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When you think about, were all evil to some extent. Everyone has there eccentricities, some people just embrace theirs a bit more than others. Everyone is capable of evil, whether they know it or not. Darkness is in the air, its pounding in our veins. We simply either choose to ignore it, or become it. But some of us, like me, are a little different.

Some of us can’t help but be evil. For instance, I’m the product of a succubus and a demon sent from hell to spread evil across the world. And no, that’s not what I call my parents when were fighting. (Which happens a lot, by the way.) I’m dead serious. My mother ate part of my father’s immortal demon soul; they fell in love, and got married. I know, all the makings for a VH1 reality show, right?

So, as you can guess, I’m pretty much destined to be bad. I mean stone cold evil. Well sadly, it didn’t really turn out so well for my parents. I never saw the fun in fighting, I didn’t hurt people just because I could, and I never felt the indescribable urge to devour someone’s soul. No, of course not. I became a nerdy, straight A, puberty struck, polite, 15 year old high school “freshy”. That is, until I hit Dean Meyers in the face, and my whole crappy messed up life got turned around and kicked in the a**.



It was a Monday, oh yes. And it wasn’t just “one of those days”. Oh, hell no. It was like the king of shitty days. And there I was, sitting in the middle of Advanced Geometry, twiddling my thumbs. The teacher was drawing some equation on the board. We were all getting ready for the pop quiz Period Two had warned us about. And of course, like a drunken angel, the quiz fell onto our desks and people started freaking out. Dean sat next to me at the time, his eyes lighting up with clueless-ness.

We were two minutes into the test when out of the bloody blue I hear this, “Pst.” Dean was leaning across his desk towards me, staring blankly at my answers. I rested my arm directly in his way. What a jerk. Then he whispers, “What’s number four?” I laugh and go back to my work, blowing him off. The teacher sat oblivious at her desk, but I wasn’t about to give the kid who called me ‘dork-face’ all through middle school the answers to the easiest problem on the test.

“Pssst.” He spat at me again. I tilted my head; he took it as an acknowledgment. “What’s number four?” he hissed again. I ignored him… again. “If you don’t tell me Ill make you regret it.” He threatened.

The images of black pavement rushing towards my face flew across my mind. I remembered back to all those times he had gotten his kicks out of my pain. Sure, he probably had some screwed up family blah, blah, blah. I just didn’t see why I had to suffer because of it. So, once again, I turned my back to him and finished up my test.

Biggest mistake of my life.



I strode out of Geometry as soon as the bell rang. Just gotta make it to the bus, I kept thinking, just gotta make it to the bus. Alas, I never did make it. No, I got to the blacktop. And there waiting for me, was Dean. None of his friends were there to back him up, thank goodness. Most of them had probably rushed home, since it was a Friday, or they were suspended. However, even without his army of goons, he still looked ready to strike.

“Hey dipshit!” He called. I tried to keep walking, I really did. I knew how easily my anger became rage. One time, my father got home late from his job as an accountant for the fifth time that week. What better way to spread evil, right? Anyway, my mother got so angry she seduced and ate his boss’s soul. So, moral of the story? Don’t get mad.

But Dean was already mad. Not just mad, he was an angry little white boy with fists of rage. His backpack was thrown onto the ground, and he seeped revenge. I knew, I could feel it. It’s hard to describe, but since I come from evil, I can feel when it manifests. When a person lets themselves feel darkness, or do something they know is evil, I know. It’s like a small light switch on their soul, and I can see if the lights on or off. Dean had definitely flipped the switch.

And yet I still tried to walk away. Even though I knew he would never let me pass; even though I could feel the revenge rolling down the back of his neck. Dean was certainly an easily angered person, and the fact that I didn’t stop and confront him made things much worse. Dean must have searched for the easiest way to get me to fight him. I had just hoped he wouldn’t find it.

Stella Norwood.

She was more than just a crush, much more. Stella was a goddess. I had known her since kindergarten, and we had always been the best of friends. Nothing ever fazed her, and she always seemed to be able to keep the playground bullies away from me. Of course, I never had the nerve to tell her I wanted to be way more than friends. So sadly, when Dean Meyers decided to call her a slut… I lost it. I threw the whole ‘don’t get mad’ thing out of the truck and drove down the road at fifty mph. I didn’t even have a second thought.

All I remember is Dean laughing, pulling a textbook out of my backpack, running at him, the two inches of Geometry equations soaring through the air, and the very satisfying thump when it made contact with his face. But I was defending a girl’s honor, so it was actually kind of heroic… right?