A Dance With the Devil

                                                     A short story written by Andy Tan

         "Yo punkass. You tryin' to scrap?" This dark-skinned giant towered over me as he constantly insinuated that I had a desire to physically engage him or in his own terms, "scrap."

          "Yo, you in my hood! This is my hood! I'm the boss!" he shouted maniacally and shoved me. I proceeded to casually stride past him since I had no time for such senseless quarrel; there was homework to be done. Bad decision.

           "Yo, that's disrespect! That's a fight on my block!" the mad man shouted and grabbed me by the back of my neck. With a strong heave, I was lifted into the air and thrust across the sidewalk. Pain struck me as the rough, cement pavement scorched my skin.

             "It is time to apply what I have learned from my father over the eighteen years of my life," I sighed and proceeded to brace myself for the worst while the stranger mounted me and began to dig his knuckles into my face.

              "Son, whatever you do, do not fight. Especially if the man's skin is dark; those are the most dangerous type of people. Stay away from them to the best of your ability. Learn to fear them." my father's voice reverberated in my mind as blood started to drip down my face. My eyesight heightened, and the pain was numbed as a rush of adrenaline coursed through my body. I was now teeming with anger and resentment for this man who insisted on wasting my time, yet I could not fight back. I was raised to never condone in violence, and I planned on adhering to this attitude. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as tears started to roll down my cheeks.

               "Bang bang! You little pussy!" he taunted and kicked me in the crotch. He had crossed the line.

                "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I AM?" I yelled, picked up my attacker by his ankle with one arm, and twirled him around like a helicopter propeller.  

                "WHOAAA YOU WILDIN' CHINA MAN!!" he screeched and was thrown headfirst through a car window. Shards of glass exploded in every direction; one even cut across my cheek. I was trembling. I could barely fathom what had just happened. This was the first time I disobeyed my parents.

                 "And It felt so good." I thought and smirked giddily. Suddenly, I was encircled by a group of burly, black men. They all wore black bandanas and gold chains. All of them had heads shaven bald except one man with dreadlocks drooping at least two feet down. I assumed he was the leader and so I glared menacingly into his eyes, secretly praying for mercy for my life, which was strange since I was a devoted atheist. I had no longer any will nor energy to fight, especially not an entire gang.  

                  "Please God, if you exist, spare my life!" I thought and hoped that some almighty presence received that message. Unlikely. The man with the dreadlocks took a step forward.

                   "My name is John. You must be frightened. Become part of our company if you want to live. We need strong individuals such as yourself," he proposed. This man had the countenance of a hard-boiled businessman. I glanced to my left and then to my right. I noticed every member clutched onto their hips as if they were prepared to pull out weapons. They were clearly ready to kill me.  

             "Okay." I agreed. "What must I do?" John approached me, reached into his pocket, and handed me a gun. Almost instinctively, I raised the gun to John's head, and at the same time every member of the "company" had their own guns pointed at me. If I pulled the trigger, I would surely die. If I did not pull the trigger, I would probably still die. I dropped the gun and prayed for the best. John casually picked it back up and shoved it back into my hands.

                "I would very much like you to be one of my business associates. You have it in you; you have what it takes to be a gangster. Just do as I say." he ordered. He proceeded to explain that there was a deli down the block, and how I was suppose to kill its owner, who was also the cashier, if I wanted to secure a spot in his organization. I hid the weapon under the sleeves of my jacket and was escorted to the deli by the gang. I told John that when he hears two gunshots, the job would have been completed.  He explained to me that if I take too long, he would personally come in to kill both me and the target.

                 At John's signal, I entered the deli to follow the plan. The owner stared me down as I walked towards the counter, as if he knew. I shifted to the right and trudged into the bathroom instead. I immediately grasped the sides of the sink and vomited. The anxiety made me feel as if my heart would burst. This was so unlike me. This goes against everything I believe in. I cannot do this. It is impossible.

                "But it isn't," I realized. "In fact, it would be so easy." I regained my composure and stepped outside the bathroom. Once again, I approached the counter.

                "How can I help you?" the cashier asked politely. I whipped out the gun from under my sleeves and pointed it at his face.

                "Call 911. Now." I ordered. He muttered something in his native language to himself; probably praying to his god. Shaking, he reached under the counter and did what I told him to. After thirty seconds, when I was sure the operators were on the line, I opened fire. BANG. BANG. The shots rang like thunder and skid past the cashier's face, piercing into the wall behind him. I quickly turned around and pointed the gun at the entrance to the deli, where John now stood frozen. I had him right where I wanted him. His accomplices panicked; the door was only big enough for one person and they had no intention of shooting through their leader to get me. For an entire minute, time seemed to have stopped because everyone stood still. This was my chance to rid the world of this menace, yet I could not pull the trigger.

                    "Why?" I asked myself. Suddenly, sirens came into hearing. The police were near.

                    "You bastard!" John bellowed and pulled out his own gun, seemingly out of nowhere. BANG! We fired at the same time. My bullet took his ear off, making him writhe in pain. His bullet got me in my ribs, and I collapsed.               

                      "I did it. I got him," I said proudly to myself. My eyes felt heavy, and my consciousness slowly drifted away. I had hoped that I would wake up soon; there was homework to be done.  

           Bad faith is a philosophical concept used by existentialist philosophers Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir to describe the phenomenon where a human being under pressure from society adopts false values and disowns his natural freedom to act authentically. It is as if one is lying to himself. For example, in "A Dance With the Devil," the narrator is lying to himself by doubting his abilities to fight back. Instead, he adheres to the virtue etched into him since birth that he should always be peaceful. Like a sort of religion, this philosophy had guided him well through life up until the events of the story. When he decides to finally fight back against the first encounter, he temporarily breaks his bad faith by doing what he did not believe was a possibility. However, that moment was out of pure madness because, naturally, a man's greatest pride is his crotch. Later in the story, he could not kill the deli owner to save his own life. Instead, he came up with a bit more intricate scheme to double-cross the gang leader. Only at the end, when his life was in extreme danger was he able to pull the trigger, once again going against his bad faith.