Hell Sent~Heaven Bound

Chapter 1: "Friends"

“But daaaad!” I whined into the blood stained goblet. “I don’t want to go to another new collage!”

“You will do as your uncle orders unless you want the reaper to be reaped,” my dad whispered making the blood ripple.

The warm blood was bright and fresh making a crisp line against the silver cup. I sighed setting it down and walking to my closet. I began throwing what little clothes I had in a pink suitcase covered in skulls. “I’m getting sick of this shit dad!” I slammed the suitcase shut letting my black hair swing in front of my eyes, the pink streaks filtering the bright light streaming in through the window.

“Harley, you know I can’t hear you when you walk away from the goblet. I can barely hear you anyways, did you use fresh blood?” He scolded.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my ritual bag walking back to the goblet. “Yes sir, I slit my roommates throat,” I said tossing a glance down at my dead friend on the floor. She looks so peaceful except for the gruesome slit in her neck. I winced a little thinking about how much work it was to get the damn prude to rebel from her totally religious ways. I never really liked her anyways.

I could hear my dad’s frustrated sigh and knew he was going to scold me again for being reckless and not covering my tracks, but I never got caught. That’s one of the perks of being a demon, easy escape plan I guess. “I’ve got this under control dad, I’ll call you when I get to the next town.” Before he could answer I dumped the now tainted blood down the drain of the small shared bathroom and rinsed my silver goblet, throwing it in my ritual bag once I had dried it.

I ran my fingers threw my thick hair, watching myself in the tiny mirror above the sink. I had a thin face with a pointed jaw and pale skin. Freckles doted the bridge of my nose intertwining with the squiggly demonic scar etched into my cheek. Not every demon born has this mark but those born between light and dark forces are. Each is different, but mine is a sideways ankh. You could say my family is twisted and constantly at war with each other. My eyebrows, left one pierced, made a high arch over my pale grey eyes which I could change them to whatever color I wanted, but I liked to freak people out with how plain they could be. Flashing them black was always fun because people would think they’re mind was playing tricks on them. My lips were a thin line, almost invisible if it weren’t for my snakebite piercings and obnoxious red lipstick.  My dad says my face looks like a pin cushion because of all my piercings and it isn’t a good way to make friends, but that’s kind of the point. I let my hands wander down my face, to my tiny neck and trace my collarbones. They stick out, giving my body an angular anorexic vibe.

I stepped back from the mirror to see the rest of my body, taking in all the sharp edges where my bones poked through my clothes and the unnatural skinniness to my legs. I had a thigh gap, a big one. I should really gain some weight, but it’s not like that’s possible anyways since I don’t eat, ever. I look like a walking skeleton. I shuddered, pulling on my thick leather jacket and throwing my ritual bag over my shoulder. Time to go. I made another once over the bedroom, leaving all my pictures of my “friends” and me pinned to the walls. I chuckled a little looking at the dead girl laying on the floor before I grabbed my rolling suitcase and locked the door. I strapped my bag to my English ‘60s Triumph and revved the engine roaring out of the Kentucky University dorm parking lot.

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My name is Harley and I’m a demon in case that part wasn’t clear. My mission is to corrupt teenagers, scavenge souls for my Uncle. I’m the bad influence parents warn their kids about. Doing drugs, the intense kind that can kill you, but I can’t die. Not really at least. I can’t feel either. I have no emotions. Sometimes it really sucks, not being able to feel anything, not even hunger, but the perks of it is that when I’m ordered to kill someone, like my roommate back in Kentucky, I don’t have any emotional attachment. My uncle is the King of Hell, Crowley. My dad is a grim reaper, one of many. My mom isn’t in the picture, dad tells me that Uncle Crowley kicked her out of hell when I was born because she was too pure so I’ve never actually met her. I can’t say I mind since I don’t have any emotions, you know? Apparently she’s somewhere on Earth, but I’ve traveled the entire world and never met the woman. My dad praises me basically and my Uncle, he thinks I’m just a little bitch born to do his dirty work. Of course, my dad is Lucifer so you would think he runs hell, but after the apocalypse and dad got punished and Crowley took over.

Anyways, back to my mission. Every few months dad calls to tell me this great new plan my wack-job uncle has dreamt up and I’m the demon just for the job. I was in Kentucky for maybe three months, it’s hard to keep track since I’m always moving. My new mission is to go to Woodstock, New York. Apparently there is a really valuable soul up there that Crowley wants. Dad wasn’t very specific. I just go with the flow anyways.

I pull into a rest area along the highway to fill up my gas tank. Even though I don’t need to rest, my bike does. I put the nozzle in the tank and glance around to see if anyone is watching. No one. I select only the best gas and press the start button waiting till the tank is completely full. I push the nozzle back on the pump and the machine starts talking to me.

“Insert cash now or select payment type,” it chirps. I press my hand firmly on the screen as it repeats the automatic message again before glitching out with electric shocks bolting through my bones. The machine is quiet and then recites, “Thank you for your business, have a good day.”

Yea, being a demon is pretty awesome when you don’t have to pay for anything. I hope on my bike and roll away casually, heading to the next town or next stop for my bike. Whatever comes first.