Damien the Demon
Short Story Sessions #01 — Subject: Imposter Syndrome
Hi,
It’s me again. Well… Okay, you know what? It really bothers me that I can’t sleep. I know that you don’t want me to sleep though. Yes, sure I know that. But I just don’t wanna be one of those guys, you know. I don’t really like those guys. They are so fusty. I don’t wanna be fusty. I want to sleep. Not just napping, a full sleep!
Anyways, the thing is; I’m bored here. I am. I really am. Wish I had something else fancier to do rather than being inside those poor minds. This doesn’t really take me to anywhere, doesn’t really improve me at all. It just gives me chills, you know, talking all the time, keeping those edgy conversations up all the time, makes me so damn anxious!
And once again, I want to quit, please? Or just give me another job, won’t you? I bet you have got so many other jobs. Thanks to the Dark Energy, that avid bastard, makes the home expand as I heard, so eventually jobs must increase as well, right?
Alright, how about that job that making the wishes come true? How about that? What is the requirements for that fancy job? Like I’m gonna walk about and have an ear on the ground and having that magic stick with me, oh maybe no stick at all, and finding the subject, making the subject’s wishes come true? I want to apply for this job, please?
Oh, the gloriest job ever! I really do want to take that job, I do. And I won’t send any resignation letters if I get that job, no more letters! I promise.
Okay, yes, so this is my resignation, a zillionth time again, and hopefully this time it will be concerned by the dearest galactic authorities.
Eternally yours!
Damien the Demon,
Damien seals his resignation letter into the carrier asteroid and forwards it to the galactic DR headquarters. [Demon Resources]
‘Take it to where it belongs, won’t you!’ he yells after the crooked carrier asteroid.
‘Damn…’ he releases a heavy sigh.
He then looks out of his tiny human brain-shaped room’s misty windows, just located somewhere in the middle of the bleak universe.
Miserably nothing worthy to be seen out there, checks the TV instead. There’s just one channel to watch and one recorder accompanies the rest of the room. He watches the dreams on that rusty machine, he can also record the subjects’ dreams if he would like to, or let’s say if he finds them enough entertaining. The dreams belong to the subjects, and those subjects are mostly called humans.
He is the best demonizer in the universe, he knows nothing but to talk, to whisper, to mock, to demonize, to stalk. He is chosen for many awards, he knows he’s basically good at what he’s been doing at, sincerely since forever.
He had some quite unique subjects in his infinite lifetime. He’s been in that brain-shaped room since he’s known himself. He just doesn’t remember when he was put there, nor by whom. ‘Doesn’t matter anymore….’ he yearns from time to time, ‘doesn’t even matter…’ he sighs unwittingly.
And that was the 1478434121018th — one trillion four hundred seventy-eight billion four hundred thirty-four million one hundred twenty-one thousand eighteenth — resignation letter that he carefully sealed and sent to the DR headquarters, through the very expensive carrier asteroids.
Unfortunately, he only receives ‘Your resignation is in progress. Thank you for being patient with us.’ kinda dull replies in return. So, he doesn’t question anymore, no more whys. Since he’s been put in that human brain-shaped room, there had been 1714198434th — one billion seven hundred fourteen million one hundred ninety-eight thousand four hundred thirty-fourth — subjects he had to work with.
When the subject’s lifetime expires, that’s the exact moment he gets his bonuses. Those bonuses he can only use for calling the carrier asteroids or ordering new furniture or a new TV and a recording machine. But he only spends all his bonuses to call the carrier astroids to send his resignation letters. He hates that they are unnecessarily expensive to call in. Yet, he doesn’t care about that. All ever he wants is just to quit the job he’s been despising for loooooong enough.
He switches off the TV, no dreams even entertaining anymore. He wants to take a nap but he finds himself at work again. His latest subject is about to wake up, so his job begins.
Though he used to try to be silent, he did that before, so many times, to be getting fired, by any chance. But rather than getting fired, his bonuses got reset. Zero bonuses mean zero asteroids and zero asteroids mean zero letters. Zero letters mean zero possibilities. Even though that one-sided communication only makes him disappointed but he needs to send those letters until he gets out of that cracky room.
Compulsorily, he keeps talking. Talking bullshit all the time. Talking nasty. Talking filthy. Talking intensely harmful. Disturbingly, continuously, exhaustedly. Yes, indeed he is bored with the job but that doesn’t make him stop being good at it. He knows how great he is in his own style, his own kinda venoming.
