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.


4. First day in human school

“You don’t want me to go to school, believe me,” I tried to persuade my father, when he stood before me with a backpack that he’d prepared before my arrival. “Besides, I have holidays. The school year in Hell ended about two weeks ago.”

“But here, on Earth, kids still go to school,” he placed my backpack on the bed. It was a late evening, and I was in that bed although I couldn’t believe it. I had never had a bedtime before. “And you’re supposed to live like a human, right?”

“You won’t make me!” I hissed through my teeth.

I was wrong.

Now it’s Wednesday morning, a quarter past 7 am, and I sit by the kitchen table playing with my cereals. Amanda sits in front of me, a perfect little daughter with pink ribbons in her blond hair, and watches me with a mixture of curiosity and amazement.

“Eat your breakfast, Louis,” our dad frowns at me from above his cup with coffee. I glare at him and stab the cereals with my spoon.

“I’m not hungry,” I bark.

I’m mad with him, because he poured me with cold water after I refused to leave my bed. I have no idea how this happened, but somehow he managed to drag me downstairs and sit me by the table. It all happened with an accompaniment of my sighs and snaps and his 'watch your tone, young man', 'hurry up', 'wash your face' and 'don’t make me come here to help you'.

“It’s a terrible idea,” I mumble with my mouth full of cereals. They are not the good type of cereals, with sugar and chocolate, but the healthy type. It’s really more like oatmeal, and I don’t like it, but I eat it because I’m hungry.

“Louis, please,” Laura looks at her watch. She’s an English teacher at Amanda’s school, and the primary and secondary school share the same building, so I’m to go with them. “I cannot be late for classes.”

“But what with my hair?” I ask. It’s my final defence. “I though students are not allowed to have colourful hair?”

“It’s an artistic school,” Laura tells. “Most kids don’t dye their hair, but nobody cares if someone does.”

Great. Just great.

I finish my breakfast. Laura and Amanda wait for me by the door.

“Remember it was your idea,” a glare at my dad.

“Behave yourself, Louise. Or forget about Saturday’s trip to the zoo”, he keeps sipping his coffee.

“Zoo?” I repeat, surprised.

“I though you’d like to see it,” he tells, now looking me in the eyes. “But no troubles, Louise. Try to fit in.”

Laura calls me again, this time from the car, so I hurry to get in the backseat. I still hate the whole idea about school, bus even if earlier I planned to make it a total catastrophe, now I think about the zoo and all the wild and strange animals I’ve never seen, and maybe I would never see if I don’t go to the zoo this weekend.

“I’ll walk you to the secretary,” Laura offers, while Amanda hugs me good-bye theatrically to make sure everybody see it. I wait ‘till she’s done.

“No need, I’ll be fine by myself,” I tell Laura. I’m not blind, I see where all the older teens go, and I don’t need anyone to babysit me. I turn back to go, when one thought crosses my mind, “Hm, Laura? So what family name has dad used when he registered me to school? His or my moms?”

“Louis Blackheart. It was in your papers.”

“Thanks,” I nod my head.

I try to meddle  into the crowd of teens, heading from the entry opposite the one where the younger kids go. I feel strange, remembering my first day at school in Hell and hating it. Half-demons are rare; I was only seven, but all the kids knew I was different, and I knew that they knew.

Now everybody glances at me, too. Some stares openly. This is a small town, a small school of the kind where everybody knows everybody. I spot a girl with intense pink hair, and feel a bit relieved. Maybe I won’t be a total weirdo.

I enter the school and look around. The secretary is the first door I see, and five minutes later I am at the corridor again, this time holding a schedule in my hands. In my backpack, there are notebooks, and I’ve been informed to get the school books from the library. So I look for the library, trying to appear to be confident in where I’m going.  

 When I finally arrive to my first lesson, I’m about ten minutes late and I consider not entering the classroom at all. But then I remember about the zoo – skipping classes probably is one of the things my dad regards as ‘trouble’, and I really, really want to see monkeys.

When I enter, everybody sits by their desks. The lesson has already started. I stop at the doorstep. The stares everybody gives me is like an invisible wall that prevents me from getting any further.

“Oh, you must be Louis,” the teacher, a middle-aged woman with two chins smiles at me. “Got lost, did you?” she asks and adds, “I’m your class teacher. Come in, come in. Maybe a few words about yourself?”

“No, thanks,” I sink into the first free chair, realising my mistake only when I remember it’s in the first row. The class giggles, and a black-haired girl in glasses smiles at me from the neighbour seat.

“All right, dears, lets move on,” the teacher clasps her hands. “From now on, we’ll work at new projects. You’ll divide into groups and prepare a presentation about our town’s history. I want you to get engaged in this; don’t rely on the Internet, just walk around, look for legends, mysteries. The more interesting the better.”

Students start talking the very second she stops. I stare at the blackboard before me; I know how it’s going to be. Nobody will choose me, the teacher will just sign me into a random group, people will be awkward.

“You can work with us if you want to,” I hear.

I look up, quite surprised. It’s the girl – she gives me a smile, and her teeth are very white in comparison to her very black hair.

“My name’s Rachel,” she adds and then points at the students behind us. There’s a ginger haired, short girl with freckles, and a lanky boy with pierced ears, “These are Susan and Peter. Usually we work together.”

They both smile and nod their head. If they don’t want me in the group, they don’t show it. I glance at Rachel; she keeps her head high, she emanates with self-confidence. I sense she’s a leader here. Whatever she says, the two at the second desk will do.

“All right, I need an ‘A’,” she says. “We need something unique. Any ideas?”

“Let's go to the library and search in old papers,” Susan proposes, but Rachel shakes her head, “No, everyone is going to do that. We need a great story. Something more than can be read.”

“So let's go to the cemetery,” I say.

She gives me a bright smile. Little do I know that in no so distant future I will be so, so sorry that I didn’t bit my tongue.

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