Sam rushed to step into his shoes on the way toward his closet, where he'd grab the nearest jacket in his reach and head out the front door, expecting to be greeted with a painfully cold breeze when he'd open the door. However he'd learned not to take even the next five minutes into the future for granted when he opened his closet door. Sam found himself staring into a classroom, each desk coupled with its own elementary student--not a single empty seat. Out of habit, Sam glanced around his new surroundings, studying the faces that hadn't acknowledged his appearance. Sam noticed the students' eyes hadn't left the Devil, not even for a split second to look away and see Sam step into the classroom. Sam quietly shut the classroom door behind him and hesitantly stepped up to the desk where the Devil stood, in front of the chalkboard. The Devil held a small piece of white chalk and wrote in simple cursive as he spoke, he as well ignoring Sam's arrival.
"Hitler," the Devil began, underlining the name he scribbled onto the chalkboard. He pivoted to face the children. "Discriminated against the Jews. Of course, I'm sure you all know this; but did you know that despite his infamous history, he in fact loved animals."
Sam lifted an eyebrow out of interest and somewhat smirked, wondering what the Devil was getting at. He knew that there had to be something up the Devil's sleeve; there always was.
"Really? I had no idea." The teacher said, gazing at the suit-clad man in front of her. Sam rolled his eyes. The woman was clearly out of it, with her elbow propping her head up as she watched and listened to the Devil speak at an angle.
"Oh, yeah. You know, he wasn't such a bad guy. Now, Attila the Hun, he was something to talk about--but I'll save that for another time. What I'm trying to say is, killing doesn't make you a bad person. It's part of human instinct; why else would it be done? It's primal, back before man had evolved from his original form as an ape. Back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth." The Devil explained, sitting on the edge of the desk then.
A girl with pigtails raised her hand and the Devil nodded, "Melissa?"
"My mother says that there's no such thing as dinosaurs and that God created us." The girl said with a proud voice. The Devil grinned.
"Is that so? Did she ever tell you who created God?" He replied and left the girl with a confused expression on her face. She shook her head and pouted; the boy next to her glanced over. Sam then saw everyone's face--contemplating and defeated.
Before anyone could say another word, the Devil's eyes narrowed and shifted in Sam's direction and then the bell rang. The teacher shook her head and stood up. As the students swiped their books from their desks and stuffed them into their backpacks, the teacher informed them all on which page in what book they had to read and they quickly fled from the classroom.
"Thank you, mister…?" The teacher held out her hand to shake the Devil's. "Jerry Belvedere." The Devil beamed and the teacher's chest heaved when he took her hand and kissed it. "Anytime." He added and then winked at her before putting an arm around Sam's shoulders and leading him out of the classroom, into the emptying halls where children stood at their lockers, gathering their belongings as they rushed to leave.
"Sammy, glad you could make it." The Devil said as they leisurely made their way down the hall. "Like I had a choice?" Sam replied, eyeing the Devil suspiciously.
"What was with that in there? Teaching those kids that killing is ok? Are you insane?" Sam stopped when the Devil stopped to glare at him.
"Sam, need I remind you? I'm the Devil. Do you really think I'd give up an opportunity to ruin and corrupt? What kind of schmuck do you take me for? Hey, just 'cause sloth is part of my hierarchy doesn't mean that I'd give that jackass upstairsa generation that I've already got in my reach."
Sam sighed. "What did you want? I was on my way to Andi's, and now I'm late. Again."
"I'm glad you asked. I need you to do me a favor." The Devil slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew a small envelope.
"What's that?" Sam asked.
"Something I need you to deliver to the principal for me." The Devil held the envelope before Sam and Sam eyed his boss. He took it and scrutinized its plain face.
"Just slip it through the mail slot on his office door. That's all." The Devil bared a rather malicious grin--odd for the occasion.
"What? Why don't you do it? What do you need me for?" Sam complained and the Devil frowned. "It's not a matter of why I need you or why I won't do it. You don't have an option Sammy, you do it or you can just forget about ever seeing the girl again."
Sam's eyes widened. That was probably the closest the Devil had ever gotten to directly threatening anyone he held dear. The principal's office was right down the hall, right there; why wouldn't the Devil deliver the envelope himself? Sam knew then that it didn't matter. He had to do it. He couldn't risk risking his girlfriend's life... or soul for that matter. Sam sighed heavily and looked at the envelope.
"Alright." He agreed. The Devil gave his son an approving smile and pointed the way to the principal's office and then disappeared. Sam shook his head and dragged his feet down the tile floor. What's so important about this envelope, anyway? Sam had the strongest urge to open it, but the Devil would know and that would not end up good for him if he disobeyed the Devil's orders. Sam was lucky, because the Devil truly did coddle him considering how he treats everyone else. Next to the rest of Satan's peers, Sam stood above them as if he were a golden cow, and the way he was treated... well, he felt very bad for whoever else had to deal with him. The Devil didn't even treat his women right; he'd--in his own words--bag 'em, tag 'em and kick them down the stairs.
Sam stopped at the principal's office door and nodded when he saw the mail slot the Devil had mentioned.
He knew delivering whatever was in the envelope wouldn't--no mater what he did--turn out good for him in the long run. The Devil would just find another way to screw him over. He always did. Sam shrugged off the nagging feeling he had and slipped the envelope through the slot. After completing his task, he felt terrible. He knew it, in his gut, that something horrible was going to happen.
Before he could blink, Sam appeared back in his room, at his closet door. He winced and glanced at the clock by his bed; the time hadn't flinched a second later from when he'd first left. That was good, at least he wouldn't be late for Andi's then. Sam, as intended to do before, grabbed the nearest jacket in his reach and left the house. The next morning, Sam awoke to the sound of the TV--a female newscaster reporting a suicide of an elementary school principal who had hung himself late the previous night.
"Sources confirm that Deane Elwood Shore, principal of Desmond Elementary committed suicide after receiving a handwritten letter from his wife, Monica Shore, informing him of her affair of two years and that she wanted a divorce. Now widowed Monica, devastated when informed of her late husband's death, claims to have never sent the letter and regrets ever writing it. Deane Elwood Shore was born December fifth of 1942, died November eighth 2009. His memory will forever be cherished as Desmond Elementary's principal of thirty years. May he rest in peace."