Inner voicing, demonizing the humans, for so long. He’s been phenomenally glorious at it. So professional. No other demons had got any bonuses as he did successfully gain. No other demons even were able to call any carrier asteroids when he already called in millions of them.
He looks around, he looks at the human brain-shaped room’s ceiling. It’s transparent. Made of thick liquid as he assumes. He can see through nothing but darkness. Some comets, some dead stars, some explosions, just once in a while. But not the way he wishes them to be. He wishes to be located somewhere else more vivacious, but it’s just vicious instead.
Sometimes he even wishes to play a part in one of those dreams, even so, they all produced ridiculously. Yet he just wishes to be somewhere else rather than where he cosmically belongs.
As he longs for, the alarm warns him. That alarm warns him when his subject is fully awake and ready to be demonized. His latest subject is turning twenty-two, he’s been tickling her mind since she was four and a half years old. They met when she was by herself, talking to her favorite toys, in her room, alone.
Damien recalls that day like a second ago; ‘Why don’t you talk back to your toys, they are your friends, aren’t they?’ he sneaked into her consciousness. And she didn’t even hesitate, as an adventurously curious toddler, why would she though? She kept talking and talking, to her toys, to the walls, to herself, she kept talking. He smiles back on those days. Now she’s working hard to be a cellist. She’s been good at that. Even Damien likes her playing the cello. That’s how she kept getting good at that, each time he whispers in her soul;
‘So? Is it how you gonna play that shit? You would better do some karaoke maybe, you know just saying. Why don’t you give up on that? Or wait, how about you try playing some Rock Band instead?’
He wouldn’t guess though, that she also taught herself how to play piano, guitar, and viola by just listening to some of the best compositions. She reminds him of those prodigies he gladly demonized back in those days.
‘Wolfgang could have been nice to me,’ he recalls, ‘he’s been always cursing me phenomenally even though I tell him not to.’
Enough with the reminiscences, he feels bored and compellingly gets back to his business with his cutie-pie human subject.
‘Hey look who’s up early? Are you sure you don’t wanna sleep just a bit more? You can take your time. Snooze that shit, come on. Who wakes up at six in the fucking frozen morning?’
‘Oh, I better be sleeping just a bit, yes.’ She cozily snoozes the alarm and she snoozes the rest of them until the phone rings with an insisting incoming call rather than a mind-bending alarm tone.
‘What? Oh no! What time is it? Wtf! No way! Nine? Please tell me not! Alright, I’m on my way…’
Damien sighs, how poor he thinks. It’s been the same thing over the years. How sad subjects can be. He is grateful that he’s not a subject, not a human after all. That’s the only thing he’s been always grateful about.
‘You should put some makeup on. You look like a dead raccoon, not in a cute way!’ Damien sounds preferably zero humorous.
‘I can’t, I don’t have time for that. Let me be just pale. And won’t you just stop, please? I’m fucking late. Leave me!’
‘Wow, so is it my fault that you are late now? You are late for ages honey. And by the way, you’d even look fleshy at your funeral. Oh wait, or do you think your crush is into corpses?’
‘Jeez! She’s just a casual girl like me! She doesn’t have any makeup vloggerish expectations like you do, so fuck off please!’
‘Well, yeah you know what. You are right. When you pull those strings, your paleness could go well with your misery.’
‘My misery? I do really hate you! And if she likes me, she better likes me the way I am. So I don’t care.’
‘Oh, so you don’t care then? Your zombie eyes don’t agree with that when you stalk her Instagram each and every night, until moooorning!’
‘Fuck off! Just shut the fuuuck off!’ She furiously yells, in her tired mind, just while she tries to put some makeup on, in haste.
While rushing to the subway, Damien follows her instinctively.
‘You’re carrying this every day, you know you are going to have that scoliosis thing. You gonna look like an X-Men without any abilities but with a misfortune deformation. Upss no, sorry you’ll have that ability to make people go insane with your cello.’
She doesn’t respond, she hurries to catch the train. Damien keeps doing his job, as destructive as he can be.
‘Oh M’lady sorry for being yappy. But you know I’m just trying to help you, right?’
She puts the earphones in while she gets on the train, letting her indie playlist shuffle. Pulls out a scuffed book from her black-holish bag. That book only belongs to the trains, hoping to be finished one day. Her eyes gaze at the pages habitually, her mind won’t remember any word from it, never did.
