Chapter Five

Acheron Rippir

I wasn't planning on stapling jellyfish to my pants, but I did come to an empty beach at 2:45 with a staple gun and my leather skinnies. Guess it was fate.
My work is slow and methodical. One by one I pin their limp, gelatinous bodies all the way down my left leg and start on the right.
It's almost therapeutic, injecting these thin shards of metal through the bodies of these sea creatures and into my own. Pinning from tentacles, from the soft membrane of the bell, so delicate it's like tearing a eyelids.
Ever since I moved to this hotpocket island, I've been mesmerized by the jellyfish. Their thin, globular husks line the beach like slimy, red, garbage bags.
Maybe this fascination is the exact same one I have with humans. After all, they're just more slimy, red, garbage bags. Well, on the inside at least. Long as you can get it up or get them open.
So there I am, sprawled out on the sand, caught up in a daydream drooling all over my bare chest when some d****e decides to harass me. The guy is standing roughly 40 meters away.
It's calling to me and even I can barely make out the words with my exceptional hearing. "THEY CAN STILL STING WHEN THEY'RE DEAD..."
"THANKS SWEETIE CAN THEY STILL F**K TOO?!" Is my coy response.
Squinting at the figure all I can distinguish is it's ratchet dye job -bottle blond with a tacky purple and a muscle shirt sans the muscles.
Deciding I've seen enough I drag a thick fog in from the Atlantic and drape it over the landscape with no more effort than a bead of sweat and a flick of the wrist.
I'm a special boy for real.
If anyone asks I'd use the word demon. A bit dramatic yeah yeah, f**k me in the a*s, I like it.
Eventually I complete my sex god worthy pants and stumble back home over the unstable ground. Who though pumps and sand was a jolly f*****g idea.
* * * * * *
It's the next day and I'm on the roof.
Oh don't worry chickies, I'm only here for the view.
There must be more humans in this one highschool then there was in all of Old Crow, my Yukon hometown. It's positively humid with people. I get hard just thinking of the possibilities.
I could destroy any one of them right now. Can't get arrested when the murder weapon's a lightning bolt. They have no idea the danger they're in, just breathing the same air as me.
One day I'll hold absolute power over all these little barbarian Barbies and ketamine Kens, my little copyright cokeheads and sweaty John Smiths No. 885 to 2015. I'll teach them what fear is. I'll teach them what love is.
Gotta get through puberty first though.
Then they'll kneel, and suck my monster co-
"F**K!" I jerk my hands off the school railings. Two identical bars have been burned into my palms.
I twist around searching for a source but find none. Yet the feeling of being watched lingers.
I form a miniature cloud and split it open, spilling rain down. The water instantly soothes my charred hands, draws out the heat. I hate burns, they leave the ugliest scars. Not at all like a blade. You can't carve your name with a flame. That's my motto.
The bell rings. I ignore it. Opting out instead to hum some verses of my favourite song. The lyrics play in my head...oh oh oh she lick me like ice cream...
A few minutes later I come to and dismiss the clouds, strutting back down the fire escape to class.
I reach history, surprisingly on time and make me way awkwardly to the back of the class and finding a seat. "Hey," I mumble to the guy beside me, playing up the shy scene kid. I do have the eyeliner and hair for it.
Seriously though, this s**t is sculpted into perfect chaos. Spikes sticking up in all directions as if gravity got hammered. Black, blue, purple and green. Complete with jagged side-bangs.
Jesus would cry.
At this moment a girl with red hair and the perkiest set of tits you ever saw. There's something otherworldly... magical even, about them. I'm half sure she's a demon too before she even sits down. I can see it in the b***s.
When she sits beside me I'm nearly sure, she's like me. A demon. I've never met one before. I've been isolated my whole life. Too meet someone who's like me, who has thoughts like me, urges like me. I've always known there had to be a reason they don't understand me and I don't understand them. It's because they aren't like me. But if she is. If she could help me learn why I am this way. Then taking history just might have been worth it.