Reddit Writing Prompts

Me and Mickey

https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/h0ree6/wp_a_supernatural_creature_comes_to_kill_you_but/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf

[WP] A supernatural creature comes to kill you, but all of it's plans are ruined when they find you in bed too sick to even think about getting up.

"Five more minutes!"

I slammed on the bedside table as I tried to get up, the rickety lamp I had bought for five-fifty at the dollar store blinking from the impact. Mickey (my dear roommate, bless his soul) would have to wait for a good hour for me to properly wake up — each breath I took was sniffly and laboured, my lungs clogged and bogged up and my nose blocked like my late grandpapa's arteries. My entire body felt like a rusty machine squeaking at the hinges, like a tractor without gas, because, to put it lightly, I was sick.

Well, that's an understatement. I had quite possibly the worst flu of the decade, the kind that makes you so ill your face turns pale green, the colour of that avocado milkshake your niece has been chugging, and your stomach rumble and cry like a great thundercloud, or maybe a hissing stock of dynamite. I turned on my side, stomaching the urge to vomit out of the open window. It was pretty ironic, how today was so pristine, birds floating and warbling past in chirping sonnets, the grass on the college campus that was usually grey and brown from heat now painted in viridian hues, when I felt like absolute shit. The white walls of my room seemed so painstakingly bright, I wanted to rip my eyes out and burrow under the blankets and become some kind of weird cave-dwelling gremlin with no eyes. Curse you, God. It was like everything in the world was trying to annoy me today.

The door creaked open. I groaned. "Dude, I said five more minutes. It's been... What, three?"

"Four, actually." Said a smooth voice. Weird. That's too posh for a countryside boy. I looked up to see regular ol' Mickey, but for some reason, he seemed to have little bumps— No, scratch that, there were full-on bony appendages resembling goat horns, curling forward in great curving 'C's situated on the top of his head, attached through his beach blonde hair.

A snicker left my lips, before I was engulfed in full-blown laughter. Maybe he finally cracked? I knew the guy loved Dungeons and Dragons more than anything.

"Ha ha. Real funny." I wheezed through bursts of raucous guffawing. A pillow was flung at him, which he caught with ease. "Lose the cosplay and we'll talk."

He frowned, before a smug grin settled on his face. "Oh, but you don't see the gravity in this situation, do you, mortal?"

"Mortal—?!" I tried my hardest not to giggle like a schoolgirl. Man, was he really pulling out all the stops today. "Bitch, you're mortal too!"

"I'm not." Mickey said smoothly. The pillow crumbled into ebony ash in his palms. "Because I'm not your 'Mickey'."

"I am Azaroth, lord of demons, the reaper of souls." He said with flourish. "And today, I grace you with my presence, and—"

A loud fit of coughing interrupted his spiel, bursting out from my mouth. I choked on some phlegm, letting out scattered, raspy croaks as I grabbed the cup of water on my desk and began to chug it down, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Mickey looked expectantly at me as I finished up my sickness-fuelled fiasco. He cleared his throat.

"And, as I was saying, I will kill you today."

I gave him a deadpan look. "Today."

"Yes." He puffed up, as proud as a peacock. "Today."

"Look, Mickey, or...  Akaza, whatever you're calling yourself today—"

"Azaroth."

"I'm sick." I motioned at myself. "Today is shitty enough. Can you... Ditch the roleplaying?"

"No, I can't." He gritted his teeth. A shadow seemed to shroud the room, his eyes glowing a fiery red. "Because, as I said, you are to be my victim for today."

"And." Mickey hissed. "I do not take no for an answer."

Maybe it was the flu that fuelled my sickness-induced haze that made me not notice the sudden change in atmosphere. But I stared forward at him blankly, opening and closing my mouth like a gaping fish, and decided to play along.

"Can I reschedule?"

He blanched. "What?"

"Let's reschedule the whole killing thing." I repeated, coughing to one side. My body felt uncomfortably hot, and I could feel a dangle of mucous dripping from my nose. Ick. "Because I'm really, really sick right now and today is..." I flopped on the bedcovers, sighing. "Just not my day."

Mickey was silent, contemplating my words, before looking at me with narrowed eyes. "So... I slaughter you like a pig after you have sufficiently recovered?"

"Yep." I nodded heavily. What was with the pig analogy? Man's so overdramatic today. "You can kill me as much as you like when that happens, Mickey."

He seemed to think for a good while, nodding his head slowly. A large, manic grin spread across his face: he resembled one of those Chucky dolls, or maybe a kid on too much sugar. "I accept." He declared. "It would be unfair of me to not give you any sort of fighting chance, and strike you down while you are suffering from an..." He paused. "Ailment."

"And," Mickey said, determination evident in his eyes. "To quicken that process, I will take care of you during this time. You accept, do you, mortal?"

I shrugged. Seemed fair enough. Mickey would probably get over his gimmick within the week, and if he was kindhearted enough to help me through it, even if he was stuck in a phase...

Well, why not?

"Sure." I accepted, with absolutely no idea what I had just roped myself into.

Piece of cake.