How I Completely Ruined the World and Had To Fix It (*Short Story)

Story (part 2)

Bill and Cassandra went on their first date that night—she drove over to his apartment in her slick, black convertible. She looked nice, yet still had the devious charm around her.

"It's not much, but it's home," he gestured to the small apartment. "I'm working on redecorating, excuse the mess."

"Oh, it's fine," she said. "My last boyfriend hadn't cleaned for ten years, he still lived with his mother. She wouldn't even go downstairs for fear of getting convicted because she didn't report seeing the dead body under his dirty clothing."

"Did he murder someone?"

"I left him before I could find out." They both laughed, and Bill pulled a gourmet roast chicken out from his oven.

"You're not a vegan, right?"

"Never."

"Then let's dig in." He served two plates of the chicken, tossing a plaid tablecloth into the trash. Cassandra sat down slowly on a rickety wooden chair, and her designer dress clashed greatly with the old, boring furniture. I could make a chair that would look like a thorn with that dress... what was I saying? Ugh. Love—it was just too disgusting, gross, unnecessary, but... I couldn't do anything, ANYTHING, to stop it. How did mortals survive this?

Bill and Cassandra talked for hours. He told her about his favorite movies—now, slasher films and anti-hero-flicks—and foods, and pets, and people, and music, and ways to kill people. Yes, I'm serious about the last one. That was the only one I listened to, after I learned he wasn't a documentary fan anymore. She told him about her favorites, too—action movies (I do tend to avoid messing with those), Belgian dark chocolate salted caramel truffles, blah blah blah in her siren-like voice. She felt poisoning was the best way to die, he preferred fiery arrows. I hoped that wouldn't be his next wish—while they look cool, they can only do so much.

He told her about growing up in Minnesota, with a happy family (I tuned out again, after he got his second puppy at age five). "What about you?" He asked. "What was your family like?"

She shrugged. "I- I mean, they were also normal, mother, father, dog, happy, the sort."

"You're cute when you lie," he said, and I slapped my forehead. Was the evil wearing off, or was he just out of ideas?

"I'm not lying."

"Yes, you are."

"Maybe I am because I don't want to tell you."

"You can tell me anything, Cass," Bill leaned in towards her. "I love you."

"And that's why I can't tell you." She stood up. "Thanks for the dinner, but I have to work tomorrow—I'd better be out."

"Wait! Come back!" He yelled. "You have to! I need you here, Cass!"

She turned, confused, but I pushed her out. She slammed the door and I appeared to Bill.

"I thought you said she would be in love with me!" He demanded as I walked over to grab a piece of chicken.

"She is. She just thinks you might not love her if you hear her past."

"You know her past?"

"I can read mortal minds."

"Can you tell me?"

"It's not my place to tell."

"Please? What if I'm dating a psychopath?"

"Then that's your problem."

"You're a terrible person," Bill grumbled.

"Thank you." I replied. "Anything else I can do for you?"