‘Look at that shiny guy. He doesn’t look straight enough by holding that woman’s paws. Such chubby hands tough. You know what, your hands are beautiful. Very gentle. Kinda small though, but could be still useful somehow.’
She closes her eyes, clenching her teeth, and countdowns from sixty to one, as inhaling the smelly train and exhaling her angst out. She turns up the volume of her shuffling playlist, just to ignore Damien. Though Damien doesn’t mind her useless acts of ignorance, he keeps inner voicing right in her head.
‘Look at that baby, oh my. What would you think if there was a planet only the ugly ones live in? Okay, here’s the idea; if your kid is still ugly at the age of seven then by the rules you have to send them to the planet of the ugliness. Or you would let them turn into kittens or puppies instead. What would you do?’
‘The kid is not ugly at all! Shut up! And at age seven? Why age seven? Some people get prettier even at the age of their forties. Haven’t you heard of that saying, women like fine wine get better with age?’
‘Are you kidding me? Are you serious? Look at you, you think you believe in that shit? You already look dead in your twenties. You could only get prettier if you drink fine wine, maybe. But you actually need the money for that. Oh, wait, money? Yeah, it works on women better than fine wine. Well, not works on everyone though. Hmmm, but I think it wouldn’t work on you either.’
She rushes out of the train, not as fast as she wishes to be while heavily carrying her cello. Trying to catch the class even though she was already late for the part where she had to be playing. She finds out the elevator is under construction so she hurries to the stairways. Climbing each step as fast as she can. Her petite hands on the other hand help her to carry the heavy cello, and her tiny feet do their best to reach out to the ground.
‘Oh look, hey! Is this your crush kissing the calloused fingers violinist in your class?’
Life is an eye blink away from dreams. Those tiny feet misstep in an unexpected misguided disappointment, her small hands couldn’t catch her cello, and neither found something to hold or grab while she lose her balance. She falls repeatedly from the never-ending stairs, while her exhausted eyes scan and couldn’t trace her crush around, she knows there was no one but just Damien in her mind.
Damien looks out of the human brain-shaped room’s misty windows. Waits for the carrier asteroids, a hopeful reply for his resignation letters. He checks the TV, no dreams yet. It’s just darkness. While he yawns tediously a sudden clashing thunders his boredom. One of the carrier asteroids crushes through the window. What the! Damien rumbles. ‘Oh gosh, finally a reply then!?’ He unseals the letter with a never seen jubilant.
Dear Damien,
We are sorry, it took quite long to consider your resignation letters. You know we have so many things to handle. And yes, as you said, home is expanding so it brings many, many more responsibilities.
However, about your wishes. Actually the council didn’t want to lose you on the job. Because you are one of a kind. You have been quite good. You know demonizing is a messy job. But well done. So, maybe it is really time to change it. You mentioned in your letter to fancy being a Wish Maker, and absolutely we need new wish makers indeed. Thus we accept your resignition on quit being a Demon Inner Voice and to start your new position as being a Wish Maker!
We hope you will do just great as you did on the demonizing. By the time you finish reading this letter, you will be starting your new job, instantly.
Cosmic regards,
Demon Resources
When he finishes reading the letter, he immediately becomes a Wish Maker. Finally, he’s on earth and has a body, which he’s been dreaming of for that moment immortally.
He takes a deep breath while he finds himself in the hospital room, looking at the cello standing near the patient trolley.
That reminds him of what he doesn’t want to be reminded of, on his very first day of being a Wish Maker.
He smiles at her, dressed as a doctor, and warmly speaks;
‘You look great.’ Touches her hair softly.
‘You are a tough girl, aren’t you?’
She nods silently, while her eyes tell a lot.
‘So tough girl, tell me, what would you wish if you knew that if it was going to come true right now?’
He sounds professionally earnest as he hides his eagerness.
She numbly mumbles like she heard that voice before.
‘I want all the inner voices, all ever there or were, to leave the human minds forever and live in their own sick souls to destroy themselves by achingly, sorrowfully and as slowly as possible…. Thank you for asking, doctor. Even the longing of this thought relieved my pain in a hopeful way.’
Damien smiles deeply and nods, ‘Your wish is my command cutie-pie. You’ll be okay, don’t ever worry.’ then he leaves the room.
He leaves the earth forever to make her wish come true, as a Wish Maker on his very first day.