Page 159 of Devil Inside

A new direction in life. A path forged by a guiding hand. I’ll see her soon enough.

There’s nothing here for me. Everyone is corrupted already.

What’s left?

I am water without a receptacle. Water doesn’t yearn for an urn. It doesn’t wish to be contained. It wants to be free, boundless, without shape. Without form. I have no shape. No definition. I need to fill. To find a fresh vessel. But there is nothing here for me.

No body to call my own.

I’m going to whip them all into a frenzy. Let’s keep on dancing... Dancing...

I tell myself that I have a task to do, an infernal service to uphold—tip the scales—but I just can’t do it anymore. What’s the point?

I’ve lost a taste for my talents. I used to love what I do. Now it’s too easy. They all want it while I don’t. I don’t want any of this. I haven’t for so long now.

I want him. Needhim.

Jordan. He’s the only light worth basking in. The only skin worth wearing.

Where is he?

effigies and apologies

Jordan

They are burning. Look at them all go, so fast, their bodies embracing the flames. Their limbs curl over so quickly, bending backward, retreating into themselves as they immolate, a fetal position in the fire, all of it punctuated by an intermittent sizzle and pop.

They’re yearning to burn.

I flinch at the hiss, keeping my eyes closed a moment longer, until my breath settles.

“Wanna beer?”

When I open my eyes back up, I find Freel holding out a Pabst for me. A shiny offering. The can captures the firelight, a shimmering bullet aiming straight for me.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Trying to cut back.” I’m surprised he can’t catch a whiff of the scotch soaked into me. I must smell like a distillery.

“End of an era.” Freel cracks the can for himself. “All good things must come to an end.”

Tonight’s the end of the world. Going out in a blaze of glory. The house party to end all house parties. From the vibes, everyone knows it, throwing down like nobody’s waking uptomorrow. Richmond will be nothing but ashes when the sun rises. At least Oregon Hill.

“To the Saddle Sores,” Freel toasts the fire. “To closing up shop for good.”

This is where the world ends. An inferno of a house party heralding the closure of our bike club. No more Saddle Sores. There won’t be much of this place standing after tonight.

It’s a wake. A funeral service for our former selves.

The end.

The living room is clamoring with dancers. I can’t go in just yet. Too many people.

I’ll spot someone watching. A passing glance. Their eyes will linger a beat longer, staring at me, like they know who I am, even if I’ve never seen them before. How did I get so popular all of a sudden? Is it something I did?

You can’t just call upon us and expect us not to answer,the demon at the bar said.