The Life Drawing Class

She pulled into the car park.  Angie was very nervous about this.  She had never let anyone this close to see her true being without anyone being hurt.

She sat there for a moment with the doors locked wondering if she should just start the car, put it into reverse and get the fuck outa here!  Looking up at the building in South Brisbane, she watched as the artists showed their invites and paid their way inside, counting the limited amount who were allowed in… 20 that was the number she had decided on.  Swallowing, she licked her already dry lips, gathered her gear and got out of the car.

Mortals normally didn’t believe in somebody like her – as her kind were being wiped off the planet at a phenomenal rate these days.  But the half-mortal witch promised her over the phone that she had checked out each and every one of them during a one-on-one interview.  Livia – the half-mortal witch – had had an aura-reader sitting off in the shadows reading the artists each time.  And when she mentioned they were going to have a special guest there to model for her this time; and each time she mention the special guest, the pure mortals had reacted normally, but their aura had let out their true intentions, the aura-reader had emerged from her place and performed a proper reading to find out who they worked for, where they were from and what they intended to do with Angelica once they caught her.

For most like her, when they were caught, their essence would be taken from them, they’d be mortal again and they’d become suicidal and… well, you can guess the rest.  Or they’d become the slave to somebody on another planet or realm; seeing humans weren’t of use on Earth anymore; and were seen as too flawed to be durable enough to be tortured, possessed or asked to be used as a vessel by God’s True Warriors.

She pulled on her oversized robe, wrapped it around herself and looked up at the mirror.  Angie could feel the pull around her shoulders and she moved uncomfortably as the itchy fabric rubbed against purity.  The owner of the gallery turned on the heating and he closed up the doors and pulled the shades… this made her feel very safe from the public eye. 

There was a knock on the door and it opened a little to Livia popping her head in, “Okay, they’re ready for you.”

“I’m so nervous.” She whispered.

Livia stepped inside the room and closed the door, “It’s okay, they all checked out… honestly.”

She sighed, “Good.”

Livia left the room and Angie picked up her bag, her jacket and walked out there in a pair of socks.  There was one large room where they all gathered.  Easels were set up – as were the artists – and she stepped into the middle of the circle.

“What’s your name?” one asked.

Livia looked at him and the aura-reader turned from her secret place and read him, looked back to Livia and shook her head, “It’s okay, you can tell him.”

She nodded, “Angie.”

The owner of the place walked up to the edge of the circle, “Okay, people, you know the rules, no photography, no personal questions and no making fun of her… this is a special deal for you lot.  And if you all notice, you’re standing in specially designated places, as you mortals can’t be trusted to be true mortals; as demons walk amongst us in your bodies.” He looked at Angie nodded, “Okay, we’re ready when you are.”

She pulled off the robe and moved her shoulders as brilliant white/gold wings unfolded from her shoulderblades.  Her body was luminous, shining and beautifully muscular and the whole room went completely silent for a few moments as the mortals all fumbled with their sunglasses.

“Now, if any of you have any second thoughts or don’t want to be here, now is the time to say so.” Livia’s voice said in the bright light.

Nobody said anything.

“Start drawing.”

They were only there for a few hours, but it felt as though it was for longer.  Angie’s luminous skin vanished under the robe as she pulled it back on; much to the relief to the mortals surrounding her.  She sighed as her body automatically folded away her wings – as it had done since she was a little girl – and she pulled on her socks to go and get changed.

She had made $300 that night; as the mortals had paid top dollar to see an Angel get naked at an art class.  The problems with this kind of thing is big – massive – as the mortals will show their drawings to their friends and nobody will believe them that somebody like her was at a dodgy backstreet art place like this.  She put her bag in her little Barina and waited for the witch and aura-reader to come out with the owner of the art place.  He locked up the place as Livia stood talking to him about further appointments when the aura-read was about to reach the car… she stopped, looked up at Angie and – without a word – she used her powers to move faster than the human eye and stood between Livia and the man just as he began to turn into a demon.

“Dammit.” She whispered placing her hand on his shoulder as his eyes, mouth and torso lit up bright and he died in front of her.

Livia’s eyes widened, “Wow, how did you know?”

“I didn’t.” she said, “But then, you’re not half-mortal after all, are you?”

“Crap.” Livia mumbled shaking her head.

