Author's note: Very short piece, based upon the song "Demons" by Guster (check them out, they're an absolutely awesome band!). The poem at the very start of this piece is mine.

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I'm a demon

A demon with a bow

And what a demon feels

Is nothing you should know.

So while I speak harsh words

And act in evil ways

You are an angel

The angel this demon craves

I set my pen down and read over the newest poem in my little pink book. I could practically feel the weight of horns on my temples and a pointed tail twitching under my dress. I remembered that day at recess at school, when once again I snapped at Arnold.

He had come up to walk beside me while we were both on our way to the playground, and had asked me about that fateful day on the Future Tech Industries building. Apparently he was unsatisfied with our original plan. That whole passionate moment was just a misguided burst of adrenaline, and as far as we were both concerned, it never happened. That was what we agreed upon.

But there he stood in front of me, the question readable in his eyes before he voiced it. He wanted to know if it had really all been mistaken and worth forgetting. He wanted to know if it had meant anything. I knew he was asking out of pure neutral Football Head curiosity. My usual romanticism wanted to put some implication in the question that he wanted a positive answer, though.

However much the implication was in my head or actually there, I knew what I had to do. I froze for only a moment to weigh the pros and cons. Before I could even finish doing that, the word were already pouring out. I kept the original idea that had only been adrenaline and frustration built up and it just came out all wrong, but elaborated, rambling and ranting and not stopping even when his face began to look increasingly confused. I knew he didn't notice my fingers crossed behind my back as I lied away. No, it had no meaning and I felt nothing and I would have kissed any boy that was in front of me at that point. It had nothing to do with him in particular. Why would I want to kiss a stupid Football Head? That would be disgusting. It was disgusting. The most disgusting moment of my life, next to having to kiss him for the school play.

His eyes were wide and his face was blank as I trailed off in my ramblings. He nodded once, slowly, and said his usual, "Whatever you say, Helga," in a low, monotone voice before turning away. My fingers ached by then from the force at which I had them crossed. I wondered if he had noticed the tension. Did he taste the deceit I had fed him?

I liked to think that I made him believe my lies. Somewhere there was a little part of me that begged for him to notice the deception, though. I tried to shut her up as often as possible.

You see, it's better for me to be a demon. I can't get hurt that way, I'm sure. If I were to open up and tell the truth, I would leave my heart tender. And even the slightest rejection of that sacrifice would bring me the pain that I feared so much.

You might have heard it's easier to just be honest. But I have to tell you it's in fiction that real genius lies. It takes so much more imagination and cunning to keep up the lies and facades. It's a real exercise for the mind. Years of maintenance have made my mind strong and hard, to match the will of the treacherous demon I've become.