*Contains attempted suicide
“What do you want from me?”
Humans are simple creatures. They’re predictable. They love to take and use, but cry when being used themselves. They use anything to survive even if that thing is someone they once loved or cherished.
“How about money or girls...maybe boys, if that’s what your into. Look, I’ve go a son at home, he’s—sick. Yea, he’s super sick, please man.”
They make excuses for every action and when they run out of those, they begin using scapegoats. Sacrificing whatever they can to calm the flame.
“ Are you bobby’s boy? I will get you your money, but my wife is being... trailer trash. She keeps sending me out to get beers haha... how about you just take her or something.”
(He bought all the beers) Humans, then reach for a beings they’ve never seen for
Please lord, help me!”
I’m a catholic myself, but I believe sometimes god needs you to take things into your own hands. Maybe, not in an old, dark alleyway behind the gas station. A short white guy, crawling away, dirtying his brown cargo pants, yelling for me to drop the bat.
“What do you want from me?” He says this with his blue button up pressed against the dark corner of the back ally.
“At Night, some cry, in the dark, some shout,” I begin to sing one of my mother’s favorite songs. Not the fake lady who sends me $5,000 every month, while she’s sleeping in Paris with 5 million. My real mother, who sang to me when I was scared and wanted to give up.
“The devil he talks and honey, he’s listening now”. I swing the bat, with loser written on it from when Mr. Cargo pants lost to me in baseball and hit me with it. I continue my Lullaby, “ So soft yet, so loud. Don’t let your head be the one he drowns,” I give him a hit to the ribs for every toilet swirl, every time he stepped on my head, every time he’s hit me in the exact spot . I give him one hit to the head, so he’ll have to use Bobby’s money for a makeover. I bent down, so I can look ,the guy who made my life a living hell, in the eyes, “I hope your life’s a living hell just like you made mine, now get the hell out of my city...without your wife. Ok?.” He struggles to shake his head, but I see it. I stand up and dig into my pocket for a piece of paper I tore from a notebook, I cross off;
Cayden O’Neal (Halo)
I don’t enjoy the nightmares that comes with what I do. The continued feeling of uneasiness, the thought of if a single drop of sweat was left or a slip of my mask. I think of these things, even in my English lit class, I can never quite follow the class. My teacher, Mr. Joe (Halo), but everyone calls him Average Joe because he’s just boring. He wears a white button up, tucked into his off black slacks. He’s average, black hair groomed into a perfect teacher look, blue eyes, stubble. I mean the only thing special about Mr. Average Joe is his heavy Long Island accent and even that’s more annoying than interesting. No one can follow his class, the only reason people are passing his class is because for every test, he leaves to flirt with the French teacher.
“Class dismissed,” I pack my 2 spiral notebooks and three 30 pound textbooks into one bag. The bell rings as I get up from the navy blue metal chair that feels more like nails. I almost escape his bright blue classroom with an intoxicating scent of old and moldy, when Mr. Average Joe calls me to the front to talk about my “behavior”.
“ Mr. Ackerman, I’ve seen your grades and I understand your mothers pasting must have been hard. However, as a teacher I have to talk to you about this.” Ha. What do you know Mr. Average Joe? You’re more focused on the teenage girls walking by then about my grades. I don’t understand how a boring and perverted man like him is going to heaven and I know this because 2 inches above his head is a bright blue halo.
A lot of people believe your life choices make you go to heaven or hell, but they’re assigned to you at birth rather than throughout life. The only way to change the fate assigned to you is to sign a contract with either a demon or an angel. For example, Since Mr. Joe has a halo above his head , he will go to heaven no matter how many girls skirts he looks up, unless he signs a contract with a demon. The only reason I can see the halo is because I signed a contract with a demon.
Six months ago, It had rained the night before, so my head was stuck to the ground making sure my new shoes didn’t get all muddy. The breeze was just right like a beach rather than an old Seattle park, the more I walked the more the slight breeze turned heavy. I dropped my head further, fighting the wind instead of just walking through it. Suddenly, the wind stopped like there was no time or space. Nothing existed anymore, like a vacuum came and sucked everything away the bright moon, the park lights, and the weird man jogging around the parks fountain going with it. I don’t remember the being in front of me or if it was a being at all. All I remember is darkness, something that crawls on your skin, lingering . Something you couldn’t quite wash off . I knew it was looking at me, through me, swallowing me whole yet, I couldn’t look away.
I signed the contract stating,” I would exact revenge on the following list:
Cayden O’Neal (halo ), Franky Hubbard (horns), Naomi O’Moore(halo), Ian Busby(halo), and Gail Jefferson(halo). Revenge is anything the user thinks is valid . User will use the demonic power of the contract owner until following acts have been committed. At the end of this contract the user will kill themselves and become the devil’s aide .” The aide bit was a bonus, I believe you have to make the most out of a bad situation and having nice food, and housing is the best you can make it.
The next thing I know I woke up feeling stronger, faster, healthier, and being able to see where someone is going when they die. I’ve found the more I know someone, the more I know about their afterlife, like what tier, date, and the reason.
“Do you understand, Mr. Ackerman?”
“Of course, thank you.”
I walk out of the classroom glad lunch is next. I usually put my backpack in my locker, but today has been quite exhausting, so I go straight to the roof. No one knows about it and if they do they think it’s off limits and locked. The funny thing is, I broke the lock once I got my powers. It was on accident, but it was cool at the time. It’s the perfect place to just clear your mind. I open the big double gray doors that have that push bar on it, ready for the city breeze to hit and the either cloudy or sunny day, you never know in this city. Instead, of the quiet and quaint roof that has become a second home to me, the air is thick, almost heavy. Even the weather knew, a boy standing on the outside of the fence, that outlines the top of the roof, is a bad thing.
I’m Jamal Ackerman.
The high school boy ,whose so disconnected with the world that he signed a contract with the devil.
The rich kid, who just beat a man half to death. This Jamal was about to say four words that break his rules of life.
Don’t get involved, mind your own business.
He was about to pled to this kid, he’s never met to not jump.
End of chapter 1