A Day as a Demon

This story positively stinks, but it is, sadly, the best I can muster right now. This story is an embarrassment.

Long before you rise in the morning, I am with you, and will remain so until the time you fall into a fitful, terrified sleep.

 

But first, I have my fun- and you have your despair.

 

Your eyes have opened to stare at the alarm clock, which you trust would never lie. It tells you the time is 6:66. You rub your eyes, slowly, look back, and see the much more plausible time of 6:56. It is time to begin your day, you reason, and you rise as the apartment you live in creaks with the presence of evil- my presence. Dismissing it as a normal, commonplace sound, you shuffle to the bathroom. You gaze in the mirror, surely to check if your facial hair was at a length suitable to leave. You rub your stubble-covered chin and I allow you to catch a glimpse of me, which I chuckle at, because you let the primal fear possessed so deeply by humans play across your face. I close the bathroom door while you urinate into the toilet I will later overflow, and I notice that you truly are afraid for a moment, but you won't let that fear dominate you, because you seem to think that if you ignore your tormentor's presence, then the torment doesn't exist: one of humanity's stupidest philosophies.

 

Now that you are off to work, I will have the opportunity to really  influence your life, with little chance of you realizing I am at work at all. Prepare for a grumpy, selfish, impatient, spiteful day, my human, for it begins now. You've arrived at your work: a Walmart in a suburban Florida neighborhood.

 

All day, you administer prescription drugs to those who seek your assistance in filling them. Today, when Mrs. Kitringer comes, I'll be guiding you to coldly ignore her. When Mr. Troy asks where the Ace Bandages are, you'll ignore his pleas. When someone is rude to you, you shall be rude back- two times more so.

 

You are doing fine, my friend. You have done what I've asked so far, and I have more to do with you yet.

 

Your shift has ended, follow me. I wish to take you to the bar, where you will stay and drink away a significant portion of your paycheck and become too loud and, if we're lucky, get in a brawl. Won't that be lovely? But first, which should you order: Jim Beam or Jack Daniels?

 

Two hours, twelve drinks, and one verbal fight that almost escalated (alas, though, it didn't), later, I have more havoc on the itinerary for tonight. In five minutes, a man will be crossing the street, and you will hit him. Shame you didn't have more bourbon- you'll vaguely recall what you've done in the morning, when I shall be gone.

 

Your now battered car is pulling into your grimy apartment building, you step out, and begin your drunken path to the elevator. When you finally reach it, you throw up while passing the third floor and must stand in your own vomit for four more floors, which you trail behind you unwillingly, all the way to your door. Noisily, you unlock the door after multiple swears that awaken all surrounding you, and when the door finally opens, you enter your personal, private hell that I will host especially for you, as a going away present. Prepare for the real despair, my friend.

Author's Note

It's not my best- by far!

Reviews

[East of Eden]

it's really unusual which i adore. i like the feeling of the paranormal and that it's written from the demon's perspective. great write.