February 10th – Waffles and Secrets
February 10, 2012 § 4 Comments
Prompt: Write about what you did yesterday from the perspective of the demon sitting on your shoulder.
His shoulders slant sightly, and his eyebrows knit together, whenever he feels me on him. It’s disturbing, though at least he’s ignorant to what that means. From his shoulder I can see his thoughts, feel his pulse, hear the temptations of his heart. And whisper things.
The day’s passed slowly so far, nothing for me to whisper on – though he’s felt me on him all day and so he’s in one of his deceptive moods. I felt temptations thick on him like a coat of plaster on his skin as the day goes on, he ignores them, but texts a friend.
They share waffles and a secret together, swapping curiosities like currency. There is a stoned man who listens only to her stomach, a homeless zombie-professor sitting in a cafe, and a man in the subway straight out of Jurassic park. They plot. He ignores me because they got waffles together, and she is his friend, neither of which are valid reasons.
I hiss, spit, bite at his ear. He winces, hiding it in a smile and shrugging at the most inane of comments. They talk about comics, and a fanfiction, and Harley Quinn, they update each other’s lives and add commentary to the past. They pretend to be gods, still he doesn’t listen. He ignores me like an ascetic. When she keeps a secret from him she giggles at the pain, at the squirming of his soul and self, as his own impossible curiosity burns – I make a decision.
The leap isn’t so very far, the journey seems worth it. He chooses cruel friends, often crueler than his enemies. I jump, they turn, hugging as if to make it easier and snapping away at the last second. I fumble, miss by inches, fall.
The ground stinks of waffles and dirty shoes.