Ghoul’s Night Out

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She perused the menu of the expensive, five pentagram rated restaurant.

A posh, dark ages style torture room decor with stunning views of the unholiest realms.

Perfect for their Ghoul’s night out.

“Let’s see it,” Bestie demands.

She reaches her ring hand across the table.

Bestie closely examines the gem. “Two trapped souls?!”

“I know!” She shrieks.

“Lucky ghoul.”

“And… he loves children,” She adds. “Lightly seasoned… Well done.”

“Your fave.”

“Ahhh… bestie remembers!”

Fiery portals open above their tables. Flaming tentacles place two cauldrons of Boiling Hot primordial soup before them.

“Roanoake U Coven reunion tomorrow.” Bestie tastes the soup.

“The Black Lipstick slut sorority?”

Bestie squints. “Didn’t you pledge?”

“Yes… Before you sacrificed me to the demon, Bilquis.”

Bestie nods. “You’re welcome.”

“Whatever.” She laughs. “Hows dating life?”

Tentacles deliver blood champagne.

“Screwed one of the four,” Bestie answers.

“Horseman?”

Bestie smirks. “Famine.”

“Thought you’d prefer War.”

Too aggressive.”

“Wow… You’ve matured.”

“Two hundredth birthday just passed.”

“Happy belated.”

“I guess…” Bestie frowns.

“Your soulless mate exists. I promise.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bestie sighs.

Explore… Date warlocks.”

“Religious nuts? No thanks.”

“Zombies?”

“Followers. One track minds.”

“Oooh, Vampires? They’re romantic.”

“Total racists.” Bestie replies.  “Briefly dated a succubus.”

“When?

“That semester in Purgatory.”

“Hmmm…. Mummies?”

“Terrible dressers.”

“Wolves?”

“Wild in bed.” Bestie flashes missing finger. “Too wild.”

“Frankenstein.”

“Happily married.”

She groans.

“Ghoul, stop! I’m… fine.”

“You sure?”

Bestie nods and raises glass. “Tonights about you and your unholy union.”

“I guess,” She raises glass.

They share a toast.

 

“Ilana’s call”

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Ilana frantically searched for her car keys and taser. She was an hour late for her tattoo appointment with ‘Freeze’, the only tattoo artist capable of drawing Buttercup and Blossom. See, Freeze was an ill-tempered and impatient drag queen with switchblades who moonlighted as a bar-tending dominatrix at a bar frequented by homicide detectives. She understood having two jobs. Understood life as an enterprising diva. Tatts and hairdos don’t pay for themselves. She needed to get her ass in her car.
She snatched her keys and was about to leave when her phone rang.
“What?” She answered.
“June’s calling,” Camaiyah said.
“Impossible,” She replied.
“Seriously.”
“Can’t be him.”
“What do I do?”
“He can’t trace anything back to you.“ She leaned against the counter. “Even if he did manage to escape.”
“Back to us.”
“Don’t do that,” Ilana warned. “There’s no us.”
“I’m not the one who hacked him.”
“You paid me. I did a job.” Ilana used her phone to trace Camaiyah’s location. “I’m just a third-”
Her phone buzzed.
“Party…” She checked her phone. “He’s calling?”
“How did he-”
“Shut up.” Ilana interrupted as she frantically pushed ignore.
But the screen was frozen. Phone kept ringing. Text and email inboxes flooding.
“Damn it.”
“What?”
Phone answered on its own. Speaker phone activated…. on its own.
“I know you’re there, Ilana,” June said.
Camaiyah was silent. Breathing hard. Swallowing spit.
“I know everything,” June said. “I just want to talk.”
‘Lies’ she thought. June wanted vengeance.
“Okay, lets talk.”

In A Dominant’s Mind

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The Dominant climbed to the top of the Junk Heap mountaintop and looked down on his creations.

The Dominant looked angry. And sure of himself.

“I built this world!” The Dominant declared.

The countless kidnapped, murdered, tortured, raped, bought, and sold Ancestors of Chattel Creations collectively narrowed their eyes at the Suburban Dominant.

“Did I not build everything?” The Dominant questioned.

Their hands. Bruised from beatings. Disfigured from twenty three hour a day labor, and weekly bone snappings when the Dominant’s ancestors didn’t believe their creations were working fast enough. Discolored from ritual burnings. Scratches from clamoring for the children being ripped from their arms. Soaked from, sweat, tears and blood. Their hands… fading slowly out of existence as its been for decades.

“Of course you did,” The Ancestor replied as they began fading from the collective consciousness of the dominants– also known as existence.

Chattels didn’t god-like, time and space altering power like the Dominant’s. How could they argue their own existence? There was no place else for them to exist and survive within a world not of their making or control– within a Dominant’s thoughts.

They lowered their hands, deciding to accept their fates and allow themselves to be faded out of existence– also known as the collective consciousness of the Dominants.

“Very good. Know your place.” The Dominant placed his flag in the center of the universe. “I claim this world and all its realities.”

The Dominant’s wiped the Creations from their minds and all of existence.

.

Omolola

“You people?” Omolola snapped as the cold energy radiating from her palms enveloped the air. “What you mean ‘you’ people?”

“Breathe,” Oshun pleaded. “He meant no harm.”

“Bullshit!” Omolola cried as the icy blue aura ripped through her forearms, causing pain she was too enraged to acknowledge. “I dare him to say it again!”

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