I always knew I would do writing prompt posts eventually. I like the label “Writing Prompt Wednesday,” but since I can’t find the next IMDB.com movie selection right now I’ll try my hand at this.
Here is a little background. Micheal is a character in my rewrite project Standing Inside the Rain. This is later on in the story and not quite concrete. The following piece is pretty direct, so I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with.
Today’s prompt is The Best & Worst Day. (Thank you Laura & Dustin Gibbons.) For my fellow writers out there, feel free to comment if you want to share your own take on the prompt. Ok here we go,
Micheal hated the sweet smell that the bath oils left on his skin. He was properly packaged for a night with his mistress. The soul eating Justice was waiting for him on the other side of the door and he would perform as was expected of him. It had been five long years since he had made this trade. He had done it for love, he had done it for Sheldina.
The hallway always seemed longer on this night. He always felt like he was marching to a gassing chamber more than a bed chamber. The sex would be mechanical,simply insert tab A into slot B and pray a child came of it. He supposed that was the only reason he hadn’t been killed when he helped Sheldina escape from her self-absorbed narcissistic family. The Justice and her magistrate husband wanted a child. They wanted a child to carry on the bloodline, the name, the traditions, etc. Etc. They wanted that child so badly that the Justice’s rightful husband turned a blind eye to Micheal’s weekly visits. It was a hard life being demeaned down to a simple sperm donor, but it was better than the magistrate’s original plan to shanghai Sheldina into being his concubine. If one of them had to play the whore, he would rather it be him.
He wanted to see her safe and he hoped he had accomplished that. The only thing he knew for certain was that his brother and sister had promised to find her and protect her if need be. From what he had seen Sheldina didn’t need protection, but she needed a tether, she needed them to hold her hand and tell her she still had a choice. And Sheldina still had a choice, it was Micheal who didn’t.
The twin heavy doors waited for him with each step he took down the golden tan carpeted hallway. Had it always been this vast and intimidating? He pushed the random thought away trying to remember what the Justice liked in her lovers. He was to be aggressive, but gentle. He was offer himself willingly, but make her earn the final act. Her need to be both in control and controlled was mind numbing difficult and he had recently found that if he just shut off his brain and pulled her in close she would do the rest. He preferred the absence on his part. It was more bearable that way.
He knocked on the doors with a loud boom that echoed through the hall. The pair opened up with two tall statuesque maids manning the doors. They politely bobbed their heads at him and shuffled past him to leave him with his owner. At first his steps felt heavy, but as he saw the steps that lead up to the curtained bed he found his old steely backbone had returned. He was Micheal of the ninth plane. He had served valiantly in wars before this mere spoiled brat was born. He might have even known her father if her mother had chosen one of the most powerful Gifted to give her children. This was another mission, nothing personal tied to it now. He had done all he could for Sheldina. Now it was time to be a man and honor his commitment.
The Justice stood near a dainty serving tray on fold-able legs. Her slender hand was wrapped around a crystal tumbler. Her reedy form turned to him and she would have been beautiful under normal circumstances. Her nightgown was an icy blue shift. Her arms were covered with yards of the sheer material giving her the appearance of bird’s wings. Her hair was down in the mane of curls that Sheldina happened to have as well, but her hair was more red than her sister’s. Micheal knelt on the gilded stairs and bowed his head reverently.
“Good evening Madam Justice,” he greeted.
He could hear the smirk even without looking at her. He heard the tumbler settle to the tray and rustle of the nightgown brush the floor.
“How many times must I ask you to call me Quintrell?” the Justice asked as she stood in front of him.
She lifted his chin so that he had to look at her. This was always the hardest for him. Even though Quintrell was her own person, she looked like Sheldina. At least in the eyes. He knew they weren’t the same, but those eyes always caught him off guard. He hated himself for not making the distinction, but sometimes the soft blue pools made what he had to do easier.
“I am ready for my duty, my mistress,” he said weakly.
He looked around the room and realized they were alone. Well at least in appearance, the Justice would have her Seraphim close by just in case he decided to get rough. There were always eyes on the Justice and magistrate. There was something wrong though, the magistrate would normally greet him as well and leave when she dismissed him. There was no greeting tonight.
