Sunday, 25 November 2012

Where Our Demons Reside

JournalWord: An immortal who carries around a pocket watch as a reference.

"A demon.."

The first accusation floats through the gathering crowd. I keep my head up, boots kicking up dirt as I march through the parting crowds. 

"We are goners. This town is done for. We're all going to be eaten.."

The air around me hums with the whispers and tension of my presence. Parents grasp their children and push them behind themselves like I would snatch them right there. Old men scowl and glare, muttering curses and prayers all in the same breath.

This has become a familiar scenario now so I don't stop my march, face impassive and cold as they stare at the mark burned over the skin of my left eye. My dark travelers cloak and long scarf whip around me, snapping at the knees of the people, encouraging them to jump back and out of my path. The only part of me visible is my face, especially my mark which glows metallic black against my pale skin in sharp curves and surrounds the highlighted strike down the center of my eyelid. 

I muse how stricken their expressions are; too scared to run and hide. I continue to follow the path they have made, regarding the buildings the town supports. I regard a trinket shop when a cry calls for me to stop and a sound collision causes the people to gasp and shout. 

The people plead for the child to get up and run away for disturbing the demon. I turn around and look down at the child laying face down in the dirt road, arms outstretched towards my cloak. Much to the crowd's horror, I bend down and extend my hands to lift the child out of the dirt.

"You-you left me behind," the little girl wails when she is settled on her feet. Fat tears start to roll down her cheeks, running trails through the layer of dirt on her face.

The crowd's screams of terror only frighten the little girl more and I have had enough of their ridiculous behavior. 

"She's my goddamn sister," I shout over their howls, effectively silencing them. "Now shut up. She's scared of you lot enough as it is," I finish, lifting the girl into my arms and wiping her tears away with my sleeve. 

I turn away from their gaping mouths and wide eyes, cooing to the girl in my arms in the hope of quelling her fright and apologizing for swearing in her presence. 

I follow the break in the crowd to a large building where I glare at the stares of the guards and let myself in. Ignoring the sputtering of those that see me pass through the guards, I make my way up the stairs, following my own instinct in finding the mayor of this town. 

I find a door heavily guarded and conclude that this is where I will find the mayor. I peck the little girl with a kiss on her mop of soft brown hair and apologize in advance for my rough behavior. I wait for her to nod and place her hands over her ears before heading towards the guards, barking that I want to speak with their mayor. 

There is a moment of hesitation and the shaking of their hands as they point their guns encourage me to step forward. The guards disperse out of my way, dropping their guns on the marble floor as they take cover under their arms. I sneer at their cowardly act, deeming the civilians have more gall than the guards.

I step into the large, luxuriously decorated room of the mayor. My sister pops a small gasp at the bright, gold chandelier overhead and I fight a smile at her adoration of shiny objects. The mayor is seated in one of the plush red couches in the center of the room, so I make my way to the adjacent couch, dropping myself down into the cushion.

The mayor is sweating profusely, stark white like he is on the verge of having a heart attack. I regard the tea set in front of me on the low table, ignoring the terrorized eyes of the mayor, and pluck a honey biscuit from the overflowing platter of cookies. I coax my sister to drop her hands from her ears and offer her favorite biscuit as a reward for being on her best behavior. 

The mayor looks like he's about to faint when she mews in delight. Guards are peeking their heads from the open door and I cough, sending them scrabbling from the doorway. 

Back to business, I speak, causing the mayor to crawl further into the crack between the cushions. "We need lodgings and food," I demand. 

The mayor sputters and finally begs, "You can't ask me to send you my people for your appetite-"

I stop him with a sneer. "I don't want your people," I glower, and his fear is overshadowed by his confusion. "I want bread, dried meat, and milk-" Her little hand tugs at my cloak and I lean down to hear her shy whisper. "And honey biscuits and tarts," I conclude, reaching to hand her another honey biscuit.

I raise my eyebrow at his silence and lean back. He starts to sputter again, horrified to service a demon in his own town. I drop my heavy boots down onto the low table, rattling the silverware and porcelain dishes. The tower of cookies tumbles and crumbles onto the carpet. 

The mayor regains his voice just long enough to call for his adviser to meet my demands and find me a place to stay.  A guard walks in a few moments later, face hardened and without a weapon. I note this and regard he is either aware that a weapon is useless against an immortal or he is a glorified idiot to fight me bare-handed.

Lifting my sister up onto my shoulders, I follow this guard, curious by his unwavering march as he leads me to a small cottage a few blocks from the town hall. He opens the door and leads me in, lighting candles, and I notice that the sun has started it's descent. I pluck my pocket watch out of my vest and peek at the time.

"Why would an immortal carry around a pocket watch?" the guard asks. His question is not accusing, instead, curious and unguarded. I regard his leaning figure beside the door, tucking the pocket watch back into my vest.

Lifting my sister from my shoulders, I unstrap her backpack and toss it onto the bed before ruffling her hair, much to her delight. "As a reference," I answer, peeling my cloak off and tossing it onto the bed as well. 

I take my sister by the hand when I spot a tub in the corner of the room, steaming from just being filled with hot water. The guard watches from his perch as I settle my sister in for a much needed bath before dinner arrives. The guard doesn't speak again until after my sister falls asleep during a story picked from the book in her back pack.


Children can settle the soul of even the most demonic. 
Though in this case, the demon isn't very demonic.

I love writing about children, they make my heart soar by being so goddamn cute! Many of my stories center around them :) their reactions are so interesting (and comical!).
I plan on having a son named Hexane and another named Volta >.<!!! Guess where those names are from ;P

I'd love to know what you think about this story, and this character. (Didn't realize how long this one is..)
I swear I'm trying to get better as a writer! 
Just believe in me :)


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