Challenge completed, I've gotten the honor of reading one of PhynneBelles beautiful writings. In my quest to find the right piece, I utterly fell in love with this beautiful poem of hers called: "Daybreak". --> https://theprose.com/post/118759/daybreak <--- Link. 

Thank you so much @Phynnebelle for the challenge of both trying to read this piece with the right flow and tone, and also for those little tongue twisters you put in there. (That was not easy). Thank you for giving me the honor of reading one of your poems. 

I hope you'll pardon my accent, English is my second language.

Here is the link for my reading: http://vocaroo.com/i/s1wz7ZLRA6sZ

We were fucked up. That's no excuse, just what was. We got very fucked up. And some new kid that Jerome brought from somewhere was like, “Let's summon the Devil.”

“Magicazoola, bippity boola, bippity boppity boo!” shrieked Betty.

“Naw I'm serious. Let's summon the Devil. I know how.”

And he took this razor from his pocket, and cut his thumb, and drew a circle with squiggles in it on the concrete floor. We were like, the fuck?

“I need more than one blood,” said the kid. “How about it Jerome?”

“Fuck that!” snorted Jerome.

“I'm down,” said Diane. So she pricked her thumb and smeared some of her blood into the circle.

“OK guys, this is getting weird,” said Betty.

“It's OK, Betty, have some whiskey, babe,” said Jerome like a sleaze. Jerome had a thing for Betty, sort of.

I think it was because Jerome was watching her, and she was watching me, like, “Get him off?” and I was watching them, that nobody saw the kid give Diane the needle. We just heard her gasp, and she was flopping in the blood, and he was capping his needle.

“What the fuck!” shouted Jerome, and hit his friend hard. Like really hard, and he was out.

“shitshitshitshitshit” hissed Betty, as Diane started to go into convulsions.

“Oh God,” said Jerome.

“Naw, leave off that talk,” said a strange voice. It was a weird voice, like a soft lisp, but with an edge to it. We jerked around, and there was this guy in a suit.

“Hey, who the hell are you?”

“Exactly,” said the man. “Your sacrifice is acceptable. What service seek ye?”

“What the hell are you talking, man?” yelled Jerome.

“Oh ho.” The dapper man looked at the new kid, and he did this thing with his lips and teeth. It wasn't a smile. “The summoner is incapacitated? How luscious. I'm going to have to provoke that more often.”

“Help her!” screamed Betty.

“Well. It hardly works like that, does it? But if you have something in trade, we'll work out a deal.”

“You're the Devil,” I said.

He did this little bow, flipping his wrists.

“Fuck me,” said Jerome.

“No, not even if you meant it. What will you do for me if I save your friend?”

I said, “Like, give you our souls?”

He just laughed.

“So what you want, Devil?” asked Jerome.

“Well. It's not often I get a whole carful. I have to think a little bit, so I don't waste you.”

“Jesus,” said Betty, cradling Diane's head and wiping the froth off her mouth.

“Shut up,” said the little man.

“Jesus!” bawled Betty. “Jesus!”

He hit her hard in the face, not a slap, with his knuckles. Jerome was up but the man just looked at him and Jerome sat back down.

“Jesus” sobbed Betty.

“Stop saying that!”

There was this clang of metal on concrete. I looked around. There was this bloody railroad spike on the floor. Clang. Another spike hit it.

The little man was spastic. I mean he was having a fit. He kept looking at Betty and Diane and then out into the dark and he was losing it.

Then this wiry hairy guy, really dark and thin, comes into the light. “So, you do remember?” he says, staring at the little man.

I don't know how to say what the little man looked like. Like he hated the hairy guy, but like he was afraid he'd get slapped too at the same time. “They're mine,” he whined.

“You gonna tell me what to do? Are you?” The little man stepped back. The hairy guy raised his fist at him, and I could see his hands were seriously fucked up. “Begone, Devil.” And the little man was gone like a light when you flick the switch.

“Save her. Save Diane,” sobbed Betty.

“I don't work that way,” said the hairy man. “I don't make deals. This is about you,” and he looked at me straight in the eyes, and I saw the noonday sun in his eyes. “And you,” and he stared at Jerome, “and you. Will you each save yourself? Or will you destroy yourself? You have a choice.”

“I want to be saved,” murmured Betty, crying.

I found my voice. “I don't know what the fuck is going on here, but if you're Jesus Christ, I'll follow you to avoid that Devil!”

He nodded. “It's a start.”

“Fuck you,” said Jerome.

We just gawked at him.

The hairy guy wasn't mad. “Not worthy of you, Jerome?”

“See this is why right here,” said Jerome. “Yeah thanks and all for getting rid of the Devil, but, what about Diane? Betty and Rita are upset, so they'll fall for your tricks, but I'm not blind to reality. You just use death and pain and fear against us. But I'm not afraid!” Jerome was crying.

“You were a few minutes ago,” said the hairy man.

“I'm not afraid of you!” shouted Jerome, and he ran off into the dark.

The hairy man sighed. “Sober up and call the paramedics for Diane. I think you'll find you're in time. Be seeing you. Peace.” And he walked out of the circle of the light into the dark.

Betty started to get up. I crawled over to help her stand.

Jerome came back, with a weird look on his face. “He was waiting for me. The Devil was waiting for me.”

“Help Betty, Jerome,” I said.

“He thanked me,” said Jerome, blankly.

riding can be quite the thrill

provided you're tearing madly uphill

if you choose to face backward

you've achieved a great catchword

and it works swell with Bill and with Phil.

I couldn't seem to find myself

I felt completely lost

So I looked in the fridge

Evryday and always

Ten times a day

Sometimes even twenty

And Evry night I were dying of cancer

Or a heart attack

Because my heart would simply just stop

So I tried really hard to find myself

So I would not die

And I loomed

In books and brains

And crazy theories

So that my head would make sense again

And every night I would find a new lump

In my chest and neck and face

And my lungs would collapse

And my throat would tighten

And I couldn't breathe

Nor sleep nor rest

So I looked for myself again

In clothing ads

And in housing magazines

I chopped of my hair

Got a pair of new glasses

And painted my nails in different colors

Yesterday

and everyday

and always

- Because maybe that's where she'd gone

And the days went by and by

And every night

I kept on dying

Finding new lumps

Crying

Because cancer would eat me alive

So I kept on looking

In cupboards

And thousands of cups of coffee

I redecorated my house franticly

Three times 

four times

Even Five times

But my baby was gone

And won't ever come back

And still I can't seem to find

- Myself 

You tore me up bit by bit,

had a taste of me,

just enough

not to seem too greedy

You licked my face, and removed layers of tiny clothes,

caressing my cheeks with trembling hands

While I...

I hid in the corner and slept away long days,

But you needed my flesh.

So you pushed me out in the cold

so that my bare wounds would burn with guilt and shame

before you with too warm fingers

ripped off frozen pieces of my skin

All while...

You laughed at my infirmities.

You smiled while you shredded my tear ducts to fragments of dust,

sowing together bleeding wounds with empty words,

so that I would not rot.

Frostbitten...

Nearly picked to death,

Did I hold tiny hands over my gender

whispering;

- Not my innocence, do not eat me there.

But people blinded by magnificence will always want more,

so you greedily stuck your quivering fingers towards the forbidden

and filled my mouth with your manhood

so that I would not speak

not ever

again

That's when you stole the light

from my eyes

and replaced them

with reflection

of emptiness.

One sincere moment;

-I do...

Their future

started

at

ten