quiet for a moment before saying, "Is that what you think?"
Then he stretched out his hand. "How about we make a deal?"
"A deal?" I frowned.
"Yes," he nodded, his purple eyes glistening slightly. "I will make you experience your very own book — the one you supposedly believe is trash — and in exchange, I want you to tell me what you think when you reach the end of it."
This man was insane.
"And how will you do that?"
"All you have to do is shake my hand." He glanced at his outstretched hand.
I remained silent.
Honestly, this man was insane. His proposal sounded so absurd — how the hell would he make me experience my own story?
He sounded like a shady dealer.
Despite that, despite all the suspicions I had, I was tempted by the deal...even though I believed it to be a lie.
Before my mind could process it, my hand was already shaking his.
"Good choice," he seemed to be smiling. "Enjoy your story, Idal."
That was the last thing I heard before my vision turned dark.
At some point in the future, I would come to know that I had made a deal with the devil.
And the devil did not wear Prada, but a yellow mantle.
