Memoirs of a Demon

Specifically looking for:

.Character critique

.Plot critique

Please keep that in mind =]

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Demons have so many stereotypes its hard not to be one. But I’m not scaly, I don’t have red or yellow eyes, and I don’t carry around a pitchfork. My skin is unblemished, my eyes are hazel, and pitchforks have been out of date for years. We use plain old daggers these days. We can’t carry around big, gaudy scythes like Death, because we’re not invisible to the gutters. Yes, that’s right, humans are called gutters. It used to be capitalized until Someone Important Down There decided that was giving them too much regality, and banned the use of gutters with a capital.

I’ve never been Down There myself. Opposing popular belief, demons are not from Down There. They come from Up Here. We’re the sins and guilt of gutters, manifested by Death. In fact, I believe Death is the only one who can cross between the two worlds. He’s privileged, as the messenger, to be able to. Other than him, we demons stay Up Here, and Those Important dwell Down There.

There’s something else you should know. It’s not our duty to kill. We just enjoy it. Death doesn’t appreciate the extra work, of course, but we never associate with him, and he’s not allowed to harm us, so none of us really give a damn. At least, none of the demons I’ve met have cared.

My name is Kamé. I’m really just a useless demon that was manifested off of Bridget Bishop when she was hung. Look her up. Most of the demon populations Up Here are similar demons like me. And then there are the Seven Deadly Sins, of course- Wrath, Lust, Greed, Envy, Pride, Gluttony, and Sloth. Above them are The Grim- Misery, Hate, Fear, and Chaos. That’s about the end of the ranks Up Here. The Alphas are Down There, and don’t really keep track of us. At least, I don’t believe they do.

My name has changed several times over the course of my three hundred and something years. I’ve kept Kamé simply because I like it the best so far. As it happens, I am right now face-to-face with a— no, wait. I better start from the beginning.

I sat quietly on the overstuffed cushion of an old love seat, tapping my nails against the top knee of my crossed legs. The fireplace on my right side crackled to life as a man walked in and took the armchair across from me. I raised my chin and stared back at him as he surveyed me. My short red curls usually brushed tantalizingly against my jaw bone, but right now they were tangled and soaked straight with blood, with some strands plastered against my cheek. My torn shirt had dark, sticky splotches on it, and a long cut from my left shoulder down to my right breast was helping the stains grow larger.

I gave Jehd a tight smile, and the corner of his lip twitched downward. “What happened?” he asked.

“A hunter happened,” I responded coldly, knowing he had already figured that out. “I took care of him quickly.”

“But not soon enough.” He eyed the cut. “How could you have been so careless?”

“I wasn’t careless, Jehd!” I spat. “They’re getting better, it’s not my fault!”

“Don’t give me that shit!” He stood up as rage flickered in his blue eyes, and I leaned back, biting my lip. “As they get better, you should too. You’re hundreds of years older than any damn gutter!” I swallowed and turned my gaze away from him, watching the flames of the fire dance and snap against the stones enclosing it. After a second he fell back down into his chair.

“I’ll be more cautious,” I said simply, standing up to leave.

He caught my wrist from across the coffee table. “I worry about you, Kamé.” I didn’t reply, and his grip on my wrist tightened for a moment before he released me.

“Good bye.” I ignored the butler as he held my coat out for me, grabbing one of Jehd’s clean ones hanging on the coat rack instead, and slammed the heavy oak door as I left the house.

Dawn was coming, and the thin sliver of sun over the treetops was already lighting up the pavement. I slipped my arms into Jehd’s coat and pulled it tight around my bloody clothes, then hurried down the sidewalk on bare feet. My high heels were still sitting placidly by Jehd’s warm fireplace, but I tried not to think about that as I headed home to my cold apartment.

Kest, my eleven year old Vizsla, wagged his tail in greeting when I walked through the door, but he didn’t bother getting up from the couch. After I’d dumped some food into his bowl I stripped off my clothes, dropped them onto the overflowing laundry bin, and flopped into my bathtub. I turned the faucet on with my feet and sighed happily as the warm water rushed over my frozen toes. As water filled the tub, my mind filled with hundreds of different thoughts. For one, Jehd was right. The gutters were getting better at hunting us, even though they only had several decades to train themselves. It was their damn technology. For every weakness, every flaw and impulse and fear that the gutters have, they create some stupid machine that saves their asses. You had to give it to the pests- even though their bones snap easy as a twig, and their skin rips in half like tissue paper, their ability to invent is impressive.

The other main thought was Jehd’s warm hand around my wrist. Hey, I might not be human, but my body craves just about anything a gutter’s does. I curled my toes against the tub’s porcelain side and closed my eyes as I remembered what it felt like to have Jehd’s bare chest pressed to mine.

Kest barked, making me jerk awake from my day dream just as the doorbell rang. I dipped my head underwater and scrubbed my scalp to get any extra blood off. I heard the doorbell again as I stood up and quickly grabbed the nearest towel to wrap around myself. Kest, the wimp, was huddling next to the bathroom door. He trailed close behind me as I walked back into the living room, my nostrils flaring as I took in the scent. Just a gutter, and a familiar one at that.

“Hey Kammy.” The boy’s blue eyes, scarily similar to Jehd’s, crinkled as he smiled. “I heard you come home, and I thought I’d bring you some leftover pie.” Matt lived in the apartment next to mine, and often times I got to listen to him blare his terrible gutter music all night. But I forgave him, because he cooked fantastic meals that he usually brought over to share with me. I guess I was a lucky having a culinary student as a neighbor.

“Pie for breakfast.” I smiled back at him. “Interesting.” I opened the door wider for him to come in, and Kest wagged his tail politely as Matt gave his head a pat.

“Well all you ever have is beer and pizza. I don’t know how you’re still alive.”

“I’m sure it can be credited to you.” I took the pie pan from him and started into the kitchen, putting it on the table before turning to get plates and forks. He leaned against the counter and watched me with a sort of childish half-smirk. I ignored him for a minute or two before I got annoyed.

“What?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your bath.”

I glanced down, remembering that I was still only wearing a towel. “Oh. It’s alright.” I sighed and pushed Kest out of the way as I hurried into my bedroom to change.

After the pie had been eaten and Matt and I were sitting on the sofa watching early morning cartoons with Kest flopped across our laps, he turned to look at me.

“Some man was looking for you yesterday.”

“Oh?” I asked, disinterested. A lot of men were usually looking for me, either because I shammed them out of money, sex, or they actually believed I loved them. What can I say? It’s fun to play with gutters.

“He didn’t seem like anyone you should be associating with.”

“That’s nice.” Matt said that about most of the men who came to my door, and I couldn’t care less. But the urgency in his voice when he spoke again made me look at him.

“I’m serious, Kammy. I could have sworn I saw a gun inside his jacket.”

“What did he look like?”

“Big. And he was black. I think he was wearing one of those stupid biker jackets, but I can’t remember exactly. I told him you were on vacation.”

That wasn’t the description of the hunter who had attacked me. A black man? I frowned, trying to think. I knew several, and all of them were decently big and carried guns. None of them, however, would wear a biker jacket. “I’m sure it was no one, Matt. Don’t worry about it. I can take care of myself.” I scratched Kest’s ear and turned back to the TV in time to see Jerry push a bowl of fruit onto Tom’s head. Matt was still pouting worriedly. I softly rubbed my foot against his, and managed to hold a straight face as he blushed a dark shade of red and snatched his foot away from mine.