The Gathering Daemonica

by Sam Gafford

            Inside the main lobby of the Biltmore Hotel, groups of people milled about as they waited for the events to start. The hotel employees were busy checking in new arrivals and bringing luggage up to the rooms. It was a hotbed of activity. The largest convention of the year was almost ready to begin and the staff was already overloaded with guests. The hotel manager was running back and forth, obviously pleased that he had filled the hotel to capacity for this weekend. Off to one side, near the registration desk, two men stood talking very intently.

            “It is nearly time to begin and he has yet to arrive,” the first one said. He was of medium build, slightly pudgy, and completely bald.

            The second man sighed. “After all this time, you have still not learned patience. He will be here.” He was taller, thinner, and impeccably dressed. The suit, of course, was black.

            “What will we do if he doesn’t come? We have events planned. Do you know how long it took to put this all together? I haven’t been able to organize one of these for nearly 110 years since the last one in England and you remember what a problem that was when someone I refuse to mention went on a rampage. I’ll be damned if I went to all this trouble for nothing!”

            The second man smirked. “You’re damned anyway.”

            “Well, yes, of course. But that’s beside the point.”

            “Look, stop fidgeting. You always were a nervous one.”

            “But we can’t have the convention without him. He’s the Guest of Honor!”

            “And he will be here. You can’t expect one like him to be on time. He’s very busy you know.”

            “I know, I know. But I confirmed these plans with him personally ages ago!”

            “Then he will be here. It is an important day. He will not miss it.”

            The pudgy man fidgeted. He was about to say something else, thought better of it, and kept silent. The second man stood quietly as the crowd surged around him. It would be difficult for the untrained eye to separate the conventioneers from the normal hotel guests. But it was not difficult for him. He knew all of the guests. The oldest ones he had recruited himself but he had taken the time to get to know all of them personally. A few greeted him as they passed by and picked up their registration materials at the convention desk. They came in every shape and size, every race and color. Fat and thin, beautiful and ugly, short and tall. They were all the epitome of normal human beings. Which was exactly the way he had trained them. It didn’t do for humans to see demons walking amongst them, unless that was what they wanted. And yet, even the second man was becoming irritated.

            It was getting late. The guest of honor should have been there hours before but he supposed that it was only to be expected. After all, it was not every day that a demon was promoted out of Hell. Actually, it had never happened before. Which also irritated him. Cluchach (known affectionately as “C”) was one of his oldest demons. Procured shortly after the Fall and back when he still made special deals to fill his ranks. With so few people back then, he needed to be inventive when recruiting. He had long since given up using such things as contracts. Too binding. Too limiting. But, back then, he was young and didn’t know how to run his business properly. He’d learned since then. But C was never supposed to fulfill the terms of his contract. None of them were. Who’d ever thought that one demon would ever be responsible for the eternal damnation of almost one zillion human souls? C was only one soul short and it was certain that he would hit the mark this weekend. C never failed. Now he would be duty bound to honor the contract and release C from his service. It was to be the highlight of the convention, and he didn’t like it one little bit.

            “He’s here!” the first man cried. He lunged for the door as a large white limousine pulled up in front of the hotel. The doorman quickly opened the door and a young, handsome and vibrant man eased out of the car. C beamed happiness and confidence. He was dressed in an flawless white suit with a white shirt, white tie and white shoes. His hair was dark and thin, of medium length but neatly trimmed. He walked as if he owned the world and, to a certain respect, he did.

            “C!” the first man beamed. “You made it!”

            He thrust his hand out and C took it slowly. “Ah yes,” he said, a smile slowly breaking on his face, “Dathon, isn’t it? Sorry I’m late. Celebrating, you know.”

            “Of course, of course. We’re just glad you made it on time.” Dathon was trying to hurry C along but C was taking his time walking through the lobby. It had taken him centuries to reach this point. He was going to enjoy it.

            “Now we’ve got you making the keynote address in the Hamilton Room in fifteen minutes and then you’ve got a break for an hour or so before you’re on the next panel.”

            As they walked, the second man stood quietly, sizing up C. It had been awhile, after all, since he had had a sit down with C. Not since that unpleasantness in Greece a few decades ago when he’d tried to have C dismembered. He’d long since regretted making his employees immortal. Killing them only reduced them to the state of a normal damned soul.

            C stopped in front of the second man. “Well, well, well. The man himself. Didn’t think I’d see you here, A. Thought for sure you’d be sulking in a corner somewhere.”

            “And allow you to have all the fun? Perish the thought! How are you, C?”

