Daemon waits

Posted: June 19, 2013 in Paranormal, Short Story

Portrait of a boy with the map of the world painted on his face.

I’m not sure the time. Oh wait, there’s a clock. 12:01 am it blinks. I don’t think that’s correct but the sun always tells me true – once it rises. I’m waiting. I feel like a waiter. I’ve got nothing to serve but this soul coming down the pipe. This soul has been thwarted three times now, but it looks like it will take hold. The mother is fat and ready to burst. She is a strange sort of mother. Not like any of mine have ever been. She is the sort that should have a nurse made or a governess that cares where she can not. She twitches awake, skinny mother, except for her belly. Her lips are stained white as her child kicks. Strong soul this one, will have to be.

I don’t have a name. But for this I should probably find one, make one up maybe. I’ve lived a thousand times or more, born and died but I never seen such hopelessness as I do now. Animals, living on top of one another, eating poisoned food and breathing poisoned air. They have no control over their situations and every time they try to stand someone goes out of their way to knock them back down, for their own good of course. It’s like looking at cows in line for slaughter. These people cry out, they even fight back, but their enemies are everywhere. Their neighbors, their rulers, and the ruling guards – think you call them po-pos. All of them ready to slaughter none of them willing to care. An odd sort of man these people of this time. Glad I am a Daemon as the Greeks would call me. So there it is then, you may call me Dae.

The mother stirs awake. She rises for very little and lives for less. She picks up a glass pipe and places a tiny crystal in the end. She burns it long with the flame and inhales the smoke deep into her. She does this until the rock is gone, and then she hunts for more rock. She is what we Daemon’s call zombie or the living dead. Her soul is trapped until the body dies. This would be what we call Hell. The body is used only to numb itself, find pleasure anywhere, and then die. No great feats will this woman perform, no words of wisdom will she pass down to this child, nothing. I have never met a life that was worthless, but the more and more I wait and see, I know they were created. These souls be as strong as any other: Stronger, to know what they have survived.

This woman could fix the worlds economic woes to watch her find fifty dollars in the air. She manages to buy this white laden crystal daily: Even more than once a day. She has no money to speak of, but for some sort of hard card she buys food with. Although she managed to use that card for more than food though, a great deal more now that she can’t walk the streets as she had. She lost the child three times now, three times: To men, her lover who makes her work in the pitch of night when all right people would be asleep. She wears scares on her face, hands, legs, and well, everywhere. A man bit off her left nipple six moons past. That was when she started this immediate decline. Her sisters in the trade tried to paint one on for her but it looked so mangled and disgusting she found she had to lower her rate.

The child kicks again. Strong healthy child, protected child, I am hear always near, so no fear because they won’t dare. I had visited whores in my day, many, and in one life I was even a whore myself. Karma isn’t as fun as it sounds. I swear, every misgiving I may have ever done to a women was visited upon me in that one lifetime. I guess looking at them all I am glad for it. As my other lives as women were less interesting. I like dull things. I recall now. These lifetimes of mine come back in waves. Like memories to a living body. This poor mother knows not what she numbs. The greatest and third most frightening joy was when I was pregnant. Not the birthing mind you – never the birthing, but the belly growing and form within you the connection. There is no word for it other than God. The Gods can not so easily produce as we can, nor do they have physical bodies to enjoy it and in being a woman the joy was so much different. As a man, it was all about conquering, questing, and penetrating, but as a woman, it was more about choosing, learning, and simply being. Of course being the weaker of the two sometimes men want to conquer too much. They had scared some of my womanly forms as I know Karma has made them pay for it. I hold no emotion other than love for them. Odd I know, but it is what this form is constructed of. I have very little choice in the matter.

As for this mother, smoking away her life and weakening her seed and all or any future seeds. She will have no future seed however. This child will be her first and last.

I find Gods to be most annoying and well needy. They demand a lot of us, and we demand the nurturing and suckling of babes. To get what you want – consequences to that. Unseen yet there. This babe I await is from the highest stock and to accomplish her goals she will need to be born to the worst of you. No self respecting God would ever be born to a wealthy person. Wealth is acquired, stolen in my days, shifted by ancestors and made legitimate by governments. Yet the petty thieves, they will always lose a hand. This one, her, she is to bring freedom to these forgotten people. She will destroy the place and rebuild a new. The people on the streets call this revolution. I love that word. It has never failed to make the world a better place. One thing this time needs is a real hero. I tell ya. If I could I would have slain most of the people here already, but for I can’t. I am a Daemon. Not good or bad as some I heard claim, just a spirit all the same. I wait. I wait for this large breasted woman to crack open and deliver me into power. I am a protector and have been given certain rights by these Gods of men. They instructed me or rather the ALL instructed me to watch over this mother and if she was to die to prevent it. She is scrappy enough and has managed to kick, bite, claw her way out of every mess this cruel insane society had pummeled her with. I found myself wishing she wasn’t as resourceful. That way I could do somethings. Scare the crap out of these dumb beasts who have completely forgotten where they came from. Other than the crystal she uses her body is strong and hard just like a good warrior mother should be. The child’s father. Well, I almost had to kill him. He managed to over power her in the middle of the day as she was trying to make it back from the grocery store. She cried more for the lost groceries than herself. But then again she had been through this so many times she just shut herself off until the deed was done.

The man was massive. Six foot maybe seven, but not lanky, no, thick, fat with power. He looked like he might be slow and lazy but under his layer of fat was a tight muscle structure born of battle and tempered with the hate only man would know. He grabbed her and dragged her into the alley just a half a block from here. I would call here a home but I can’t. I’d rather sleep outside a top a landfill, less bugs fighting for your food. None of those po-pos to be found, none of them ever cared either. They never hunted the man down or even opened a file. They wrote her off except when they needed to put on a show for the rulers here. That’s when they showed up arresting anyone tan or overly south American looking and if they could they also beat and raped, even killed. Karma will come in their next few lifetimes – only karma can teach an asshole to be kind. But these beasts are more than assholes. I’m not sure how to call them, cannibals maybe. Feeding on their own to impress. I’ve known many races that have done this. Their reigns end with revolution. That beautiful and most magical of words whispered here by every little bird. So I wait. I guess as they do too: For this child to be born, to tear aware and rip this ruler from these grounds. 


Leave your mark or go for a walk. Both sound pretty nice.

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