He has an ironclad contract with the Devil. It guarantees him eternal life, health, sanity -- no loopholes, no escape clauses, no chance for the Father of Lies to cheat him. It took longer, far longer, to write that contract than to learn how to summon its Counterparty.
So he lives, eternally. His people are dead; the planet he grew up on and the sun that warmed his youth, dead; the other intelligent races in the universe, dead. The universe itself is running down, expanding without end, cooling to an ever-fainter gray glow, dying. But he lives.
He seeks entrance at the Gates of Heaven. The Gatekeeper does not even acknowledge that he exists.
He seeks entrance at the Gates of Hell. Lucifer recites the immaculate clauses of the contract, laughs scornfully, and sends him on his way.
Denied death or rest or even the shelter of madness, he wanders. He is cold, very cold, but he lives. The contract is inviolable.
Copyright 1994 Edward Gaillard. All rights reserved.