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.


3. I Become a Big Brother

The  guest room turns out to be a spacious bedroom at the attic. The walls are white, the furniture is simple and wooden. It’s a space without personality – and it is somehow welcoming, because I can easily imagine this room becoming my own.

I put my backpack and suitcase on the double bed, and look at my dad, who is opening the window. He stays with his back towards me, but he must somehow feel my eyes on himself, because he looks around and casts me a questioning look.

“You have a bathroom here,” he points at the white door in the corner. “You can unpack your things before we go to get Amanda.”

I ignore the part “we”, cause honestly, I am not going anywhere. The travel from Hell has been exhausting. I sit on the bed, feel the soft mattress and dream of lying down to sleep. But I get up, unzip my suitcase, turn it upside down. All my things fall onto the white rug which covers the bed.

My dad stares at the pile of  my clothes, picks up a T-shirt and frowns at it. It’s a black T-shirt with a red pentagram and blood-red letters saying: “Hell Rules.” No, I’m not that patriotic. Before I left Hell, my mom did some shopping for me, so that I could fit in the human society.

Apparently she didn’t success.

“These are your only clothes?” He asks. I just shrug my shoulders. It’s a really stupid question; all my stuff lies here before him to see. And ever the jumper I wear is black with an image of a demon’s face on it. Or at least of something, what human think that looks like a demon. “You can't walk around in these.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not what decent people wear.”

I cross my arms across my shoulders. “I’m a half-demon. You sure don’t thing you can tell me what to wear?”

His eyes harden, and his eyebrows gather low above his eyes like stormy clouds.

“I don’t know what you’re used to, but at my house kids don’t talk like that to their parents,” he says slowly, as if giving me time to grasp the whole idea. “We’ll pick up your sister and go shopping. You won’t dress up like that.”

So, about an hour later, I sit in my dad’s minivan, listening to music on my mp3 and totally ignoring him. I look watchfully through the window. We’re at the centre of the town now, at the old town with houses made of red brick, with wide roads, shops and crowds of people going up and down the streets. We stop at the school, and several minutes later the door burst open and a horde of children storms out, overflowing the school yard. I watch them, little boys with superheroes on their T-shirts, little girls with piggy-tails and pink ribbons in their hair. There are older kids, too – they walk with smart phones, with headphones in their heads, or in groups, gossiping and giggling – if it comes to girls – and listen to loud rap music and cursing, if it comes to boys.

“Just like in Hell,” I mutter under my nose.

My dad looks up, and I can see his eyes reflected in the mirror; he frowns again – maybe he has limited facial expression? – and sighs heavily.

“Louis, don’t mention it. Especially not to your sister,” he says. He makes it sound like a polite request, but I know it’s really a command. Hell is a taboo here. I guess he doesn’t want Laura to know he slept with a demon.

“All right, all right,” I mutter and blink at the sight of a VERY PINK girl walking slowly toward our car. She may be eleven or twelve years old. She has long golden hair pinned with a pink hair-slide, a light-pink blouse and an intense-pink netting skirt. She looks like a ballerina, or a Barbie doll, and I repeat in my mind a silent plea: Don’t come here, just pass by the car.

She doesn’t pass by the car. She looks at me through the window, smiles so widely I can see the brace on her teeth, and starts to wave both her hands at me in excitement. Then she remembers she should get into the car; she opens the door and jumps onto the seat by me.

“I can’t believe it!” she shouts and she has so high-pitched voice that my ears hurt. She grins, extends her hands towards me. She gives me a really tight hug, as if she tried to squeeze the juice out of me, and I can only groan, because there’s no way I can escape.

“Amanda, seat belts, please,” my – no, our – father laughs. She unglues herself of me, fastens her seat belts, and then gazes at me with amazement.

“I can’t believe it!” she squeals again. We leave the school parking. “When dad told me I have a big brother, I couldn’t believe it, but you’re really here! I’m so happy, I’ll introduce you to all my friends! Wait, I have an idea,” she pulls out her smart phone, turns in the camera and moves closer to me, so that we both fit in the picture. In the next second the flash glares me. “Great, all my friends will see it!”

I don’t comment this, just looking at her with really mingled feelings.

“So, where do you live? Why your mom didn’t tell dad about you earlier? What do you like to do? Will you go to school with me?” she pelts me with questions. “Do you have a girlfriend? What’s her name? How have you made your eyes so blue? Your hair’s so cool!”

“Amy, remember to breathe,” our dad jokes.

I look away, but I still can feel her eyes on me.

The shopping centre is a disaster. In one second Amanda finds out I need to change my wardrobe, and in the next she’s running up and down the aisles, from one shop to the other, picking up the things she likes and rushing me to try them.

“She’s just very excited,” dad tells when we’re in a fitting room. Amanda is gone, she looks for a bigger size on a hoody she likes. “Let her have some fun.”

“Maybe let her choose something for her,” I propose. I look at the pile of clothes before me. “Or we’ll never leave the damn shop.”

“Language, Louis... No, Amy, this is enough,” he shakes his head when my sister comes back with several pars of T-shirts. “Don’t you think we should let Louis buy what he likes?”

“I’m just trying to help!” she protests.

I don’t really care what they’ll buy. It’s not like I’m going to stay on Earth for long. But I’m not in mood for looking for clothes, so I pick some from Amanda’s pile.  

“Dad, can I have this?” she picks something from a shelf when we’re about to leave the shop. I stop to look at it; it’s a small make up kit. I turn around to go back to the counter, but dad stops me.

“You’re too young for this.” He shakes his head “no”. “Let’s go back to the car.”

He leaves the shop, but Amanda stays behind, with pursed lips and a very disappointed expression on her face.

“All my friends can wear make for parties,” she mutters to me. “But dad and mom think it’s silly.”

I sigh under my nose. Maybe she’s tiring and annoying, but I know how it is to feel different. And, after all, she’s my half-sister.

“Just hide between the clothes,” I advise her, giving the bag I carry a shake.

Her eyes get very wide.

“I can’t steal it!” she whispers. “The gate’s going to beep!”

“Nothing’s going to happen. Believe me,” I smirk at her.

She hesitates for a second or two, and hides the kit under her jumper. We walk out of the shop; the gate starts beeping, and I turn around to the shop assistant and weave the bag at her. She has just sold us a lot of clothes; she shrugs her shoulders and motions at us to go.

“You told nothing would happen!” Amanda hisses at me.

I laugh.

“And I was right. You have what you wanted, don’t you?”

She nods her head hesitantly.

I smile ironically to myself. Maybe I’m not so bad at being a demon after all.

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