I am constantly told to just ‘get over’ everything that bothers me, but that’s not always the simplest thing to do. They just don’t understand that you can’t come around quickly when the person you decided complimented your personality the most goes after another girl who is ten times as pretty as you will ever look on your best day. The unfortunate part for me is that I can’t even hate her. She’s that sort of girl who is nice to everyone and nothing really negative can be said about her.
Sure, all of this stuff is probably nothing more than melodramatic crap that my mind is stringing together as a defensive mechanism in order to make the reality of it all seem that much more intense, but my heart doesn’t understand that the way my brain does. It still hurts. My heart still feels as if it were broken and I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs at times when I see them together. Eventually, my heart will mend the tear that has occurred, just as others have done from the same sort of pain… it… it just might take me some time.
‘Get over it,’ you say?
I refuse to suppress the hurt that I feel. To feel heartache is to know that one is human, that one is capable of getting so close to another human being that they can actually get hurt by them. Maybe this feeling could have matured into ‘love’… ah, but who really understands the term ‘love’ anyway? It is nothing more than a fickle word used much too often in our daily lives to actually mean anything by itself. Perhaps it serves its purpose as a fickle word for a fickle emotion such as that of ‘love’.
All I can say for sure is that my heart will recover and move on, but a spot shall always be his….
I stare out at all the creatures within this ragged little bar, and think to myself, How can they even begin to understand that there is more out there than what they could possibly imagine? The humans with their hearts full of greed, and their bodies vibrating with lust. It disgusts me that they could care so little for anything other than themselves. We are out here busting our asses every day to make sure that they can live their sheltered little lives.
If someone were to look at me all they would see was another woman sitting a bar looking around for someone to go home with, but what they don’t understand is that I am looking for a creature that would kill all of them, a succubus. Of all the demons I have come across in my years these are the ones that can do the most damage to a human. Succubi feed on the feelings of lust, and when humans have enough alcohol in their systems they are out for anything that will make them feel good. Sex is always at the top of that list.
“Oh my, my, my, what have we here?” a voice sounded from behind me.
“Someone that you should be very afraid of angering with your palaver.” my voice that of a snake preparing to strike as I turned around to face the mortal male.
“Mmmmm. Kitty has claws I see,” he replied while eying my dark clad body. I was in my usual black mini-skirt, tank top, and trench coat. Never had a met such a strange culture of people who found such off-putting clothes so appealing. “And you have such an erotic accent…” he leaned in as close as the bar stool I sat on would allow him to. “I would be willing to bet that my name would sound sexy if you were, should we say, to scream it as you experienced the greatest–” At that point he could no longer speak as I was crushing his testicles with my hand.
“I shall give you one warning, and only one. Never touch me again, or these,” I squeezed as hard as I was willing to, “will never again be functional.” I released his sac and turned back to the bar. Lustful neanderthals.
As soon as I resumed my scan of the bar I noticed a rather ethereal creature enter, my target. Succubi take the shape of whatever sex is most appealing to their chosen target, and this time the form was that of a very handsome male human. Or what appeared to be a human. It’s funny how easy it is to spot these fuckers, because they are just as oblivious to the fact that something dangerous is around as the humans.
The succubus wandered over to the bar, and preceded to look around for it’s first target. As soon as it had chosen a rather drunk girl who was dancing in a rather promiscuous fashion with every other member of the opposite sex. My job was about to start, and it would end much like every other one had before it, easy capture and then back to my own plane of existence where my kind would be waiting. Not that I appreciated the likes of them any better than I did the humans.
I stood up from my stool, and walked over to a corner near the dance floor, easing my gun out along the way. When I stood there watching the two dance to the horrid music I couldn’t help the loneliness that suddenly blossomed in my heart, or rather that black hole where it had once been. Enough of this self-pity, get the job done and hurry your ass back home. You would even be having these problems if you just get this job over with as quickly as possible.
Suddenly, the lights went off, and that was my cue to get everything done as fast as I could. One shot rang out, and then another. Before the humans could even understand what had happened to the beautiful man and the woman who was dressed as if she were going to a funeral, I had captured my target and we had already passed through a portal to the Sectors, the demon realm we both lived in.
After arriving, I released the vile creature who still resembled a human male, and ventured back to my lonely home. My name is Lenexa the Demon-Huntress, and this is what I am forced to repeat every day of my life.
So I obviously took a long break from posting on here, and for that all I have to say is…. Life gets in the way sometimes of things that we want to do. Writing is my life, and this blog should be a reflection of that, but instead I think it is just as much a reflection of what my life has been like for the past few weeks… It has been hard to have any time to myself to even think up new ideas about pieces that I want to write. First, I got discouraged, because the first thing that I have ever thought was actually half-way decent was rejected by the school literary magazine; my pride took a serious blow. Outside of that I have just had a feeling of not being good enough at anything I am doing. Being a writer has the serious disadvantage of having that little voice in the back of your mind constantly saying ‘you’re not good enough’. I am over that, and if I can’t control every aspect of my life as I wish I could then I can at least control my writing by posting on here more frequently. Thank you all for sticking by me while I went through this time, you are all so lovely!