Angel The Demon

"Wake up!" I hear Angel yell. I wish he'd really not do that at this early hour. "It's nine in the morning. Leave. Me. Alone," I grumble underneath my pillow. "Get up. I have things to do that require an extra hand," he insists. "Go away!" I toss my pillow at him.

"You know, you've got three more years Mister. I suggest you be nice to me so I might consider being gentle when I eat consume your soul," he says. "I hate when you call me Mister," I spit. "My oh my. You sure are a ball of hate. Why so miserable?" he asks clearly mocking me.

"You know damn well why." "Is it because, let me think, oh yeah. You were abandoned, have no friends, and you live with a demon who's going to consume your soul in three years. I don't see the problem," he teases.

"I hate you," I spit. "You hurt my feelings," he whines. "Oh please, like you have any," I retort.

"You're right. I don't."

"Now get up!" he flicks me in the head. "Don't flick me," I pout. "You've been like this for three years now. By now I'd have thought you'd get used to me. Some things never change," he laughs to himself. " "Like how I still hate you?" I say trying to sound as harsh as possible.

"Do you need pills for your man period? It seems to be dreadfully heavy today," he laughs. "Go die," I say walking past him and to the closet. I pick out my casual wear and find the bathroom. I do my "morning routine" which is mostly made up of coming up with ideas on how to kill Angel.

I hate him. And everything. And everyone. Right down to the core. I have no happiness left in this world. Everything is a bunch of crap.

I find my laptop and go to search things online. When I click on Internet Explorer the home screen appears and the headings form. "Murderer Strikes Again." Those detectives or cops or whoever deals with this case are such idiots.

If they didn't have a donut shoved down their throat half the time they might see who's actually killing these people. The sheer ignorancy of these twats is ridiculous. They say that with each killing (there's been 46 kills these past 46 days) the killer leaves a mark of a blood red sun.

If these dummies had any real intelligence they'd clearly know a witch is behind this. And judging by the mark it's probably a dark witch.

I hate idiots.

I'm sitting on my bed when Angel enters the room. "Come on. Stop rotting your brain with those cases. I am more than capable of handling it myself. Now, help me with the new maid's stuff. Poor Kelly died. She should've cleaned the stove right. Fool," he says.

"I don't care for your stories. Go away. I don't want to help," I say. "Ugh. I really don't have time for this. Come help when you're done being a brat," he walks off. I'm not a brat. I have reasons for my hate.

Why would I suddenly care for some stupid maid that's going to die in a couple of months. We've already been through twelve of them. Each an incompetent fool at their job.

I close the laptop and go find Angel. The new maid's U-Haul is here. She hops out and greets Angel with a hand shake. "Hi. I'm Angela, the new mansion maid. It's really an honor to be here. I've heard so much about the- "Save it. You're here to do a simple job. Slip up and you're gone," I say.

She looks down and her face darkens. "Oh, um, okay. Sorry to have bothered you sir," she says softly. "Don't make it a habit." I brush past her to help with the boxes. I really can't stand giddy people. They're truly annoying. And I hate them.

I bring her stuff to the room she's staying in. Maids get a fairly big room. You could fit a few baby whales. Not as roomy as mine though. I help with a couple more boxes until there isn't any more.