I paused in my search and …

Lucifer cocked an eyebrow in my direction.

10 responses to “I paused in my search and …

  1. I paused in my search and Lucifer cocked an eyebrow in my direction.
    Oh-ho, you devil, I thought. I know what you want.

  2. I paused in my search and Lucifer cocked an eyebrow in my direction.
    Oh-ho, you devil, I thought. I know what you want.

    I’m tall, but he was taller – at least six feet, probably more. His blue black hair was flawlessly styled. A perfect widow’s peak in the center of his forehead stopped a millimeter above a diagonal scar. He fixed me with steel blue eyes. My entire skin was alive with sensation as though I was about to be struck by lightning.

  3. I paused in my search, and Lucifer cocked an eyebrow in my direction.
    Oh-ho, you devil, I thought. I know what you want.

    I’m tall, but he was taller – at least six feet, probably more. His blue black hair was flawlessly styled. A perfect widow’s peak in the center of his forehead stopped a millimeter above a diagonal scar. He fixed me with steel blue eyes. My entire skin was alive with sensation as though I was about to be struck by lightning.

    Damn, I thought. I’m busy. What was he doing here, leaning against a lamp post as I headed west on Geary Street. His leathers were so deeply red they looked black. I stepped up to him, lifted my chin, patted my pregnant stomach, and made my eyes go slitty. Up close, he even smelled like an archetype—smoky, like some bad incense. “So is this it? Am I doomed for all eternity?”

  4. “Whadda I know, lady? Get away from me. You want yer fortune told, go inside and pay the goofball with the globe, or whadever it is. Now move, yer blockin’ my view.”

    With that, Lucifer threw a leg over the saddle, kicked the start pedal, and rode off down Geary on his red Harley.

  5. It figures, I thought. Try to find a fellow eternal on a dirty city street, and you end up with a crabby fashionisto. I’d just have to keep searching. Perhaps that goofball with the globe was a possibility. I patted the bulge at my waist and told the little guy to hang in there. We’d find our way home soon.

  6. The little guy patted back. Feeling the baby move for the first time brought a smile to my face.

    Then it kicked. And kicked again. Suddenly my insides felt like a kick-boxing match was in full kick. Kidneys, bladder, nothing was missed. The kicking didn’t stop, and I bent over, hoping to relieve the pressure that was quickly approaching pain.

    I heard the goofball-in-red rev the motor on his Harley just before he turned down Lombard Street and disappeared. Another kick and a tsunami of pain knocked me to my knees on the gritty sidewalk.

    And then I didn’t know anything.

  7. Mind you, I don’t know a whole lot even when I’m conscious. Which is probably how I came to be pregnant to a bad-boy biker.

    Personally, I blame the pharmaceutical companies for expecting me to remember to take their dumb birth-control pills daily, instead of following up on my idea of putting progesterone into a range of mini-bar-sized bottles of Jim Beam and selling them as a 28 pack.

    But anyway, there I was, not noticing the smell of rain on the dusty sidewalk…

  8. …because I was overwhelmed with pain, not only in my belly where the little guy continued kick-boxing my bladder, but also in my heart.

    Like, I mean, if Lucifer won’t talk to me about this baby, how am I going to support it? I can’t even support myself. Ha-ha. Lying on a sidewalk, unable to support myself. Get it? LOL. Or maybe that should be LOTSLMAO.

    Ow, quit kicking, little guy.

    Anyway, I may as well give up on the idea of child support from Lucifer.

    Wait a sec. He didn’t start kicking–or even moving–until I saw Lucifer. Do you suppose…

  9. Across the street in the alley, a figure dressed in white watched in the shadows of the Linquist Building. A tear ran down the cheek and landed on the dusty alley bricks. “Why do you put yourself through so much pain?”, he thought, then he turned into the darkness of the alley. “You are on your own now, I warned you to stay away from the red Harley, a white Honda Gold Wing has a much smoother ride.”

    She senses a presence, but doesn’t know where it is or why it would be there. Then, as the kicking subsided, so did the presence of a presence. She struggled to her feet, oil from the Harley and dust from the street staining her knees. She patted her bulging waist and started down the street. Then she heard it, an engine’s roar growing louder and louder, was it the Harley returning? Then above the roar she heard:

    “Boss, da plane, da plane.”

  10. Damn! She thought as she woke up with in a clammy sweat and trying to catch her breath, I need to remember to double up on the zantac before eating that screaming hot chili. The nightmares are getting worse as the pregnancy progresses – any weird noise can start that subconcious imagination down a terrifying path of bad dreams punctuated with insomnia. The only rememdy was to shake her husband awake and make him listen to her, because misery loves company – and certainly he deserves to suffer along with her, because he made the chili that sent her into the nightmare spiral. Hmmm, Lucifer of the culinary realm…

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