(OLD VER.) When Mermen Run From Their Demons

Memory #1

"Come here, boy." the older man yelled from across the rather small living room. He would be pretty damn attractive if it wasn't for the beer belly he had developed over the long years. But his face was probably the only attractive thing about him if you looked closely. His skin was cracked, his eyes had an eternal hatred and rage going through them.

     If you weren't educated, you'd probably mistake him for the Devil, judging by the horns on his head that were so black, they leeched the light out of the room, or by the bony black feathery wings that had sparks of fire on them that would blister your hands at the lightest touch. But he wasn't the Devil, he was merely a demon. The Devil's castle was just past one of the many lakes of fire, though.

     "No, go away. Please." The slightly smaller, but indefinitely more attractive younger teenager shouted back, though he knew the term 'please' wasn't going to do any favors for him. But he had run out of things to do, he tried everything, and the one thing he had left to try hadn't had results yet.

     He didn't have horns unlike the man so he shared similar features with, and his wings were much larger and far more pleasing to the eye, although unlike the older man's wings, this one had wings that fire burned indefinitely on, though for some strange reason, it didn't hurt to touch.

     "You do not say no to me. I said COME HERE!"

     "And I said NO dickhead!"

     "That's it." The man yelled in his raspy voice. He got up and grabbed a metal frying pan from the cabinet he was next to. He'd used many weapons over the years. It started with the classic belt, then he upgraded to a paddle with holes drilled into it just for his son.

     Now it was whatever was around, either he could use to hit with or throw with. Though he'd already used up all their glass dishes. But demons didn't need to eat anyway.

     "Oh fuck no..." the boy whispered to himself. He considered running to his room and locking it but that wouldn't do anything. He'd just end up with a black eye and a broken knob.

     He could try running outside and call for help, but they were in Hell, nobody would care enough to help him because he's already dead. So it's not like he's actually getting abused. But he can't just take another hit without fighting. He'd done that too many times already.

     He took too long debating what to do.

      The man walked over to him, his feet stomping the ground and knocking outdated pictures off the wall. He swatted his son hard in the gut with that frying pan and he doubled over, suppressing a vomit.

     "You never say 'no' to me Trevor." He hit his son's shin and made him collapse on a knee. "DO YOU HEAR ME?"

     The boy nodded.

     "THEN SAY IT!"

     "I'll never say no to you."