THE DEMON.

Hey, guys!!!!! Quick note: I got this idea from a Writing prompt on Pinterest. How great is that app, by the way? It's a bit short, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did, writing it. 

*****

     I was drowning, which was confusing; especially since the ocean and I made a deal, promising not to invade each other. 

Managing to break the surface, I yelled for help, but it was no use as whatever magnetic force pulling me down, did its thing. 

     As the ocean enveloped me once more, I woke up screaming. My heart raced a mile, a minute and the ringing in my ears were a direct contrast to the almost deafening silence in my room. Looking at the wall clock in front of me, I tried to calm down. 

11:59 

"Ok... It was a dream. C'mon, Angel. You're not a wimp! For crying out loud, you kicked Matt in the balls for forcefully kissing you in the third grade. This is nothing, compared to that!"

In. Out. In. Out. 

"I'm sorry, but could you spiral a little bit faster? For a minute, I thought I'd have to use the clowns dream, instead. You, humans, fear the weirdest things. "

Turning sharply to my left, I screamed. 

     The thing that materialized from the dark was really tall and shaped like a man with...were those horns?! His eyes glowed a bright red, and there were leathery, wing-like things attached to his back. 

He moved a bit closer to the bedside lamp, letting me see the scars on the side of his face and the frown that seemed permanently etched on. 

I screamed again. 

He sighed. "Look, princess. You could either go on screaming or you listen to me and we could both get this over with."

"W-who are you?"

He looked me over, before raising his hand for a fist bump. "I'm Drucius. Resident demon, guard to the fifth hell and bad ass poker player. You must be Anjell."

Noting the confusion on my face, he sighed. "It figures. I wondered why the group would need a weak human for tonight."

Hovering to the left, he fiddled with a strange device, mumbling. 

"Excuse me?"

He looked at me and sighed. "Ah, jeez. It's Bet Night in hell- "

"Bet Night in hell?! "

He continued without pause. "- and i was in charge of picking up an independent party for settlements,- "

"Wait. Settlements?"

"- but Flirt, another demon, was supposed to set the DGPS and he must have messed it up."

By now, I was convinced I was losing my mind. "DGPS?"

"What?" He asked, with a slight look of irritation. "You don't know what that is, too?"

I shook my head and he sighed. "It's GPS for demons. Helps us navigate our way in and out of the fiery pits. Anymore questions?"

I shook my head again. 

"Good, because you're coming with me."

Flinging off my blanket, I rolled off the bed. "No, I'm not."

"Yes. Yes, you are. I've lost precious time, as is. I can't start looking for another settler now! Be reasonable!"

I couldn't believe the incredulity of the situation. How dare this- this being?!

"Do you even hear yourself?! You're a demon, in my room- how did you even get in, by the way? And you're telling me to go to hell with you, to settle a game of bets?! And I'm supposed to be reasonable about it?!"

He pondered on the for a while. "So you understand, then. Great. Let's go."

Now, I was pissed. "Were you even listening to me?! Why is that both human and demon males find it hard to listen?! You know what? Go to hell!"

He raised his hands in exasperation. "What do you think I've been trying to do?! You're the one delaying!"

For a while, we both regarded each other with looks ranging from annoyance to confusion, but neither of us spoke. Then, the device in his hand made a whirling sound. He glanced at it and flinched. "Look. I understand where you're coming from so you're probably gonna hate me for this."

"Wait. Hate you for what?"

And I blacked out. 

THE GAME.

"If you don't mind, ma'am, we'll be setting up camp here."
Anna struggled against her restraints, making muffled sounds. She couldn't believe the bastard gagged her!
How dare they break into her house, tie her up like a common criminal and, she wept internally, drink her last good bottle of Rosé.
All on her day off!
Mike dragged a chair over, facing her, and sat.
"Well then, Miss Anna. You'll agree that the ball is in your court. Shall we begin?".
She continued making inaudible sounds.
He sighed and removed the gag. "What is it?"
"Tell your sidekick to take three giant steps away from my bottle of alcohol or I swear there'll be literal balls in my court."

Six hours earlier... 

