One Way Ticket from Hell

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  • Published: 14 Apr 2018
  • Updated: 17 May 2018
  • Status: Complete
My live has always been a hell – and, I’m not exaggerating, I don’t have any teenage-crisis. I mean, Hell, literary. I live on the suburbs, you know, a dim and gloomy place called the Valley of Destruction, and my mom is a demon specialised in tempting our dear neighbours from above – from Earth. She’s really good at it – there are many of diplomas and statues for The Demon of the Year and even some for The Demon of Century. She has even a mug with bright red letter saying “A one-way trip to Hell”. But, if it comes to tempting humans, I must say I’m the best prove she’s good.
My name is Abandon – yes, after this Abandon, mum’s a real fan of him – I’m sixteen years old and I’m a half-demon.

Entered in the monster story marathon, category: a love story.

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1. How It All Has Begun

My live has always been a hell – and, I’m not exaggerating, I don’t have any teenage-crisis. I mean, Hell, literary. I live on the suburbs, you know, a dim and gloomy place called the Valley of Destruction, and my mom is a demon specialised in tempting our dear neighbours from above –  from Earth. She’s really good at it – there are many of diplomas and statues for The Demon of the Year and even some for The Demon of the Century. She has even a mug with bright red letters saying “A one-way trip to Hell”. But, if it comes to tempting humans, I must say I’m the best prove she’s good.

                My name is Abandon – yes, after this Abandon, mum is a real fan of him – I’m sixteen years old and I’m a half-demon. So, there is the story: she was working nights, she met some handsome human, and, well, it just happened. And a few months later she wasn’t working anymore. She was on the maternity leave.

                And now I’m sitting in the living room, Valley of Destruction, Hell, in opposite of my mother, who is reading my school report. She is grimacing, and her eyes are fiery red, burning. I know she’s mad. I can also do the trick if I’m angry enough.

“Abandon, what’s the hell wrong with you?” she frowns at me. I know she’s trying to stay calm; I’m a half-human, and the specialists from the Family Centre warned her I may be a trouble child. “You barely passed the semester! Barely! And this - ” she points at her laptop. I know my class teacher has written an e-mail to her. “They say you hardly ever volunteer in classes, you don’t get involved in exercises and projects, not mentioning your essay on the best ways of torturing sinners. What kind of answers is ‘I don’t care, let’s just leave them alone and see what happens’?!

I roll my eyes, and she gives me a deadly glare. Yeah, I don’t care about torturing sinners. What’s the big deal? I saw some of them during the last school trip to the Abyss, and you know, it wasn’t that interesting as I expected. All those laments, screams, begging and everything... I don’t even understand what is it all about. I mean, first we tempt them to sin, and then we punish them for it? They should be our best buddies.

“I really don’t know what to do with you, Ab,” my mum sighs under her nose. She leans back in her chair, crosses her tattooed arms across her chest. She’s not mad anymore. She’s resigned. I feel a little bit guilty, she never asked for this. Half-demonic children are very rare. During that night when she lured my human father, she didn’t do it because she wanted a half-blood baby.

“Look, it’s all just boring,” I try to explain it to her. I wish she could understand. “The whole thing about sins... I just don’t care.”

“Oh my devil,” she mutters. “What have I done wrong?”

I don’t respond, because I have no idea.                  

“I know. And if this don’t help you, we’ll be lost,” she stands up and goes to the chest of drawers. She opens one drawer, searches through all the staff that is there and that we don’t use, but keep it for no reason, and she takes a small box.

I’ve never seen the box, maybe because I don’t open the drawers, but now my mom hands it to me, and her expression says that it is something important.

I open it. There is a photograph.

A tall, young man with dark hair and blue eyes looks at me from the picture. It’s summer, he’s in swimming trunks, his chest is muscular and naked.  He’s holding a drink with a little umbrella and grinning at the camera.

“Who’s this?” I ask, although a have a strange feeling I already know. I just feel it in my guts.

“This is the human, I... I mean, this is your human father. He’s name is Robert Smith. And he lives in a small town in America.”

“Great,” I put the photograph back into the box. I don’t know how I feel; I’ve just seen my human dad for the first time in my live, and for the first time I’ve heard his name. I’m not really excited. There’s really nothing between us two, except a few of his genes. “So what?”

“You’ll spend a few months with him,” my mum announces. Now I’m taken aback. I stare at her. Is she joking? She must be!

Or am I really going to make a little trip to America?

“I didn’t know we can leave Hell just like that,” I comment, shrugging my shoulders.

“You’re a half-human. You should get a visa for a few weeks. We’ll apply for it tomorrow morning,” she takes the picture and smiles at it distantly. Then she places it back in the box and closes it. “You’ll see, after a few weeks on Earth you’ll learn how to despise the humankind.”

 “If you say so, mum,” I shrug my shoulders again. 

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