(Words) = English translation from French dialogue

Your POV

"Etes-vous sûr que vous êtes certifié pour skydive par vous-même?" The pilot yelled against the wind blowing into the plane. (Are you sure you're certified to skydive by yourself?)

"Oui, j'ai été certifiée pour un an maintenant. croyez-moi," I said grinning. This was in fact a lie. I was not certified, and I had falsified my own certification documents just so I could enjoy the skydiving experience alone. I'd been skydiving five times now, so this would be a piece of cake. I hope. (Yeah, I've been certified for a year now. Trust me.)

"Très bien, on se voit sur le terrain!" The pilot called out to me, before I jumped backwards outside the plane like I'd seen in movies. I've always wanted to do that. (Alright, see you on the ground!)

"HELL YEAH!" I screamed, falling down from the plane, whirling through the air.

I could feel the adrenaline kick in and I felt amazing. This is what life was truly about: Living it to the fullest!

I spread my arms and legs out, slowing and angling my decent toward the landing site. My hair was whipping around behind me and the wind was roaring in my ears. I breathed in the thin air and looked at the beautiful scenery below me. France was truly beautiful, especially skydiving over Lyon.

Checking my watch, I saw it was almost time to pull my parachute. I reached for the bright string, dangling in the wind and tugged it, but nothing happened. I tugged again, thinking I just hadn't pulled it hard enough, but still nothing happened.

If it weren't for the adrenaline surging through my veins I think I would have had a heart attack before plummeting to my death. I was pretty sure I was going to have a panic attack as well.

I had not sold my soul four years ago to save my life just to die now. I would not die now. I would not die from some silly parachute malfunction.

Wrenching my body around, I reached for and pulled my emergency chute out. I was nearly 1,000 feet above the ground, a dangerous distance.

My parachute tugged me upwards suddenly knocking the air from my lungs. I didn't want to think what would have happened if my emergency parachute hadn't worked.

Midst my panic I had directed myself far enough away from the landing site that I wouldn't be able to angle myself back in time without running into several trees, which is exactly what I did.

The moment my feet touched the ground I felt the significant urge to kiss it repeatedly, but something else inside me wanted to do it all again. The extreme adrenaline rush still hadn't left my system and I hadn't realized I was breathing so heavily and bleeding until the pilot had commented on it. And even then it took minutes for my brain to process and translate what he had said into English.

"Mon parachute ne s'est pas retiré, heureusement celui d'urgence. Et puis je me suis écrasé dans plusieurs branches d'arbres." I said finally, looking at my bloody and torn shirt.
(My parachute didn't pull out, thankfully the emergency one did. And then I crashed into several tree branches.)

"Jesus Christ. Bonne chose que vous êtes certifiée. Je ne peux pas imaginer ce qui serait arrivé si vous n'étiez pas. (Jesus Christ. Good thing you're certified. I can't imagine what would have happened if you weren't.)

I would have laughed and grinned at what he said if the adrenaline weren't wearing off and I wasn't in immense pain. But I was.

"Jesus Christ is right. I think I need to go to the hospital." I said in English before getting a quizzical look from him and repeating in French, "Je pense que je dois aller à l'hôpital."

The pilot unhooked my parachute from my back and lead me towards his truck. Two others were waiting for their skydiving session, but it would have to wait with my wound.

•

"Mom. Mom. Mom! I told you I'm fine! It's seven stitches. It's not that bad. . . No, I'm not coming home. . . No, I told you I'm living my life. I'm nineteen I don't have to live with you. . . Yes I know I had cancer for two years, that's why I'm trying to make up for everything I missed. . . Yes, I promise I'll be safer. . . Give me two weeks, and then I promise I'll come home. . . Bye, love you."

"Merci beaucoup," I said handing the nurse back her phone. I'd been in France for almost half a year and I still hadn't managed to get European service for my own cellphone.

"Vous êtes libre de quitter l'hôpital maintenant," The nurse said helping me from the hospital chair.

"Oui, merci," I said before taking my belongings and leaving the room.

I checked my watch and ran outside realizing the time. I was going to miss my train back to Paris if I didn't hurry up. Luckily the nearest train station was only 15 minutes away.

Arriving at the station I pulled my ticket from my backpack and approached the train. Walking to the very back car, I went inside and sat alone. I really didn't want to sit next to anyone right now. After all the French are very talkative. It was nothing I couldn't handle with almost 8 years of french lessons, but after earlier I really wasn't in the mood.

The train left less than ten minutes later and I was lucky I made it on. The next train wasn't until 10pm, which was already two hours from now and I was exhausted.

After the train had picked up in speed, I zoned out staring endlessly out the window at the countryside and small houses zooming by. I was so entranced by the starry horizon that I didn't see the man who had sat next to me.

I saw his reflection in the mirror first. If I hadn't seen him before I would have screamed, a terrified cry for help. But I had, and his red horned face didn't scare me in the least anymore.

"So what brings you on a train to the city of love?" I asked, not bothering to turn around.

"You," he answered, in his searing gruff voice.

"Me?" I asked, turning around now, making contact with his very crimson eyes with cat like irises.

"Yes you. I need a favor," he said, looking away as if embarrassed by this. If I was him I think I would be. I mean Lucifer, the man people went to for favors was now here asking me for a favor.

"From me? I have nothing to give you." I said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Oh there is plenty you can give me," he said watching me, making me uncomfortable, "but it is what I can give you in return for your services."

"My services?"

"Yes, I have some. . . jobs for you, nothing bad I assure you. But in return I'll give you your soul."

My eyes widened and he grinned at me. I wanted to say yes, but I stopped myself. I had done nothing with my life before I had cancer, and upon selling my soul I had begun to do everything. If I got my soul back would I just return to the boring person I was before knowing a safe death awaited me?

"I'll do it," I finally answered. "But I want to know why me."

"You know martial arts, you can handle a gun, you know multiple languages and you're risky. I like that about you." All of these things are things I've done since losing my soul and becoming an adrenaline junky.

"I know French, English, Latin and ASL, I would barely call that multiple languages considering two are English and Latin is dead."

"Let's not forget Italien," he smiled, and I rolled my eyes.

"You mean the three questions I can ask? Where's the bathroom? What is that? And how are you? Yeah sure. And how do you know that?"

He laughed, exposing his very sharp incisors. Now that I realized it, he was very intimidating.  He sat straight but with his shoulders slightly forward. And his hands were folded, but easily moveable, as if he was a king. But in this case he was: the King of Hell.

"I know many things. Besides, I always keep tabs on those who've given me their souls."

I nodded. Of course he did. That made me wonder, how many souls did he have with him in hell? How many of them had already died and found what truly awaited them after death?

"I'll meet you tomorrow for lunch," he said drawing me from my thoughts. "Then we will discuss your first task."

He rose from his seat in an elegant fashion before leaving through the door into the next train car. I only hoped he didn't show himself to the unsuspecting passengers. They would be in for a real fright.