  Anna Raymond had just settled down to a movie,  when the doorbell rang. Ignoring it, she took another bite of her microwaved popcorn, drooling over the gorgeousness that was Liam Hemsworth.
The doorbell rang again, and grumbling at the insensitiveness and sheer assholery of certain people, she went to the door.
"Who is it?!"
There was brief silence, before a voice came through.
"Miss Anna, good afternoon. I'm Mike and I represent the CTAN."
She panicked. What exactly did the Certified Teachers Association of Nigeria want with her?! She hadn't caused any problems lately- well, except that one time when a student's mom had threatened to sue her for flirting with her husband.
In her opinion, the husband should be sued for telling her his wife had been in a coma for twelve years!

Men are scum.

"Miss Anna?"
Snapping out of her reverie, she unlatched the door chain and opened it up. "Hi, Mr Mike. Please, come in."
What happened next would cause her both confusion and amusement for years to come. One minute, she was locking the door and the next, fading into darkness.
  When she came to, there was a dull throb in her head and five men in her house.
"Ah... Miss Anna, you're awake. Had us worried there for a second. I apologize for the head pain. I didn't properly estimate the weight you carry and so, was unable to prevent your collision with the floor."
  It was the suave asshole from earlier. Mark or something.
Wait...
"Did you just call me fat?!"
He just smiled. "My colleagues and I have been watching you for some time now. We work for the CTAN, you see."
She glared at him. "I believe you mentioned that already. What I wanna know is why the Teachers Association would deem it fit to do shit like this!"
  Mike scrunched his face in confusion, before realization dawned on him. "Oh, dear girl, no. It's my fault, really. I should have explained. We work for the Corporate Thieves Association of Nigeria."
Anna blanched. Then, she laughed. "You're kidding, right?" She asked, peering at each person.
"I'm afraid not. We never kid."
"But we kidnap, though." A voice piped up and they all turned to look at its owner.
"Wrong timing, Tony."
"Sorry, boss." The 'Tony' dude said, sheepishly.
"Sorry, boss." The 'Tony' dude said, sheepishly.
Mike sighed. "We are a top-secret government organization that specializes in retrieving...ahh...let's say, special items of interest."
"So, you're fancy armed robbers..."
"Now, that's just insulting."
  Anna had to think. It was clear these people weren't just gonna let her go. "What exactly do you want?"
Mike raised a perfectly arced brow. "Direct... I like it. We want the recording of the 2013 murder-fraud interview conducted on Stanley Nwoke a.k.a Evan Craft."
"Wait... Isn't he the one only being held under house arrest due to lack of hard, noncircumstantial evidence? Why the hell would you think I'm in possession of such a thing?!"
"We checked. Your ex-boyfriend was in charge of the collected evidence files, including the now-missing tape. We got hold of him, recently, and he claimed to have left it with you."
Anna fumed. That no-good, piece of shit!
"Trust me, he's a born liar. I'm not with anything!"
Mike was slowly losing his patience. "Well, I guess you're just gonna have to think hard. Gag her!"

Presently... 

"So, what now? Are you going to stab me? Maim me?"
A number of them rolled their eyes. "She does have quite the imagination, doesn't she?" One of them drawled.
"Believe me, ma'am. If we wanted to forcefully  get the truth from you, we have way civilized and technologically advanced methods we could use, other than resorting to something as primitive as a gun. Look at us... Do we look like common criminals to you?"
Anna eyed their designer suits with a mixture of disgust and envy. "No."
"Good." Mike said, smiling. "Ever heard of the Veritas serum?" He asked.
She shook her head.
"Well, trust me when I say that it's all we need to get information from you, but we've been asked to use it as a last resort as the pain caused by it is excruciating. Work with us, Anna. Help us help you."
Anna's head spun, but somewhere in the confusion, an idea occurred to her.
"I still maintain that I don't have whatever it is you're looking for, but I think I have a good idea as to who might."
Mike looked at his colleagues. There was no reason to trust her, but they also had no other valid leads. The decision was made.
"Ok, Anna. Let's play ball..."


TO BE CONTINUED... 

A VICKI-MARIS FICTION 

A VERY TALE.