Before Angie could do anything, the aura-reader stepped up behind the witch, touching her on the shoulder, eliminating her damned soul – with the demon as well – to Hell.  Looking at the reader, she frowned as it vanished before her eyes.

Ned's Move

He stared at the board all set up ready for the next move by the window on the table.  

Richard missed his Grandpa. 

He had taught him so many things and now he was gone.  But he knew Grandpa Ned wasn’t well, and every moment – every day – was a precious moment well-spent with him. 

It was after school and this was the time they’d spend an hour on playing chess.  Now, Richard could only just look at the pieces where they were last played three days before.  It was Grandpa Ned’s move, he wished they could do something to move the right chess piece; but he couldn’t.

Outside, a delivery van pulled up to the curb.  The guy climbed out, checked his order and opened the back of it.  Richard didn’t take much notice as he went back to looking at the game wishing he knew which piece Grandpa would move.

The squeak of the gate sounded and he rose from the table as he looked outside again.  The delivery guy had his two-wheel trolley out with a large, rectangular box on it.  The teenager pulled opened the door and watched him as he pulled it up the three steps to the front verandah and into the house, leaning it against the kitchen counter, “Richard Anderson?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Listen, we’ve had this at the depot for years.” A smile pulled up one side of his mouth, “And it’s been sitting at the back of the place with a letter attached to it and a date on the front of the envelope.” He pointed to the unopened envelope with today’s date on it, “Now, it’s delivered… there’s one more thing I have to ask you.”

Richard frowned, “What’s that?”

The guy shook his head as he muttered, “I can’t believe I’m asking you this… is there a rocking chair your Grandpa sits in?”

“What? Grandpa Ned died.” He snapped, “How dare you ask me about his chair.”

“Hey, kid, I’ve got specific orders here.” He gave him a letter, “Ya gotta take the chess set outside and sit with the chair opposite.”

Richard read the letter not knowing whether he was being given the bum’s steer or not, then he saw his Grandpa’s signature at the bottom, “Don’t worry, I’ll do as I’m told.” He whispered, “Thank you.”

By this time, the sun had set and it was too late to do what he had to do for Grandpa Ned.  Richard opened the box and found a guitar case inside it with a note attached.  He read the note without removing it from the handle:  ‘Richard:  Jimi gave me this himself.  He wanted me to have it, but I think you’d do better with it.  Love Grandpa N.’ he stood back with wide eyes, “Holy crap, I’ve got Hendrix’s guitar… well, one of them.” He knew what he had to do – hide the friggin’ thing!  And he did just that!

The next day, he rushed home from school and set up the rocking chair, chess set and opened the guitar case and carefully pulled out the guitar. The damned thing was in mint condition.  At first, Richard didn’t want to do anything but stare at it.

But it seemed to sing to him, whisper to him, to play him.  Bending down, he picked it up, attached the strap to it and tuned it, smiling as the strings sounded just right.  Then, something moving in the case caught his eye.  He looked and found it was a piece of music. 

Normally, Richard didn’t read music – he just didn’t the gift of picking it up like the rest of his family – but somehow, today, it suddenly made complete sense.  Sliding it under the edge of the chess board, he pulled the pick from between the strings at the top of the neck of the guitar and started to tentatively play the music. 

At first it didn’t sound like anything much, but as he went over it again and again, it sounded like a favourite Grandpa Ned hummed all the time.  Richard started to play it in time with how the piece – ‘All Along The Watchtower’ – actually went and he spotted out of the corner of his eye that his Grandpa’s rocking chair had begun to rock slowly.  He watched it as it began to pick up momentum, with tears filling his eyes.  Then, as he was about to stop playing, he watched the board as Grandpa Ned’s turn was taken on the board and their game continued on.

Written In The Stars

Cradling the lax body of Missie in her arms, she fought the tears that were threatening to make her weak.  Ash placed her dead dog into the back seat of her car and turned to the man who was supposed to care for her, “How could you kill her?”

“Hey, you left you left her here.” He shrugged, “She bit me.”

“So, you give rat poison?”

He couldn’t look at her.

Closing the door, she walked to him.  He tried to turn away, but she got in his face, “You will pay.  Missie cost me thousands to buy… so you’re gonna pay.”

“Sure.”

“Just watch your back… right?” she turned and walked to the driver’s side, opened it and got in.

