Become a demon, they said, we have more fun, they said. Of course it didn't hurt that they're immortal and have a support network that allows them to never work another day of their lives, but immortality comes with a price. All demons have to be blonde. Oh, and they lose their souls and are damned for all eternity, but mostly the blonde thing, at least in her mind.
She didn't mind the eternity thing, not yet: two years is hardly an eternity, even if she was blonde.
They hadn't told her about that, the bastards. But what did she expect from demons?
She had expected the truth. They had told her the truth about everything else: her past, her present, and presumably, her future.
The thing about demons is that they aren't who you expect them to be. They're not the cheerleaders that make your life miserable. They're not the customer service people leading you in bureaucratic circles and mocking you when they think they're on mute. They're not even your boss who makes you come in on weekends to finish projects that they won't look at for another month or two. No, demons are much smarter than all that.
The man who holds the door open for you when you are too far behind, making you run because you feel bad he has been standing there for thirty whole seconds, and then graciously bowing his head as you apologize. You will think about that moment for much too long. That's one of them.
The person that glares at you suspiciously after you smiled and waved at their child? They know you were being friendly, but now they've succeeded in making you paranoid and afraid of small children in public places.
The woman in the grocery store that tells you to go ahead of her in line because you have fewer items, but then something mysteriously is missing a tag and the price check takes longer than her transaction ever could have. That's a particularly devious demon.
Her hobby was much simpler than all of this. She worked at various call centers over time, sometimes doing her job by the book, interrupting family dinners and afternoon naps, and sometimes breaking down crying when the person sounded particularly vulnerable to sympathy. When those calls got recorded and reviewed she got fired, but she didn't care, she just got a new job.
Of course, she could never see her family again after becoming a demon. Not that it was dangerous or anything, but they would never believe she would willingly have dyed her hair. But she didn't mind, she could still call them during family dinners and be yelled at to be taken off the call list. In many ways not much had changed.
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While not a complete short story, this was a short universe I needed to get out of my head and am now reconsidering the idea of publishing on my blog. But I'm just going to hit Publish and then I won't have to worry about it anymore. It will be your problem.
