The Job Part 2

Part 1

“How much longer?” you asked, sweat covering your shirt from climbing up so many sets of stones.

“Another mile,” I said, hoping it was true.

“You know, I can tell when people are lying.”

“Yeah?” I said, reaching up to grip another stone in the wall. 

“You're doing it right now. You don't know how to get me out of here. You don't know how long this wall is, just that this is somehow the way out when you're not using that magical teleporting dust.” You were right next to me, your eyes staring into mine, both pairs knowing you were right.

I looked up at the unclimbed wall ahead of us and forced my muscles to keep moving. 

“How did you get yourself into this anyway?” you asked, deciding that talking to a liar is better than talking to yourself.

“I was marked, just like you,” I said, not looking back down at you.

“Marked, with what?”

“Stars–everyone's marked with stars. You can't see them unless you've also been marked. . . and had to guard the gates.”

“The gates to what?” you asked as you stopped, resting your feet on a few nice rocks pushed outward.

“Hell.”

“Really? I've been marked to guard the gates of hell?”

“No, I don't know what gates you were marked to guard--I don't know which ones I guarded either.” I snuck a look at you, hoping you wouldn't ask me why there were more than one set of gates or any other questions I didn't know the answers too.

“So why guard them?” you asked instead

“I didn't have anything better to do,” I said, reaching up and finding my hand touch dirt. I let out a sigh of relief and reached up with my other hand to pull myself up. Your hands reached the ground a minute after my feet did and I helped pull you up before both of us looked across at the forest of trees surrounding us.

“Trees, huh?” You sucked in a breath and looked around, taking in the sounds of tree frogs and whatever else it was living in the sea of plants.

“And mushrooms,” I added, the tip of my feet nudging the top of one growing in front of me.

 ”What are those?” You pointed at the sky and the black feathers housing the cries of killer birds that flew in circles above us.

“Birds,” I said, taking a closer look at them as they spiraled down. “Birds we should run from. You still have my bracelet charm?”

The Job

       I didn't mean to follow you.

       Really, I swear I didn't. It's just . . . you seemed like the best father I've ever seen, you know? Like you actually cared and as long as that 3 year old girl in front of you is smiling, life is perfect. 

I wish it was. For you, it might have been. It would've been, I promise, but not in this world, not in this reality. I wish your life was perfect and you weren't the goddamn “chosen one”. 

I didn't know it was you-or maybe I knew, I just wanted so badly for it to be anyone else. Anyone else out of 7 billion people to guard the gates. Anyone else to be the one in that aquarium with shining purple stars tattooed all up and down your arms.

       I watched you smile as you took perfect family pictures in front of a tank of stingrays. I watched you pick her up and swing her feet off the ground in front of the jellyfish right before you leaned over and gave your wife a kiss. I didn't want to watch as you were torn away from them due to the demand of some higher power no one can control.

I walked up the driveway to your house, my ear-buds in and my heart pounding. The front steps were hard not to trip over and holding back tears for you was ever harder. My palms were sweaty and the Snickers I had just consumed threatened to come right back up as I pushed the doorbell.

A minute later (which felt like a year) you answered and I opened my hands, my eyes gleaming a bright green, while your family watched behind you as both of us disappeared.

“What happened?” you said as you woke up, finding the view of a dark lonely room and one plant pretty unwelcoming. Well there was that and me-probably the most unwelcomed sight in the room. "What did you do?” you asked, sitting up and feeling the spikes of your mohawk on top of your head. Shit. . . that little girl was going to miss those. “Where––”

“I, uh, I––” my voice froze up as I tried to speak, feeling my lips go numb.

“You have been chosen as guardian of the gates,” said a booming voice next to me. A sharpened pair of horns was on my left. 

“Sara here is your mentor and will teach you the ways of guarding before she is free to live as she pleases. Soon, you too will be someone else's mentor and free to live as you wish,” he said, staring down at you. My fingers played with the charm on my bracelet, and my eyes looked down at the star shape dangling from my wrist. The one identical to the ones on your arms.

“How soon?” you asked, desperately wanting to go back to ten minutes before when you were still living the perfect life. You weren't the only one.

“A few centuries, soon enough,” he answered, disappearing from my side and leaving the two of us to lock eyes.

“Centuries?” you asked, incredulous. “I can't do whatever this 'guarding' is for centuries. I have a family that I have to get back to. My daughter, her birthday's in a month and I––”

“I know,” I said, interrupting you, and ripping the charm off of my bracelet. It was now or never. “You have to get back.” I threw the charm at you, watching you stand up and catch it as the stars on your arms lit up like they had been in the aquarium. And like at the aquarium, you still couldn't see them.

“With this?” you asked, holding it up in front of you. “A bracelet charm?”

“It's a lot more than it looks,” I said, taking another look at you and a deep breath before I pushed at the stones in the wall behind me so they opened up the entryway to getting out.

Drink My Liver

My claws tore into the demon boy’s flesh, making him scream out as a sharp edge poked through to his liver. A liver was all I wanted; just a small, simple, young liver for Saturday’s ceremony. I could sell it on the black market afterward if it wasn't used; after all, everyone is in need of a liver.

The boy screamed again, this time in horror, as he felt his liver grow back and his skin close up. Of course, it wouldn't really be his, this new liver; it was just there to pretend to be a liver until his demon gene was activated. It wasn't like the boy would actually miss his liver; no, the loss of a liver is not something that makes you lie awake and cry at night. At least not this one––not when something new and far more beautiful is growing inside, taking its place.

Saturday came soon––the sun rising up over the hilltops, bleeding red light into the valley. The liver sat in a glass jar on the ground, ready to be drunk at any second. The first drop of the liver was always the best—it tasted sweet, like toenails and human brains with a sprinkle of cinnamon. Crushed pineapple was added to the last bite, giving it a precious taste of death.

The celebration was nice––the smell of fresh blood and the screams from sacrifices mixing together in a wonderful harmony. After the end of the day, when all the guests had gone and all the livers had been drunk, there was one liver left. I picked it up, watching the starlight dance around it inside the glass jar, and headed to the black market.

It was crowded, slimy, and smelled of intestines and dog food. The floor stuck to your feet, and the sounds of prices being set and objects being bought hung in the air. I stood where I’d set up my spot a long time ago. A motley crowd surrounded me, offering to trade with teeth, eyes, and a goat. I held the liver out to a blonde lady I’d seen at the market a time or two before, and asked her why she wanted it.

“I want something to decorate the house with. It’s looking a bit . . . plain, trust me, this would be perfect” she said, giving me the leash to the goat and proudly disappearing with the liver. Soon after, I led the goat into my backyard, and into its very own house. I fell asleep on the bed, hugging the goat because I knew, the second I had set eyes on the goat, that I loved it more than drinking liver.

The counter in the kitchen of Paris Hilton's house held a liver. A pretty, young liver from a small demon boy. Paris smiled at it and placed it on the mantle over the fireplace, next to the monkey skull and the zebra fish. Her decorating for the day was done.