The car drove away.  He watched on from across the road in his SUV and wrote it down in his ledger.  This was happening exactly the same way it did last time.  Ashleigh Simmons was about to go to the vets and have her dog taken care of by them, then go home to cry herself to sleep.  Zachary just had to make sure of that.  He watched her drive past him, and then followed her at a distance.

Three days had passed and he could tell where she was going to be from one hour to the next.  It was just as it was written in the ledger from the last time she was around here.  But this time, instead of ignoring him, she noticed him.  He didn’t panic.  This time, he wanted her to see him.

It was time she knew what was going on in her life; and why.

She stood by his table at her work, “What?”

“Hello Ashleigh.” He smiled, “Why don’t you take a break?” he glanced at his ledger, “You’re up for one soon.”

From the counter, her boss shouted, “Ashleigh!  You’re on break for half an hour.”

She spun, stared at him for a moment, nodded, then sat slowly at the table, glaring at this guy in an Armani suit, “How did you know that?”

“Have something to eat with me.” He said, “I’ll explain everything; even why the death of your dog was supposed to happen.”

“How did you know about that?”

He leaned closer as she did, “Just have something to eat with me, please.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

The look of disbelief, astonishment and shock were on her face.  Zachary thought she was going to get up and leave, but seeing he wasn’t going by the book, he wasn’t sure.  What he was sure of was that if he didn’t break her vicious cycle of what was in this book, she’d end up being an unrested soul.  This was his job:  to fix this kind of thing.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She frowned, “So, you’re saying that if I don’t seek revenge on my ex-boyfriend for killing Missie, I’m likely to work through my loss like everyone else?”

“Yes and no.” he said, “You have to let Karma take care of him.”

She laughed, “That exists?”

“Yes.  You haven’t let it into your story until I’ve stepped in.”

Ashleigh pointed to the ledger, “And that is my story from the word dot?”

He patted the worn, hardcovered book, “Yes it is.  And in each life, over the last three centuries, you’ve lived the exact same life.  You’ve done the exact same things, said and been exactly the same in each life… nothing has changed about you.  You’ve been a vengeful soul.  And this has to stop.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will die.” He said opening the book at the golden-threaded bookmark, “By this time next Saturday, you’ll be dead.”

“Who the fuck are you?” she gritted, “Did that arsehole send you to scare me?”

“No.  I’m what you might call Fate.  I’m one of the Fates; I just took on the image of a man, so you’d talk to me.” He said, “And you, Ashleigh Simmons, have to stop what you’re doing and start letting things go.”

“Ashleigh, your…” her boss’ voice began to shout, but stopped, as did everything else around them as Zackary put his hand up.

“What you do next is up to you.” He said.

“How did you…?” she looked around and back to him, as the place slowly began to move again, but when she did, she found he was gone – along with the ledger, “Shit.”

“Hey, you deaf?” her boss stood next to her, “You’re break’s over.”

“No… I quit.” She pulled off her apron and went to grab her stuff.  Ashleigh had some thinking to do.

He watched her walk to the park where she asked her ex-boyfriend to meet her.  Unlike the last time she did this, and got herself killed, she chose an open, public place. 

“Tell me why you poisoned my dog – and it’s not because it bit you.” She said.

He looked down, “I didn’t poison Missie.”

“Why did you tell me you did?”

Douglas looked up with tears in his eyes, “Hey, yeah, she didn’t like me, but it was the neighbours… they put out rat poison wrapped in mince.  She scoffed it down and was gone before I knew what she had done.”

Ashleigh didn’t know what to say, “What did you do?”

“I reported them to the real estate, and they were evicted and charged by the police for animal cruelty.” He blew his nose on a handkerchief.

“Why did you get smarmy about it?”

He scratched his head, “Because you began picking… no… dunno.  I should’ve told you the truth straight up.  Ash, I’m so sorry.”

“Doug it’s okay… you did all the right things.” She reached out awkwardly and embraced him as they both cried over Missie,  “I’m gonna miss her.”

“Yep… same here.” He whispered into her neck.

“Thank you.” She stood back with a wane smile on her face.

Zachary looked down at his ledger.  It was empty.  None of the old stories existed from her other lives; which took her in circles of revenge and death, and back around again.  This made him happy.  It was time to talk to her again – to make her aware of how important she really was to the Fates; that she was the first and he was the last.  They were meant to be together and this was her final week on Earth for a reason.