    A long time ago, in the slightly magical kingdom of Neverhappened, or NeverHap for short, there lived a mildly inconvenience witch.
She hadn't lived there all her life, you see. In fact, no one in the kingdom knew she existed because if they did, they would laugh and laugh and laugh. Like the mean witches did at Witcheroo.
    Now, most witches thought Milly, the midly inconvenience witch, was mocked for her strangely green hair and purple eyes. Others were sure it was due to her lack of magic. Only a few knew she had magic, albeit strange, but magic nonetheless.
Milly, you see, only had the power to cause mild conveniences.
    I know, I know. That shouldn't even be considered magic. Well, the witches at Witcheroo had certainly thought so, hence her not-so-dramatic move.
Now, she lived in a little cottage, on top a hill and, for the first time in her life, she was happy.
    The people of NeverHap, on the other hand, were...for a lack of a better term, repressed.
Oh, were they so repressed.
They were ruled, you see, by a dud king and his badmouthed queen.

Wait... Were you expecting an actual evil queen, with poisoned apples, hidden towers and cursed spindles? *sigh*
Those belong to Disney, ok? It's there, in the copyright agreement.
Anyway, back to the story.

Now, the king was a chill fellow who never gave-eth an eff-eth, while his queen delighted in crushing people with nothing but her words, which was kinda a bummer for those who lived in a place where people were beheaded for talking back to royalty.
"My goodness, Miranda, that forehead of yours should be registered as property investment. All that land space, am I right?"
Or.
"My, my, Daphne. With eyes that big, we shouldn't need a seer. You could see into our future AND past, am I right? I mean, you could have led the people of Israel to the promise land, am I right?!"

Author's note: For reasons of consistency, readers are to ignore that last part.  

    The queen was a nightmare, that much, they all knew, so they kept their mouths shut, laughed at her jokes when summoned, and wished a volcano would erupt and swallow them all. And so it was.
Or was it?
     One day, when the queen was out shopping with her guards, she bumped into a weird, little woman. She had a shawl over her head and refused to make eye contact.
The queen was pissed!
How could this strange woman be so inconsiderate? Didn't she know the queen loved to be fawned over?! And if she stubbornly refused to make eye contact, how was she to know that the tiara on the queen's head were made from actual diamonds and her dress, of real dragon hide?!
In annoyance, she ripped off the shawl and, immediately,  froze in shock.
    Her eyes brimmed with tears, as she took in the green hair and PURPLE eyes of the woman who was now staring at her.
Oh, gods of hurtful but internet approved comedy. There were so many jokes she could make! She had to use this opportunity wisely. Plus, her audience were gradually increasing, as people stopped and stared.
"Purple eyes, huh? If there were a space organization called SNASA, they'd use them to scan for UFOs, am I right? You know, I feel your hair would make a great flag for an unstable country called Snigeria. All that agricultural representation,  am I right?"

Author's note: The "S"s are silent. Let's avoid those patent violations, people! 

The people gathered were confused. Nothing the queen had said made sense, but they laughed politely, as was the law.
Milly fumed. It wasn't enough that this human made fun of her... She had to force people to laugh at dry jokes?!
That, in Milly's book, was unforgivable.
The clouds darkened and wind began to howl. People made a dash for their homes but the queen couldn't move.
From fear? Maybe.
Milly's eyes blinked furiously, to avoid the dust being kicked up, and her hair remained exactly the same. "I, Milly of Witcheroo, curse you- "
The queen pleaded.  "Please, no-"
" -with the curse of mild inconvenience!"
"Wait, what? Seriously?"
"From now henceforth, none of your clothes shall fit, and your jewelry will forever get stuck on whatever clothing you put on."
"Uhmm- "
"You shall forever confuse past with present tenses, and you shall laugh only in a bass voice."
"That's a curse?"
"Your tastebuds shall be switched. Sweet will, henceforth, become salty, and finally- "
"You're joking, right?"
"- your clitoris will NEVER be found!"
"NO!!!!"

And so it was. The queen was so ashamed of her constant use of "is" for "was", so she swore and maintained a vow of silence.
Milly was never seen again, the villagers were happy and the King-
-still never gave-eth an eff-eth.


THE END.

A Vicki-Maris Fiction. 

BREAKING FREE!

