Jan. 23rd, 2019
What did you say?
She felt the voice tense within her, coiling as though to strike at that last bastion that she held to, clung to, despite the fact that it was the worst and most damning thing that she’d ever experienced in her young life.
The demon didn’t even seem to notice that they were no longer over solid land, a thing that it had warned her about more than once since accepting her invitation. That she lived by a river was something that had made the thing balk more than once, but now that she had it good and pissed off it seemed to have forgotten that little tidbit.
“I said,” she replied, “send me an angel, RIGHT, NOW!”
And with that, she let the last part of her go, allowing her control to slip just enough that the demon flung it wide open, seeking its release through that one final opening in her soul that she’d hidden away. That final, damning moment of raw, unchecked anger washed over it, through her, and came forth in a primal scream that flooded even the demon’s senses in a way that drowned out its sudden scream of denial.
–there had been a young girl named Amaya. Her mommy and daddy fought a lot, in fact they fought about her, about what a drain she was on them, and what it cost to take care of her. He didn’t have enough work, she didn’t bring in enough from her jobs, and their child needed so much just to grow and be healthy. It was never Amaya’s fault, but they’d seen her as the enemy, the one that had stripped them of their happiness, their love, and their peace of mind. She hadn’t been wanted, she’d been an accident. But her mother and father had forbidden her from having an abortion, had stated that they would disown her and ruin the both of them if they went through with it. So they’d had her, and every day since then had been a stain upon their lives that they’d never let her forget–
The demon howled, as the scalding pain of these memories were only the beginning, only the barest hint of the torture its current vessel had experienced. And still, Amaya let it go, she didn’t need this anymore, and it was time to put it to good use.
–by the time she was three and walking, talking, and almost using the potty she’d been beaten, pinched, slapped, and made to feel useless. Her daily routine was having her diaper either ripped away so hard it left a mark or left on to become sodden with her filth, causing sores that her parents had to take care of lest child services be called on them. They begrudged everything they had to do for her, be it food, diapers, or even just being in the same house at times. They’d even left her for hours on end to cry and suffer the loneliness that had gripped her at a young age. She had subsequently taught herself how to survive–
NO MORE! For a demon Azazel seemed rather squeamish, but Amaya knew very well that no matter how virulent his touch was, no matter how evil he was, her anger was deeper than his could ever be, her pain was something that he could never hope to match.
She knew something about being reviled, and she would pit it up against anyone or anything that dared to complain about their lot in life.
She knew what it meant to hate.
(to be continued)