(couldn’t use the letter “u” in this exercise)
To someone who didn’t really know her, Margaret might be called “nice,” or “not excessively noisy.” To those who did know her, however, the real story was a little different.
When nobody was looking, Margaret was a demon.
Not a metaphorical demon. No, no. The real thing.
The thing was, however, that she wasn’t one of the worst of her ilk. Not by a long shot. For a demon in the form of a early-30s woman, she was really pleasant to be with. It wasn’t like she was always making a play for evil; honestly, she’d rather be left alone. She liked it here on Earth. It was serene – loads more serene than, well, she called it “the other place.”
“All the shrieking,” she told me once after a night of drinking to forget a boy I knew. “It really gets on the nerves after awhile.”
I was, as they say, completely blasted when we had this conversation. Even so, I still remember it like no other conversation I’ve had while that inebriated. “Wait, what did….”
“Yeah, I’m a demon – lower-case ‘d’,” she said. “Here on earth for a break.”
She saw the look that had to be on my face.
“Don’t worry – I’m one of the good ones. Comparatively speaking.”
And she was. As it happened, she became my best friend. After all, isn’t that something I want in a best friend? A nice person to really cares for me, and can completely destroy anyone that tries to break my heart?
I came home one day to find her in my living room. She had a key to the place, so it wasn’t a big deal. What was a big deal was that her face was…”shifted” is the only word I can think of.
“What’s the matter,” I asked. Something was wrong. I had never seen her like this. Literally.
“It’s my dad,” she said, sobbing, the tears somehow evaporating before they really got to falling. “He said I have to come home.”
“Home,” I asked?
“Yeah,” she said, pointing down at the floor. “Home.
(an exercise based on the “Letter Go” exercise from Take Ten for Writers by Bonnie Neubauer)