In secondary school, I was painfully shy. Now, I say "painfully" because i would be in literal pain, either physical or mentally, and I'd keep it to myself so as to avoid bringing attention to myself. I never spoke in public, especially in front of guys. My biggest fear, then, was getting shut down and laughed at, which is quite ironic as I positively live for chaos now.
I attributed it to my weight, then, which is funny because, looking at past pictures, I wasn't even close to how I currently am.
The problem wasn't my weight. It was me.
My cousin would get so pissed at watching me do stupid things like drink local bitters, to purge myself or beg my mom for liposuction.
Fun fact: Then, I really didn't care. Lol.
"Chisom, you're beautiful and smart. This isn't necessary."
I got so frustrated because I felt no one understood. At a point, my mom was convinced I was in "like" with a guy and this mystery dude was the reason behind my persistent obstinance.
In hindsight, that was really when the awkward Sex talks started. I still cringe at the memory.
If you're reading this, Mom, that was not the reason for anything I did. I was frustrated because I would have actual ideas, or even jokes but I'd clamp up because I felt no one would or could see beyond the physical.
I knew I had the potential to be awesome. I just didn't know how to pass that across to others.
I'm kidding!
No, i'm not...
"I wish you'd break free from this low-esteemed mentality"... Wise words from the same amazing cousin. They hadn't stuck then, though I wish they had. In through an ear, and out the other.
The point is, i get it! It's really not easy to climb out of that well you've dug yourself. It might not be stellar, but it's familiar and safe so you find yourself embracing it. All of it.
You can do so much better, though.
There are people that see the potential in you, which you've blinded yourself to.
Yo! That rhymed! And they say I've got the lyrical talent of Sponge Bob... Pfft... Who's laughing now?!
Anyway...
If you feel ready to break free from that bubble of insecurity, here are few steps that could help;
1. You're Amazing... OWN IT: Look in the mirror every day and list out impressive  things you can do. It can be as normal or weird as possible. Wait... You can read a thousand paged book under an hour? Impressive! You can shoot fire from your butthole? Even better!
2. Verbal Baby Steps: This has to do with public speaking. I struggled with this for a long time, y'all. Start with random casual comments. Something that was said pissed you off? Let it be known. It could be a mild "I don't like that" or a badass "Screw that!". If a situation becomes too intense, glare and walk out.  Trust me, they'd be left confused.
3. Love Yourself: Sounds easy enough, right? Wrong! It's probably the hardest one yet. This has to do with realizing that if you don't look after yourself, no one will. It's loving the good aspects, and caring enough to change the bad aspects of yourself. It's fighting for what you believe in. It's going the extra mile to make yourself happy. It's eating right, exercising, meditating, cutting off toxicity from people and social media, not because it's fun, but because you need it physically and mentally, and you're worth it!
If the above doesn't work or takes more time than you realized it needed, to actualize....,
4. Fake It Till You Make It (FITYMI): This is the golden rule. You bluff like your life depends on it. It's not possible to magically overcome your anxiety, overnight, so you bluff to yourself and others. Guess what? Most celebrities we look up to, if not all, still face such fears!  Brainwash yourself, if you will,  into believing that you can do ANYTHING, no matter how crippling you find the idea to be, and DO IT. 
What's the worst that could happen? Seriously.
I currently live by this rule.

That's it, babies. Try to break free from that which you know is below you. Don't wait until you're 70 to do what you should have done at 30. The world deserves to know you right now! Please, don't make us wait that long.
Much love,
Vicki Maris.  

The Toe-dipping Leaper.

Hi. My name's Vicki and I'm a toe-dipper.
Confused? Completely understandable. Permit me to explain.
At a swimming pool, there are usually two kinds of people. The ones who take a deep breath and cannonball into the water (Let's call them "Leapers") and the ones who stand safely by the side of the pool, surreptiously dips in a toe to check the water temperature and finally, decides whether or not to go in (The ever careful Toe-dippers, of which I'm one).
Hu-freaking-rray.
It sucks, ok? It really, really sucks.
I went to college, got a degree and doubted my choice. On graduation day, no less.
Don't get me wrong. I love Accountancy, but does it love me?
Of course I know that didn't make sense.
Or... Here's a good one. I write and halfway through, I think of what people would say about it, so I delete and move on to something else.
I'm so stressed out about my future, I don't live in the present. I don't "hang out" with friends. I don't hang out with anyone not blood  related. Period!
In a way, you could say that this pandemic changed nothing but the level of my anxiety. Pandemic anxiety. Panxiety.
I'm not weird, i promise.
Once. Just once, I'd like to throw caution to the wind and wind (it's funny how those two words are pronounced differently.) up doing something I love and making a shit load of cash off it. Basically being Richard Castle.
I want to be unpredictable. Spontaneous.
I want to be able to do anything, without having a panic attack over what people I care about, and don't, might think.
It'd be a kinda "love me, if you will" situation.
In much simpler words, I want to be a Leaper.

