Demon/Human [IRONPHOENIX and BOWELS]
“I wish you wouldn’t put on so much eye makeup.”
Sarah gasped. The eyeliner flew out of her hand and flailed through the air until it hit the marble countertop, where it splintered and crumbled. Her hand clutched at her chest, and her eyes flicked to her mother in the mirror. She scowled at her mother’s amused expression.
“Jesus, Mom.” Sarah muttered and looked down, then heaved a sigh. “Look what you made me do. That was my last—”
Before she could finish, her mom produced a very nice, pricey looking stick of eyeliner, the smile igniting her mother’s lips immediately. Sarah’s angry face faltered, a twitching grin soon appearing, and she gratefully took the article of makeup from her mother’s hand.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” her mother said, pressing a kiss to Sarah’s cheek. Sarah only beamed, analyzing the eyeliner extensively. This had to be MAC’s latest collection, she thought. It made her little heart pitter-patter with delight. “Now, hurry up and finish that…stuff. You’ve got a few more things waiting for you downstairs.
Sarah expressed her thanks through a large hug, and with a small wink, her mother dismissed herself. With renewed vigor, Sarah picked up where she had left off.
In a way, this was a day of mourning. Today was her 21st birthday, and here she was in her parent’s home, getting ready for a job she absolutely hated. When she graduated, she’d expected so much more for herself. By this time, she’d already planned to own her own salon and be known as one of the youngest, brightest beauticians in Columbus, Ohio, and maybe (if she was lucky) she would’ve found a guy who wasn’t totally pathetic and consider getting hitched in a few years.
Obviously, it’d been wishful dreaming of a 17 year old girl with a fresh diploma in her hand.
Her parents had forked over all the money required for one of the best schools in the tri-state area, and less than a year later she’d showed up on her parent’s doorstep again with a large, black bag of makeup, hair accessories and broken dreams. Plus, she was broke in general; ergo why she was leeching off her parents and getting ready for a nine hour shift at K-Mart on her birthday.
Fifteen minutes passed before she was satisfied with herself. She’d gotten her smoky eye just right, and the upper eyelid’s black liner was symmetrical. Her eyeliner thinly edged on the water line of her mucky, brown-green eyes enough to wear it made her eyes pop. She penciled some lip-liner onto her lips before and mindlessly fiddled with her nametag one last time before she was finished. Compared to many women, she was tame; the only thing she religiously believed in was eye makeup. Otherwise, she kept it simple, leaving the blush aside and using the foundation when acne reared its ugly head. As for her lips, it was her favorite part of her face; why not accent it?
Her dark, brown hair was kept in a low, loose ponytail, which was cheated off more to the left on purpose. Her bangs swooped over her forehead boringly, and she otherwise looked quite uneventful; she appeared nothing more as an unimportant, over-aged K-Mart employee.
She trudged down the stairs in her bland khakis and average, red polo, pushing on a few random bangles on the way down. Sarah blew out the candle on the small cupcake her mother had made her, gulped it down quickly before giving her dad a kiss on the cheek and her mother a hug and heading out the door. They awkwardly followed her to the door, watching her every move as she stepped outside and shut the door. When she climbed into her dinky old car, she glanced towards the large windows in the foyer, and saw her parents looming near it, gloomily staring back at her.
What the hell was their problem?
Sarah Meyers walked through the backdoor of K-Mart at 9:07 that morning and shoved past several coworkers in her haste to punch in. If her supervisor took a dollar from her paycheck for every time she’d been late in the past year, she’d be working to pay them off; in fact, after the last time she’d turned up forty minutes late, he’d threatened her with something along those lines.
“Hey, old lady—careful, or you might break hip.”
Her head snapped back towards the source, her body turning round quickly. The man who had spoken dwarfed her easily. He stood to a lean 6’5 and had the hands of a giant. His hair was unkempt and a deep sheened black and his eyes were a painfully dull brown. He had a bit of a scruff growing over the well-defined, manly angles of his face. His leather brown shoes clashed with his outfit, she noted.
In his hands was her punch ticket—signed for 8:59.
A swell of relief filled her chest. Her face dropped, and she let out a few nervous, airy chuckles. Then she slumped forward and shook her head in disbelief.
“Taylor, you’re the man,” she groaned. Maybe today wouldn’t be as horrible as she’d anticipated. “I saw my life flash before my eyes”
He snorted. “Well, c’mon Grandma, we don’t have all day.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. Though her aspirations and outward appearance didn’t show it, she was more of a guy’s friend; most girls were too caddy for her, and she liked holding her own, rather than depending on a gaggle of chicks. Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t have any girlfriends, just not many.
“I’m not even that much older than you, asshole,” she sneered, and crossed her arms over her chest.
A smirk decorated his lips and he took a step forward, messing up her hair a bit. She punched him bicep and immediately went to fix it. “No,” he agreed “but I think I see a gray hair in there—”
Sarah mimicked him in a rather snarky manner then flipped him off. She turned on her heel and began to walk away, and she heard Taylor laughing behind her.
Taylor had graduated last year, and though he was only 19 years old, he was just as much of a failure as she’d been. He didn’t try to shoot for college; he found a job at K-Mart and called it good. Of course, that’s how most of her friends were.
Her fast paced gait didn’t halt itself until they reached electronics. Her face perked up a bit, her eyebrows raising expectantly and a smile beginning to crawl across her lips, preparing for a greeting. Just before she could say anything, though, things suddenly went all wrong.
Perhaps they’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, or it was just fate. The televisions all around them suddenly turned off, and before she could even acknowledge it, the glass in them shattered, jetting out in all sorts of directions.
Sarah gave a small yelp, but before anything could damage her, she felt someone wrap onto from behind and hold her close. When the surprise barrage ended, she looked up only to see a startled Taylor, eyeing her with concern, as well as a small frown. A few cuts dressed his arms, and there was a couple of tears in his shirt. She didn’t think he was bleeding, but if he was, at least the shirt was red.
“What the fuck was that?” He asked himself wide eyed, surveying Sarah. “Are you alright?”
Sarah only looked down at herself, her heart skipping a beat. She couldn’t help but feel like this was somehow her fault.
The Keeper of Metal
He’d been tracking the filth for weeks now, and frustratingly whenever he seemed a hairs breath from squeezing the soulless life from its pencil sized neck it was as if it faded from sight. Whenever he came close, it seemed to know and apparent crafty little bastard. Now though the hunter and had taken to a less direct tactic, allowing his prey to believe the chase had been given up, subtly tailing its trail as a shadow. At this moment the hell imp, believing his pursuer was long retired, though it would poke fun at the mortals.
It’s last mistake.
Martin as his “associates” had taken to calling him had made his home in that shadows in the room, shimmering hazel eyes darting about ascertaining any tells of the foul thing’s location. He could see two humans huddled together rather confused as to why there were sudden happenings, fright filled faces painted on the both of them. Martin ignored them, inconsequential to his assignment and should they die it would be only collateral damage, that worst thing that could happen to them would be ascending golden stairs to cotton candy land, or perhaps they would join him in eternal misery if they hadn’t been good little boys and girls, he could honestly care less.
One tends to become apathetic after seventeen-hundred years of servitude.