Fantasy Short Story
In The Demon Bar
by Silvia Hartmann
I was standing in the demon bar, when this lapsed catholic came sidling over.
As they tend to be, he was pallid under his sweat. He tugged at his shirt collar
and said nervously, "Hot here, isn't it."
I looked at him and wondered if I should eat him, but he seemed stale and
bloodless. There were others, smaller ones, who might like to tear and chew his
kind.
Why was he even talking to me?
Oh, oops.
I catch my reflection in a silver vat.
Whenever I drift and fail to pay attention, I turn back into this humanoid form.
Old habits, hung up they should be. On a rusty hook somewhere and left to rot.
Undercover work does that to a being.
You spend a few decades in full immersion, and just SEE what happens!
I make the adjustment and my shape shifts in response; my tail uncurls and the
relaxation at my back informs me that my wings are flexing, relaxing from their
downfold hiding posture.
My neck stretches with sweet delight and I shudder with joy and purest pleasure
as my skin begins to shine and resonate the deep red glow, the infra red of
nourishment that is the hallmark of my home dimension.
Lovingly and lusciously, I lick my lips and flex my jaws a little as the
radiance expands with my true eyesight and I turn back to the man, smaller still
he is now from this vantage, and what a sight, and what a mess!
There used to be a drawing I remember from my time upon his world, a dirty child
engulfed in streaks of dust and buzzing flies - this creature is like that, a
host to thousand parasites that buzz and drone and suck and leach off him,
disgusting!
Flick, flick.
My view switches back and forth between the limited perception and the wider
range, disturbing and yet strangely comforting - at this point, it is soothing
have both at my disposal, to help de-transition me from that world into this.
A putrefying cloud of fear, ill smelling green and slimy dense is forming round
his midriff, oozes from his armpits and his nose.
This is altogether too unpleasant!
I open my mouth and hiss at him, fast forward striking movement of my head that
snaps my neck, a lovely feeling, most familiar, it is tingling, I might fight
but no, I call that specific energy to circulate a little, warm me up and make
me vibrant, more alive, as the disgraceful creature scrambles, runs and stumbles
- to become a feast for many less discerning, for the vermin eaters, soon
enough.
© Silvia Hartmann 2004
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