* My scenario:  The story starts when your protagonist decides she/he wants revenge.  Another character is an executive who has been following your protagonist for years. 

My Last Job

And then, being mindful not to spill my tea, I eased into the tartan embrace of Endolyn Muirden’s least offensive armchair, and settled back to watch him die.  You would think I’d be disgusted about watching another human being leave the mortal coil, right?

Wrong.

I have been trying to kill the man for over a century and it seems nothing kills him.  Sure I’ve died a few times, and have been brought back by the Elders of my race and have been given this job to track him down and kill him.

But he never looks the same, is never in the same business, wears the same clothes or has the same hair style… but he does have one or two distinct features about him:  Endolyn has a signet ring of a large ruby which he wears on his right hand and a tattoo of a fire-drake on his right shoulder. 

Being a female Bounty Hunter, it’s not hard to get a man’s clothes off if I need to find out about the fire-drake, but the signet is hard to come across, as at times, he doesn’t wear it just to throw me off.  And to make sure he doesn’t know it’s me following him around, I never wear the same outfit twice – only when I’m going to kill him; so he remembers who I am.

Sound cold and calculating.

But that’s how I do it, not how I was taught.

Maybe you’re wondering why he must die.  Well, he was wanted by a European Emperor for jilting his daughter on her wedding day – and it was a massive occasion; even I was invited at the time because of my Clan’s importance.  On the day, that particular Emperor himself hired me personally to take care of Endolyn; to make sure he suffered a gruesome death.  He paid me half of a handsome reward and I was promised the other half once this bastard was dead.  But somehow he won’t stay dead!

So, the Elders of my Clan have kept on bringing me back to finish the job so it can be finished and I can be paid in full; and also my soul can rest in peace properly.  And this time, it’s beginning to look like a pretty sweet deal… he’s dying, melting, finding it hard to breath right in front of me and I’m sitting here watching him to make sure he’s gone.

However, I’m staying here to make sure he’s definitely dead.  I’m not moving until this horrendous man’s soul – if he has one – is wiped from this planet and from this dimension.  But how I did this is something I couldn’t do alone unfortunately as he knew if I did anything that was remotely to do with trying to killing him, he'd do away with me; and I'd be back at square one and would have lost him.  I think we’ve been around each other long enough to know how each other thinks. 

And strangely enough, he’s been trying to kill me – but I’ve been just out of his reach each time; how ironic is that?  Things become more ironic as we go along too.  The person he hired to kill me, is the same person I hired to help kill him… so instead of picking one or the other, this person did a half-arsed job on me, and did a proper job helping me kill Endolyn.  Why?  Well, the man I hired is a direct descendent from the European Emperor whose daughter Endolyn jilted all over a century ago… funny how this guy’s past has only just now begun catching up with him. 

“Listen, we don’t have to do anything, just watch him fall apart.” The guy said as he showed me a syringe filled with dark, glittering liquid.

“What is that?” I remember asking.

“Well, it was daytime when the wedding was on, and he didn’t show, right?” he placed it on the table as I watched his face, “And each time we saw him and there were accounts of his presence being anywhere, it was at night, just before dawn or just after sunset.”

“He’s a vamp.” I said.

He held it up again, “Dead man’s blood and enough silver to drop a couple of werewolves.”

“I watch him drool for a bit, watch him melt and then, chop off his head.” I unsheathed my dirk from its calf scabbard.

He grinned, “Wish you weren’t immortal. You’re so hot when you talk that way.”

I smiled as he packed his shit and left me with the arrangements.

This brings us to now… where I’m as comfortable as I’m gonna get in this weird chair in Endolyn’s house.  He’s been gagging, drooling and sizzling in his own shit for a while now, and I’m sick of his smell – and I mean almost physically sick of it.  Putting down the cup of tea, I spill a little in the saucer to hear it sizzle and a hole the size of my little fingernail has eaten through the porcelain. 

Smiling, I stand up, unsheathing my dirk as I do and approach him, “Nice try, Endolyn.  But, I win.” I raise my arm up high and my blade strikes sure and true.  His head hits the floor, “I win.” I look down at his corpse and realise my job is done – in more ways than one.