KPM: Hi there fans and trolls, I'd like to -dodges array of knives- WOAH! Okay, too far guys, too far! Why are you so mad?
Angry Fans: WE WANT RELIABLE! WE WANT-
KPM: Yeah, yeah, I know. I felt like doing a drabble though, so Pnhya!
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DIP
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No POV
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Damien sat outside the run-down house in the middle of the area where he was pretty sure his regular customer in Hell, Kenny, lived.
The Ghetto.
He used his demon-strength to jump up to a second-story window. He placed his foot on a board that was sticking out and held on the the window sill.
He wondered how the poor kid had managed to come out so... refined, after living in a place like this for most of his life. This house was literally a dump. He shouldn't have to live here.
The demon's eyes darted around the room for a minute before he found what he wanted. His sight rested upon a small figure curled up into a ball in the sheets of his bed. He could see some of the boy's blonde hair sticking out from under the covers. The little british boy turned over and exposed a pained face. Damien could tell instantly he was having a nightmare.
The demon wondered briefly for a moment if tonight would finally be the night he would go inside and comfort him physically for once. Instead he just placed a hand on the cold glass of the window, and a small black box resembling a Christmas present appeared on the floor next to the brit's bed. Damien stole one last look at the boy felt his chest clench. He felt as if he was responsible for the boy's nightmares.
After that incident at the fatass's birthday...
But he didn't mean to! At least, he thought he didn't. He was only eight, he didn't know what he was doing. But now he was paying for it, emotionally. He had thought he could forget the boy, but after a few years of that not working out, he had come back to this redneck dump-of-a-town, looking for closure, but got none, seeing as mentioned brit was still as pathetic as ever.
The demon let his hand fall from the window and felt his face, wiping away a tear he'd had no idea appeared. He turned and jumped down as he did. He submerged himself in fire, and had disappeared before he hit the ground.
Little did he know, though, Phillip P. Pirrup had seen the whole thing. Just as he had every night, when he felt the demon's presence leave, he would rush to the window and catch a glimpse of him as he went back, down to hell...
And mutter a quiet, "Thank you...Damien..."
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Sad, sad, tear, tear.
I was going as I went along again, and I think I like this lil' shortie.
Anyway, writer's block for reliable, blah blah blah, R&R, and I'm accepting requests by reviews, oms, anything, to help me get past writer's block for Reliable.
Until then, I'll be using these oneshot/drabble to help.
THANK YOU, OVER AND OUT!
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