Terms and Conditions

Ruth walks back into the room carrying three pages worth of a written contract. She places it neatly on the desk. She opens a drawer and pulls out a quill pen. "When you're ready." Ruth hears my chains and remembers my legs are still bound. "Wait." She says. She grabs her staff. She mystically waves it in the air in a circle. A moment later the chains on my ankles disintegrate. "What about my hands?" I ask. "After you sign." "Are you gonna loosen his shackles?" I ask, referring to Mamba. "No, I only need your signature." "After I sign , will you let him go?" "I was planning on executing him." She replies. Mamba gulps. "But I suppose I don't have to. Just sign the damn thing." I walk to the desk. I view my contract. It is written on time worn, yellowed paper. The font is microscopic. I squint my eyes to begin reading. "Your signature goes at the bottom of the third page." She says, interrupting my focus. "Thanks." I attempt to begin again. "What are you doing?" She asks. "Reading the fine print." I reply. "Why?" "Because that's what you do when you receive a contract." "No, no one does that. " she insists. "Maybe they should." "Why? You don't trust me?" "It's not that it's-" "Then what is it? All you need to know is that you'll be my right hand man." In that moment, I went against any conventional idea I may have had about contracts. I flipped to the third page and made the most beautiful signature.