I HATE LOVE STORIES...

Not the movie, itself. No, no... The heartwarming story of Jay and Simran was, as Veer (fictional movie director and romance fanatic) would say, a "block buster". In this case, I'm referring to actual love stories; novels and movies, alike. I do not discriminate.
I. Hate. Them. All.
I mean... Did I cry, watching the movie "Titanic", when Rose let go of Jack's hand, dooming him to an eternal icy grave?
Yes.
Did I, however, shed tears when I watched it for the second time?
Also yes.
I mean, i'm no expert but let's face it; there was enough space to fit two people on that floating platform but apparently, someone dying is the greatest show of love.
Hello? Romeo and Juliet, anyone?

Random reader: "Sis, you're exaggerating."

Of course, I am! How else do you pass your points, meaningful or not, across? By calmly stating the facts like a normal human?

Lol. What are you? Mentally stable?

Oh, you are.

Nope... Can't relate.

Fine... I don't hate the stories, per say. I hate the way they affect how I think.
In case you hadn't noticed, I'm quite impressionable. I read one chapter of Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar", and it's "et tu, brute?" for the entire week. Or I binge watch my favorite K-drama series and it's "saranghae" to every guy that behaves, even slightly, as the character does.
So... No, it's absolutely not acceptable to portray love as this adrenaline-fueled, forever-spiralling rollercoaster when all it is, is prolonged lust and, finally, comfortable companionship.

Aww... Did I ruin love for you?
No?
Oh well.. It was worth a shot.

I'm kidding. Give it your best... Live, Love, Die.
This one is dedicated to Prosper, for whom I chose to write. Happy Easter, buddy.

- Vicki.

FICTION FRIDAY

I know, I know... It's a Tuesday. You could blame my warped sense of time, day and direction OR you could just sympathize with my inability to come up with a creative, story-related name that rhymes with Tuesday.
Viewsday Tuesday?
No?
Fine.
Moving on...
So, I had this idea, sometime back, to incorporate, into my blog,  the summaries of novels that totally rocked my world, whatever week they were read and all my brilliant and certainly not doped up brain could christian it with was "Fiction Friday".  And why not, right?
I mean, we're high, we're fly...we shall not die?
As you might be able to tell, that was a rather horrible rendition of the "We're here, we're queer" chant but I digress... Majorly.
Since I have this bad habit of distracting myself, I'm just gonna jump into the business of at hand.
Our superhero for today is no other but the amazing Rebecca Forster and her book, "Hostile witness" is to die for (Major pun intended).
In this book, we meet the formidable, volleyball player-turned- defense attorney, Josie Bates, the dedicated(?)  mother, Linda Sheraton, the Supreme Court Justice Nominee and Linda's husband,  Kip Rayburn, and the sixteen year old murder suspect, Hannah Sheraton.
A renowned judge dies in a fire and the entire town mourns a man who was as saintly as they come. During the burial, and amidst various news reporters, an arrest is made. What's that? It wasn't an accident? No way...
Hannah is jailed, pending trial while her desperate mother appeals to her former roommate and acquintance, Josie, for help.
 Reluctant, at first, Josie faces off a prosecutor determined to punish her for her past sins. After all, to forgive is to err...
Grudges are held, secrets are uncovered and saintly, dead judges are not as saintly as they were thought to be.
Sadistic sexual molestation, emotional blackmail and a thirst for truth. It's the holy trifecta of murder mysteries.
Find out exactly how far people will go to keep the dead, buried.

"Your Honor, permission to treat as Hostile."
     -    Josie Bates. 
"So directed."
     -    Judge Norris. 
LINK!!! https://www.anybooks.app/event/5e551b843d0241000f46faf1 VICKI MARIS