            C smirked. “You should know. One away and I’m away.”

            “And do you have someone already picked out?”

            “Now, A, that would be telling. As if I’d let you know ahead of time. You’ll see them soon enough.”

            Next to them, Dathon was sweating anxiously.

            “Gentlemen, gentlemen, I’m afraid I must insist. I have to get C to the Hamilton Room.”

            “Of course,” A smiled happily. “I’ll catch up with you later. Looking forward to your panel on damnation techniques.”

            Dathon hurried C away but, as he went, C turned around and silently mouthed the words, “One more” to A.

            A turned away and inspected his manicure but, beneath his feet, the carpet was burning.

            “...and so, ever since the Kitchener accord of 1910, we’ve had to revise what we consider to be a mortal sin.”

            The panel had been going on for over a half hour when she walked into the room. She sat in a back corner by herself. Even though she was not near them, several demons got up and quietly moved to other sections of the room. She pretended not to notice them. In the controlled atmosphere of the room, they had allowed their human facades to drop but not her. She sat in her human guise, perfectly poised. She was thin, but not abnormally so. Her hair was a light blonde and tied neatly into a french braid. Her face was warm and soft and her eyes were especially soothing. She was a vision of simple beauty and she sat calmly and quietly as she listened to C speak.

            “Yes,” he said, “we’ve had to become more cunning, more resourceful. There’s so much competition out there today that it’s tough to get someone to commit a truly damnable sin. People commit minor sins every day. They lie, cheat, steal and they manage to convince themselves that they never did it at all. Guilt is one of our most powerful weapons. Only through guilt can we compel them to recognize...”

            He stopped. He couldn’t see her with the lights but he knew she was there. He could smell her scent. Violets. She had always preferred that perfume. A human failing that refused to die. It was foolish. He should have known she would be here...everyone was.

            “Ah, C? You were saying?” Dathon blathered.

            “Oh, oh, yes. Were was I? Oh, guilt. Yes, guilt must not be underestimated. If properly used, it can be insidious.”

            “I don’t think anyone would argue that, C. Any questions?”

            A few minor demons asked (as a few always will) how to be as successful as C in damning souls. “Work hard,” he said, “know your victim. Everyone has weaknesses.”

            “Everyone?”

            “Everyone. Some just aren’t as blatant about it.”

            She raised her hand.

            Dathon ignored her.

            “Any more questions?”

            She got tired of waiting. “What about the souls? Is there ever any hope of redemption?”

            Dathon tried to bluff over it. “Well, that’s all we have time for. I’d like to thank everyone...”

            “There’s always hope of redemption,” C said, “otherwise there is no point to damnation.”

            He looked up where her voice had come from, but she had already left.

            A stood silently in the hallway, amusing himself with the convention schedule. “Seven Deadly Sins: Should There Be More?” he chuckled to himself. “Modern Damnation Techniques: The Internet and You,” “Why Can’t Johnny Damn?” and “Overcrowding: New Space in Hell?”. A was most entertained. If nothing else, Dathon was a capable administrator which was probably why most of the souls he had damned had come from the business sector. “A well place keystroke or erasure can be as damning as the most tempting female flesh,” Dathon had once said and A was forced to agree with him.

            A pretended not to notice C and the entourage of younger demons coming down the hall.

            “Yes, but that bit you did with the Englishman was so inspired! How did you come up with it?”

            “I just assured him that, being King, he could do anything he wanted. Abdication seemed a small thing to him after that but it was enough to do the job.”

            A picked his teeth with his manicured pinky and gave the schedule his undivided attention.

            “A.”

            He glanced up.

            “Ah, C. Made any progress? My Minister of Damnation has not sent me a new Damnation Contract with your name on it yet.”

            “A moment, if you please.”

            A looked up. He appeared genuinely confused at the request but A could appear to be genuine about anything including the most ungenuine things.

            “Of course.” He waved his hand and they were in the ether with mist swirling about them.

            “What is she doing here?”

            “She? And who might she be?”

            “You know who. Charazadon.”

            “Oh. Well, I expect that she is doing the same thing they all are. She’s here to pay homage to you and pick up some damnation tips. She certainly needs them.”

            “Tell her to go away.”

            “I can’t do that.”

             “Of course you can. You’re the devil. You can do whatever you want.”

            A grinned. “I suppose I can. But I won’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “I suppose because I would prefer that you do it. Actually, I prefer to make you as uncomfortable as possible.”

            C glared at him.

            “So you will not command her to leave?”

            “I will not command her to do anything, except to damn a soul. She hasn’t done one in quite a long time, as you know.”

