Young Writers Society

Azazel:

What a pretty idiot she was. So stupid she didn’t even notice my lack of baggage. All I had to do was smile and she’d swoon, a blush seriously testing my restraint. I made small talk with her about city life. Apparently she couldn’t see why I would move to a city with such a insane ruler, even when I pointed out that the economy was thriving. When I asked her why if she hated the city so much why she didn’t leave she fed me some lame lie about not having enough money.

I really should have taken offence by what she said about me. She said that Emperor Azazel was a sick and twisted bastard that was had been begotten by a demon and who was a crime against nature. It really put me in a bad mood, even if I could see where someone so simple minded was coming from. Idiots don’t see the big picture, all they see is individual cases. They don’t understand sacrifices must be made.

I may have been miffed but I didn’t take offense at the actual girl. Odd. So I took out my frustration in one of my usual ways.

“Hello darling,” I said in my silkiest voice, causing the high born maiden to blush, but not respond, something I had come to expect when wearing peasant’s cloths. The snobbery of it! And to think she didn’t suspect, or learn, from the rumors. Even if it fit perfectly.

How often did a handsome but filthy peasant really try to come on to a homely ‘lady’? Sometimes they were pretty but not in that case.

“Could you please tell me the way to Renuld Street,” a street that didn’t exist, of course, what need have I ever had for knowing street names? She needn’t have answered as she did though, assumptions make an ass out of everyone.

“I would not know where to find a commoner’s street, let me be.” That was all the invitation I needed. No one was around so when I casually sauntered behind he so she wouldn’t see me shed my clothes. Even I have some shame. I then morphed into my marvelous dragon self, picked up my clothes and tapped the girl on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, could you please hold these for me?” I rasped out in that deep and unintentionally but not unwelcome, sinister dragon voice of mine.

She probably didn’t hear me over her screaming. I dug my claws into her shoulder to keep her from a feudal attempt at escape. to help get my point across I bent down and looked her meaningfully in the eye, gesturing to the cloths. Nobody can call me unreasonable; if she had only taken the cloths for me, as a loyal subject would, I probably would have let her go. Unfortunately no one has ever given me the chance to test this theory.

Well she continued to scream and struggle forcing me to pierce her shoulder with by claws so I wouldn’t have to focus on her efforts. By this time some men had come running to be all heroic, and chivalric, to help a hopefully attractive, rich, and grateful damsel in distress. I’ll admit that I am a cynic. The men either turned tail as soon as they saw me or stood in frozen fascination. Some would suggest it would be fear that held them, but I am a cynic and I say fascination. Is it not fascinating to see a fellow human being reduced into nothing but a struggling beastly ape, by a true being? A being that happened to be really enjoying itself too. An entity that was laughing it’s damn head off at the fun by then.

Once I had gotten enough of that and the men had stopped coming and the lady stopped screaming, I grabbed her other shoulder and flew off towards the castle to kill her leisurely without spectators (I have always felt that to enjoy watching someone get killed is obscene… but to enjoy the experience yourself, another story) also as an afterthought give her death a bit of dignity. If I were her I would have given my life to experience the thrill of flying I was sharing with her, another mercy the maiden didn’t seem to appreciate when she disgorged over a few of the houses we soared over.

It would be in bad taste to give the explicit details of how she died;

(to the reader, should i just end it on that or this:

but my stress was released, so it was not in vain, after all repressing emotions could lead to an ulcer, what in god’s name an ulcer is I hope never to know, for it is an unappealing word as it is.)

---anyone who reviews I will find some thing of there's to review for, or you can mention something you particularly wanted reviewed. This is the third excerpt from a story I am working on, more or less out of order any input at all, from slitmywrits insulting to idon'tneedanyoneforIamperfect encouraging, would be nice.