Hey there! I’m still alive. I survived the madness of August only to meet the madness of September – and now I have some madness-free hours to catch up with everything, including this blog. I hope I’ll have many more madness-free hours in the weeks to come, but I won’t make any promises.
And since you waited so long, here’s a bit of short fiction instead of a boring haiku. (not a “short story”, because there isn’t much of a story in it, I’m afraid. Hopefully I can revisit the character in the future)
Demon Hunters and Other Problems
It was raining.
I stand corrected – it was pouring. As in “the world’s about to end, so you better think of your famous last words”.
I hated myself. Or rather, my poor sense of weather. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up indoors, unlike your forefathers who used to roam the prairies and hunt antelopes. Although I have to say: antelopes are not as tasty as you might think, at least judging from the stuff “Mommy” once served me. Leftovers from her birthday disaster—okay, sorry, not the topic here.
Then again, my current situation with the pouring rain and my totally ruined fur was all Mommy’s fault. As I entered a back alley in the search of shelter from the rain—never mind the awful stench that inhabited this place—I once again mused why on earth my owner called herself “Mommy”. I mean, seriously, when you’re barely 25, look much more like 18 and have a totally awesome job where you defend the world against demons which makes you a starlet with a decent amount of cash in your account and a book contract: wouldn’t you give yourself a cool name? Like “Destroyer”. Okay, she hated that title, but there isn’t much you can do against official inheritances. I’d happily call her “Destroyer”, but the first time I did, she almost refused to serve me dinner, so I had to stick to “Mommy”. Just my luck.
Tonight, Mommy was out hunting. Unscheduled hunting. Actually, the thing she was hunting was probably responsible for the rain—dying disaster demons can make quite a mess.
So why had I gone out? Oh, right, my date. Yeah… While the Internet goes crazy over cat videos (Mommy included), my own feline charms are rather lacking. Of course, we all know that black cats never get the top spot when people were polled about their favorite cat colors. And why would they? My ancestors include William the Bloody, who murdered dozens of other cats for “entertainment reasons”, Jolene of Abenberg, also known as “The Black Cat of the South” who enchanted knights so they couldn’t move anymore, and, my personal favorite, Grandmaster Salice, who was responsible for the flooding of two entire American cities barely 100 years ago.
I haven’t inherited much from this line. A few lackluster magic tricks I can show off to get some leftovers, but nothing special like magical walls, potion brewing or computer science.
Which is probably the reason why I ended up an unhappy cat in advertising. I know it sounds cool, but it isn’t, especially not when your customers are dead convinced that the word “honest” should appear in every sentence you write for their new website.
Are you still there? I don’t blame you if you aren’t. You see, talking is what I do most of the day (when I don’t write), so I don’t even realize anymore when I bore people. Or cats. Like my date. Totally cute, dark grey fur, intense green eyes—there aren’t many beauties out there who’d go out with me, so of course I was eager to please.
Well, turns out that only made me talk more. Half an hour into our date, he left. I have his number, and I will call him and send a few hundred texts once I’m home, but I guess it’s safe to say that I’ll stay single for the foreseeable future. Mommy won’t mind, although we agreed that I’m free to do whatever I want as long as I don’t produce a bunch of adorable kittens.
I dare say she doesn’t have to worry about that.
My name’s Eliot, by the way. Eliot Nightfall III. It’s not my real name, of course. Mommy gave it to me when she picked me up one Sunday morning on her way home. I don’t know who I and II were and I’m too afraid to ask—but I assume they were killed my demons or something. Or Mommy hit them with her car—most demon hunters are very bad drivers.