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Nothing has a greater drive and propensity for destruction than humanity itself.”
In a dark corner of my mind, a miniature version of me hid, and whimpered.
LOL
“Don’t die,” he said, his thumbs digging into my collarbone, his eyes twinkling with menace. “Because you owe me big time for this. And you can bet that I’m going to collect.” See? Told you. Demon blood.
The melody for “Unfollow My Heart,” certainly Mona’s biggest hit, was based on an ancient siren song, passed from mother to daughter. Its original lyrics, written in a bizarre, dead language, loosely translated to “give me your innards, sailor boy, for I am starving.”
I could worry about treating my body like a temple in my forties. For now I’m content to treat it like a public toilet.
And with that, Scrimshaw disappeared in a cloud of sulfur – right by my face. Fuck, I’ll never get used to the demon smell. And my mouth happened to be open then. Tasted like farts. Dead, rotten farts. And the sound he made as he teleported? Poot. Poot, I tell you.