“May I ask where the master is?”
Quintrell took his hands and made him stand. She brushed his black locks away from his forehead and brushed his linen covered shoulder. Something was wrong, there was sadness in her eyes not the normal control.
“My husband doesn’t like to see me work,” she replied.
A cold chill began at the crown of his head and shimmied down his spine. He was going to die tonight. His years of humiliation were coming to an end. He squared his shoulders as he spoke just like a good solider.
“Make it quick Quintrell.”
The respect was gone from his voice. He wouldn’t hit her, it wouldn’t have helped anyway, he wouldn’t get very far. Seraphim were good at their jobs, he would be drug away and beaten before he even landed the blow. He fought the urge to let his fist fly and he let the serenity return to his words.
“All I ask is you send my soul back to the 9th realm so I can rest at home.”
Quintrell petted him like a dog, her face blank, but the wheels were turning beneath the surface. He thought about pulling back, but he decided that would show weakness. He had outlived his usefulness and he would face that like a man.
“Don’t you want to know why?” Quintrell asked.
He didn’t flinch,
“The Magistrate feels like our energy is better spent else where for a child. We’ve… you and I have been trying for 5 years now. And sadly I have no child to show for it.”
“It’s because you are barren. You will never fulfill your vow…”
He was cut off by the harsh slap against his cheek. The sting burned on his skin and he waited for the death-blow, but it didn’t come.
“I can give my husband what he needs… I can, I can.”
The tone of her voice gave away her true feelings. She knew it wasn’t going to happen, that was why she kept killing her replacements. She knew one of them would do what she couldn’t. It was a petty motivation, but it was a woman’s logic.
“My dear husband believes my sister is the answer. Once we fetch her, she will be brought here to perform her duty. After I take her soul, I’ll be even stronger and more capable of giving my husband what he needs.”
“How many souls have you taken madam? How many times have you taken a soul and returned to your husband’s bed and still there is no child?” Micheal asked.
She had just threatened Sheldina and if he couldn’t hurt her physically he would crush her in this moment. Quintrell didn’t answer him she simply pushed him back to his knees. This death was going to be more complicated than he realized. Panic pricked his chest for only a second. He didn’t look away from Quintrell even as her skin began to crack and flake away revealing her true form. The purple layer that was exposed was wet and glossy. Her eyes grew in size until they were round granite gray holes in her head. Death was blind and didn’t need to see its prey.
Quintrell lowered her purple claws down to his chest. Now came the part where she would rip him open. There were cleaner ways to hull a soul, but Quintrell was known for her taste for pain. Micheal took a deep breath just before he felt his flesh tear. The void in his chest pulsed, like his heart. However, he watched her face fall into a state of confusion. He could feel what she wanted beating inside him, but it wasn’t lifting up or away from him. At first he didn’t know why, but then his last night with Sheldina flashed before him. He promised his soul to another. The ink was already dry on the contract.
He watched as the snatching claws tried to dig down into his wound. The confused look turned to anger when she came out empty-fisted.
“Have you figured it out yet?” he asked breathlessly.
The bloody fist thumped hard against his collarbone. He managed to keep his balance through sheer will-power.
“My soul is spoken for, only she can handle my final hours. My contract is with her. Not you.”
Quintrell remained strangely calm as she smeared his own blood on his face.
“It is a shame it will end this way. On so many levels the other way would have been easier, quicker, painless. This will be quite possibly the worst day of your life.”
Micheal leveled his eyes to the gray pits in the soul eater’s head,
“On the contrary my mistress, this is the best day of my life.”
A sick smirk turned up her lips as she matted his hair with her blood soaked hands. It was a sudden strike like a snake bite as Quintrell bit hard down on his shoulder. Then she moved to his ear.
“You will die slowly. Slow enough that you will find my sister. Even if you don’t I still win because your soul can not leave your body without her. I think you’ll find her though, and when you do tell her I know where she is, and we’re coming for her. She will be called home,” Quintrell whispered menacingly.
Micheal felt the poison settle in and slowly his vision faded to black.