Trashy Demon Chronicles Chapter 1, Part 1
Chapter 1.1 - The Start
"Thanks," I say to the guy I pick up my cigs from at the corner store. I hit the pack against the palm of my hand over and over, and it reminds me of this old anti-smoking commercial where a girl packing cigarettes turns into an orangutan slapping his palms together. The motion was a bit like an ape clapping, I chuckled to myself, but it’s almost more of an endorsement than a deterrent. That’s one good thing about my condition; I can smoke all I like now, my insides can’t get any blacker.
I end up behind a group of sorority chicks as I leave- the kind I used to hate when I was mortal. They smell delicious. Their click-clacking chatter only makes me want to end them more.
I linger behind them longer than necessary. I don’t bother to light my cigarette, as I don't want to dilute their essence. I follow them 5 blocks out of my way. Wafting their heady scent through my nostrils is almost enough to satiate my hunger. Almost. I haven't fed in so very long.
But I have rules. I’m not your typical hellion.
I wasn't a bad girl, either. Just dumb. Super, super dumb. And I ended up a demon.
Demons aren't what you’d imagine, you know. They can look like you and me.
Well, of course they look like ME.
I am one.
*****
I wasn't always a demon. I was a human woman named Nolita. A girl, really. Once upon a time, I'd talk your ear off about anarchism and fuckin’ social justice, man, all that shit.
But that was mostly me parroting my then-boyfriends ideas.
He was a "wythe,” a follower of a popular New Age religion, that had reached it’s peak in the 70’s. Mr. Wythe and fancied himself a rabble-rouser. He didn't live by "the rules," he just did what he wanted.
And I did what he wanted. He wanted me to become a "wythe" like him. He was an ambitious neopagan, and wythes accept and incorporate all belief systems. Some people use this to start hippie community centers, but Mr. Wythe was a different sort.
It was his goal to commune with Satan himself. He felt Satan was just misunderstood.
“He’s more of a mischievous Pan-like god, or an androgynous Baphomet,” he mused.
They all have horns and cloven feet, right?
I'm ashamed to admit that I would have done ANYTHING for Mr. Wythe. Literally. It's the biggest regret of my mortal life, being so single-mindedly devoted to such a fool.
I learned the hard way, ladies, don't do the same. You might end up like me, or worse. Actually, that depends on whether or not you believe it's worse to die or to roam the earth as a minion of Hell for eternity.
So I became a wythe. The first time we did the black Sabbath ritual (which, awesomely, included a Black Sabbath cassette playing), the ground shook and a thick, grey fog hung in the room, manifesting from seemingly nothing.
"Wow!" I said, "you really been holdin’ out on me! That was AMA-ZING!" I spoke in that girlie, singsongy way.
One look at their terrified faces and I realized the ground shaking was no ordinary occurrence.
    As it turned out, these things ONLY happened when I was around.  None of the other Wytches had ever experienced anything more than some funky dreams. Yet, we kept doing the Sabbaths. Mr. Wythe really felt we were getting somewhere. Things got more intense at each ceremony.
Things eventually got too intense because Mr. Wythe freaked out. He thought he wanted real contact, but it seemed the Dark Lord was only interested in me. Mr. Wythe started to pull away. Until one day I came home to him fucking Morgana, our secretary-treasurer. (Being a Wythe was a lot like being on a student council)
I was furious. Here I was bending over backward to be the perfect princess of darkness, and here he was with Morgana literally bent over backwards! I left without breathing a word.
So I retreated with what dignity I had to contact the Dark Lord. My sole purpose: vengeance.
It was on the third attempt he finally spoke to me. He whispered in my ear.
“Nolita...”
Now, I wasn't prepared for how sweet the devils breath is. It's extremely convincing. It entered my mind like a mist, clouding my eyesight briefly along with my judgment.
Satan told me to get "just a bit" of blood from Morgana. Just a little blood and revenge would be mine. Further instructions awaited me after I obtained it.
I feel it's silly to tell you that was a trick. "It's the DE-VIL! Duh!" I bet you’re saying. But I was under the spell, my ego intoxicated by the thrill of dishing out just desserts....
End of 1.1