Youngstown Demon
You awaken in the morning, fully refreshed. After brushing your teeth you get dressed and head to the car and downtown for work. It's a relatively short drive to the office and you make your way inside, waving to the security guard on your way to the elevators.
After pressing the 'up' button, there is nothing to do but wait. The doors open and you hit the button for the 6th floor.
You take in a deep breath and let it out slow. You have the elevator alone this morning, a true blessing; no incessant yammering from any of the unclean who work in the building. The elevator stops moving and the doors open before you, making your way into the office and to your desk.
You work as a legal secretary for a group of attorneys. Mostly you just do paperwork, answer the phone, and take messages all day. It's not a hard job, but a busy one. And being busy means not having to interact with anyone on anything more than a professional level. Most of the time your workload allows you to avoid contact with other people. Other times you cannot seem to avoid it.
You make some coffee and sit down behind your desk, turning on your computer and glancing at the documents in front of you. You scan through the documentation briefly before filing them away.
Adler arrives first, fifteen minutes early, followed shortly after by Bomonte. At five to the hour, Mordred walks in. Each of them casually says hello to you before getting you to work, Adler commenting on the smell of fresh coffee, Bomonte directing you to refuse calls from one of his former clients, and Mordred commenting on your appearance.
Ten minutes past the hour, Katelli enters the office. He strolls in casually as though he was supposed to be late, he stops at your desk and you prepare yourself for your daily dousing of sexual harassment.
"Good morning, sunshine," he says smiling arrogantly and lustfully down your top; not even bothering to make a vague pretense of eye contact with you. He actually thinks he's charming. It makes you sick.
"There's coffee in the copy room," you say dismissively.
He nods a bit, taking the hint this time. "Okay," he says, leaving your desk in the peacefulness that can only come with solitude.
The hours pass by in monotony.
When lunch comes you go to The Old Precinct, a little deli down the street. As you wait for your food, you take note of a family eating at a table in the corner, the only customer occupants other than yourself. They are eerily quite and you can't help but think that there is something wrong.
When your lunch is ready you elect to eat in, sitting quietly at a table neither close to nor too far from the family.
The woman is in her early thirties, a quiet and meek woman who glances fearfully at her husband each time he moves. The man is in his mid thirties, a powerful and undoubtedly intimidating man. They have two children a young boy of about five or six years and a slightly older daughter of seven or eight.
The boy accidently drops his fork to the ground, receiving a resounding smack in the back of the head from his father. "Now pick it up," he says sternly to the boy. The boy gets down from his chair and picks up his fork, starting to cry as he does so.
"Don't fucking cry, boy. Accept your punishment like a man," his dad says. The little girl starts crying along with him.
"He's not a man, Frank," his wife says with emotion cracking at her voice. "He's just a boy."
He turns his face on her and speaks barely loud enough for you to hear in a sinister tone. "What the hell did I tell you?"
She stares down at the table. "I'm sorry," she says.
The kids continue to cry. "Shut the hell up, both of you," he says. "Or do you want me to really give you a reason to cry?"
They start to stifle their sorrow, choke their tears, and swallow their sobs.
It makes you sick. He for being so cruel and overpowering to his wife and children, and she for accepting it all and allowing her and her children to live through such torment. Any sensible person would have picked up and moved on, leaving this asshole to his own devices. But she chose to stay, risking herself and her children to whatever violent whims this asshole decides to act upon.
They finish eating before you, leaving the restaurant and piling into a four door family vehicle. You take one last bite from your meal and walk outside to note the license plate on the car as it pulls out of the parking lot.
DRU1095
After pressing the 'up' button, there is nothing to do but wait. The doors open and you hit the button for the 6th floor.
You take in a deep breath and let it out slow. You have the elevator alone this morning, a true blessing; no incessant yammering from any of the unclean who work in the building. The elevator stops moving and the doors open before you, making your way into the office and to your desk.
You work as a legal secretary for a group of attorneys. Mostly you just do paperwork, answer the phone, and take messages all day. It's not a hard job, but a busy one. And being busy means not having to interact with anyone on anything more than a professional level. Most of the time your workload allows you to avoid contact with other people. Other times you cannot seem to avoid it.
You make some coffee and sit down behind your desk, turning on your computer and glancing at the documents in front of you. You scan through the documentation briefly before filing them away.
Adler arrives first, fifteen minutes early, followed shortly after by Bomonte. At five to the hour, Mordred walks in. Each of them casually says hello to you before getting you to work, Adler commenting on the smell of fresh coffee, Bomonte directing you to refuse calls from one of his former clients, and Mordred commenting on your appearance.
Ten minutes past the hour, Katelli enters the office. He strolls in casually as though he was supposed to be late, he stops at your desk and you prepare yourself for your daily dousing of sexual harassment.
"Good morning, sunshine," he says smiling arrogantly and lustfully down your top; not even bothering to make a vague pretense of eye contact with you. He actually thinks he's charming. It makes you sick.
"There's coffee in the copy room," you say dismissively.
He nods a bit, taking the hint this time. "Okay," he says, leaving your desk in the peacefulness that can only come with solitude.
The hours pass by in monotony.
When lunch comes you go to The Old Precinct, a little deli down the street. As you wait for your food, you take note of a family eating at a table in the corner, the only customer occupants other than yourself. They are eerily quite and you can't help but think that there is something wrong.
When your lunch is ready you elect to eat in, sitting quietly at a table neither close to nor too far from the family.
The woman is in her early thirties, a quiet and meek woman who glances fearfully at her husband each time he moves. The man is in his mid thirties, a powerful and undoubtedly intimidating man. They have two children a young boy of about five or six years and a slightly older daughter of seven or eight.
The boy accidently drops his fork to the ground, receiving a resounding smack in the back of the head from his father. "Now pick it up," he says sternly to the boy. The boy gets down from his chair and picks up his fork, starting to cry as he does so.
"Don't fucking cry, boy. Accept your punishment like a man," his dad says. The little girl starts crying along with him.
"He's not a man, Frank," his wife says with emotion cracking at her voice. "He's just a boy."
He turns his face on her and speaks barely loud enough for you to hear in a sinister tone. "What the hell did I tell you?"
She stares down at the table. "I'm sorry," she says.
The kids continue to cry. "Shut the hell up, both of you," he says. "Or do you want me to really give you a reason to cry?"
They start to stifle their sorrow, choke their tears, and swallow their sobs.
It makes you sick. He for being so cruel and overpowering to his wife and children, and she for accepting it all and allowing her and her children to live through such torment. Any sensible person would have picked up and moved on, leaving this asshole to his own devices. But she chose to stay, risking herself and her children to whatever violent whims this asshole decides to act upon.
They finish eating before you, leaving the restaurant and piling into a four door family vehicle. You take one last bite from your meal and walk outside to note the license plate on the car as it pulls out of the parking lot.
DRU1095