Youngstown Demon
"I'm afraid not," you say. He looks disappointed.
"Come on, drinks are on me, Val." He says.
"Good night Mr. Katelli," you say, pushing past him and into the parking lot. You don't look back, but you can tell that he isn't following you.
You make your way to your car and get in. It's ungodly hot inside from the sun beating down all day. It seems that even the rain was unable quell the intense heat.
You quickly roll down the windows and start the car, pulling slowly out of your spot and out of the lot. The ride home is uneventful save for a homeless guy at a red light who raves about judgement day and the black angel of death. You want to tell him that the angel of death is already here, is sitting before him, behind the wheel of a Subaru. But to tell him would be to reveal yourself, and that's not how He wants it. And the others would not be pleased.
You pull into your allotted parking space and get out of the car, making your way into the building and to your apartment. The place is just as you left it, immaculately clean. Just to be certain, though, you go through the usual ritual of inspecting the area for any evidence of intruders. The others say you can't be too careful.
Nothing is amiss. You take a quick shower, washing the filth of the world from your body and watching as it drains slowly into a spiral down the drain. You stand there for some time, allowing the steam to relax you, searching your soul for the next target. There were plenty that you are sure He wants you to wipe from the earth and send to the fiery pits of hell.
A short laugh escapes your mouth. They say that you are from hell. That you are Youngstown's own personal demon... They speak as though Youngstown wasn't full of demons as it is.
You turn off the water and wait for a moment while the chill air from outside the shower curtain sends goose bumps across your body and hardens your nipples. You always feel so relieved when that blast of fresh cool air hits you.
As you reach for your towel a voice whispers in your ear. "Morton," it says, naming your next target. You nod in response and quickly dry off, heading to bed for the night. The sheets are cool to your skin; the pillow is inviting. You are asleep in no time.
"Come on, drinks are on me, Val." He says.
"Good night Mr. Katelli," you say, pushing past him and into the parking lot. You don't look back, but you can tell that he isn't following you.
You make your way to your car and get in. It's ungodly hot inside from the sun beating down all day. It seems that even the rain was unable quell the intense heat.
You quickly roll down the windows and start the car, pulling slowly out of your spot and out of the lot. The ride home is uneventful save for a homeless guy at a red light who raves about judgement day and the black angel of death. You want to tell him that the angel of death is already here, is sitting before him, behind the wheel of a Subaru. But to tell him would be to reveal yourself, and that's not how He wants it. And the others would not be pleased.
You pull into your allotted parking space and get out of the car, making your way into the building and to your apartment. The place is just as you left it, immaculately clean. Just to be certain, though, you go through the usual ritual of inspecting the area for any evidence of intruders. The others say you can't be too careful.
Nothing is amiss. You take a quick shower, washing the filth of the world from your body and watching as it drains slowly into a spiral down the drain. You stand there for some time, allowing the steam to relax you, searching your soul for the next target. There were plenty that you are sure He wants you to wipe from the earth and send to the fiery pits of hell.
A short laugh escapes your mouth. They say that you are from hell. That you are Youngstown's own personal demon... They speak as though Youngstown wasn't full of demons as it is.
You turn off the water and wait for a moment while the chill air from outside the shower curtain sends goose bumps across your body and hardens your nipples. You always feel so relieved when that blast of fresh cool air hits you.
As you reach for your towel a voice whispers in your ear. "Morton," it says, naming your next target. You nod in response and quickly dry off, heading to bed for the night. The sheets are cool to your skin; the pillow is inviting. You are asleep in no time.