A Kiss Of Death By Hayden G.


I walked as fast as I could in my heels, damn them now because the deadly demons following me with their glamour on in the half deserted streets. I am in a dilemma, do I scream for help or run and try to shake them off? If I look hard enough, through all their glamour, I see their scaly red skin that looked like it was going to flake off; they smiled at me under their black hoods, teeth yellow and nasty. Good thing my hair was up and stuffed under my hood because they would find me much more faster with my scent hanging in the air like a trail, it was after all humid and no air moving at all. I am glad I took track for two years; I decide to just slip off my heels and throw them in an alley as I take a turn off the block.
Most of the houses lighted up in the living rooms where perhaps fathers sit late up to drink beer and watch Syfy. Little boys watching Adult Swim in their pajama’s when they are not supposed to even glimpse or reading some Playboy. (Naughty naughty, children.) Teenage girls staying up late because they can’t sleep with their minds full of the guy they have a crush on—don’t we all do that once in a while?—and clueless mother’s snoring in the master bedroom upstairs.
If I scream I doubt the clueless humans would know that I’m about to be kidnapped from demons from Hell in about five seconds. You see I know things, see things, hear things I’m not supposed to know about. I was born being able to see them, another problem on top of another. I’ve read—when I sneak some glances in Harrah’s numerous random books—of stories throughout history that people like me were discovered of their abilities was killed by either mortals or the immortal. I see Demons and Angel’s behind their masks when they come down to play. Speaking of Demon’s, I hear them snicker that sounds so much more closer than before, like their breathing down my neck. I shiver at my sweat cold on my hot skin.
My breath hot and it’s not a good combination with the weather right now, I’m burning up even more while running, I might faint from the overheat exposure. My arms flung on both sides of my sides as I pump down the dark street. My chest was heaving a mile a minute, I wasn’t pacing but going full out, I’m going to burn up soon. I wipe clumsily wipe off a sheen of sweat on my face and dripping. I could feel my heartbeat pump and beat against my skin almost painfully. The streets were finally thickening with people; I must be by a club or something. I hope I am. This means (If I am right.) that if I get in a big enough crowd, I can lose them. Of course I don’t know if they can sense me or not and clearly distinguish me then everything is screwed. I’m screwed then; Harrah would miss her favorite student. She was the only woman that accepted my gift and me as her own. The mother that I never had. I always wondered who my parents were but I usually punch a wall after the thought because a kind of person that leaves their baby anywhere was not a good person to know, period. She raised me when she found me in the streets in New York City, where I have lived all my life since.
At the age 19 Harrah took me in when I was only a annoying toddler that stayed silent and unruly with her business to boot. It wasn’t great at sometimes, like when we didn’t have enough money to buy real food (Not cheap nasty frozen food.) for a couple of weeks when her customers lacked. I guess in winter not much people want to know about their dead loved ones.
I don’t even know why I was even out, oh right, I was on a errand for Harrah. To get a book from a friend of hers, the woman’s name is Mackey McMullan. A physic like Harrah and an old friend that had ‘something of interest’ to my surrogate mother. She was too busy with customers to get it herself and it was only a long walk towards. I have to shake them off before getting to the house; I don’t want to lead them anywhere I live.
Speaking of ‘something of interest’ that slim, about to tear apart book was stuck in my shirt and was pulsing (Or was it just my heartbeat?) as if it was alive. And subtly burned, okay this definitely has to be heart burn now. My breath was getting ragged and I could distantly hear over my heavy breathing the flapping of wings, I tried to run faster. Memories racing by my eyes every step because I knew they had come to take me away. Where I would never been seen alive or even at all again. And to top it all off I accidently (A clumsy critical error.) tripped on a ledge of the sidewalk. The cement was coming quick to my face, I put my hands in front to stop the fall but in my inertia my head kept going. I slammed into the floor and with a snap of my head my world ceased to exist.

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Um hey, i redid this and i am going to make it look like Mayfly finds the diary of Procel when she finds herself in Hell. ENOUGH SPILLING! BYE!

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 29.11.2010

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Widmung:
To Crystal that wanted to see this poem rise to novelism. Supporting me all the way.