            C looked at him a long time. “I will win you know. I will have my freedom.”

            “Of course you will, old sod, I’m counting on it.”

            With a wave, C was back at the hotel and A was gone.

            “Cheeky bastard,” C said, and turned back to his entourage.

            C avoided her the rest of the day which was not very hard. Charazadon did not try to contact him nor did anyone try to contact her. They walked around in their demon garb, wings flapping, mouths salivating, tongues undulating, penises flapping about, letting themselves all hang out. Except her. She walked about the convention always in her human face. The others walked around her. A few threw excrement at her but the stains always faded away on her tan sun dress. She wandered through the dealers room, looking at the self help books (A Better Way to Hell; I’m Okay, You’re Damned, etc.), passing by the tables with the new torture devices, avoiding the tables with videotapes of successful damnations and the underground tapes of exorcisms. The art show wasn’t much better as demons attempted to show what passed for art but all they had were pictures of souls being damned. Charazadon walked around for a while until she thought it was safe enough to go upstairs.

            After dinner, C went to see about his final soul. He had planned it for some time now and it was meant to be a big one. It was true that it had gotten harder and harder to truly damn anyone. Everyone was always committing little sins so it was difficult to get them to recognize truly major sins. But this one was almost in the bag. He’d been working on this soul for a while and he had arranged it so that everything would come together tonight. It was too easy to corrupt the souls of the rich and famous. They practically begged to be damned. Harder to get, and more rewarding, was the soul of the everyday person. The one who had spent their entire lives being devoted to their religion, their families, their work. They were harder to tempt but, once you got them, they were delicious.

            Susan’s husband, Ronnie, had been lured out of town because of work. But only for a certain amount of time. If C timed this right, he would get three souls for the price of one. It had taken some patience (that was the problem with the young demons, they wanted damnations immediately, they weren’t willing to work for it) and a lot of work to tempt Ronnie’s younger brother Jerry with visions of Susan’s nubile young body. C had had to drop the visions into otherwise harmless dreams but, once Jerry had taken hold of it, C had been able to drop the visions in at any time during the day. In addition, he had planted similar pictures of Jerry into Susan’s mind. While this was going on, C had increased Ronnie’s desire for fattening foods, alcohol and violence. Planning, it was all planning. As they had said so many times, “the devil was in the details”. C smiled at that. Now, tonight, C had arranged for Ronnie to leave on an emergency business trip and for Jerry to suddenly stop by while Susan was alone. At that point, C had to step back. That was the rule. He could plant, he could tempt, he could persuade, but at the point where the final decision was to be made, he had to step back. The choice had to be theirs. So many had lost the souls at that point but that was because they hadn’t done the work well enough. C was certain that, once again, he would win.

            When Jerry stopped by, he had interrupted Susan during a particularly heated masturbation session (filled with visions of Jerry, of course, provided by C) and she was primed and ready. C sat back and watched as the passions overwhelmed them and the clothes came off. Within minutes, they were in bed and two mortal sins were being committed. (Deep in Hell, the Minister of Damnation signed Jerry and Susan’s names to a Contract of Damnation with C as the signing agent and send it off to A.) But C wasn’t done. On his way to the emergency business meeting, Ronnie received a call on his cellular letting him known that the emergency was over and the meeting was canceled. As he turned his car around, Ronnie tried to call home but, for some reason, his cellular chose that moment to lose power.

            Pulling his car into the driveway, he saw his brother’s car and wondered what it might be doing there. Opening his front door, he was confronted with certain sounds that could not be denied. Sounds of mutual pleasure, of orgasmic bliss, that he had not heard himself for some time. Slowly, he walked to his den and opened his closet. He took out his pistol and checked it. It was fully loaded. Quietly, he walked up the stairs to his bedroom, opened the door, and fired.

            When A received the three Contracts of Damnation, he was alone in his penthouse hotel suite. He looked them over but there were complete, as he knew they would be. He was not happy. Silently, he ordered the Overlords of Hell to increase the sufferings of the damned threefold. If nothing else, he would enjoy some music this night.

            “I know you’re here.” C said to his hotel room. There was a most undemonly odor of violets in the room.

            “I could never hide from you.” Charazadon said. She moved away from the darkened corner where she had been waiting.

            “You could. If you really wanted to. I recall that you hid from me for a few centuries once.”

            “Only because you didn’t want to look.” She paused. “How have you been?”

            C laughed. It was a good laugh, full of mirth and joy. It was especially unpleasant coming from a Lord of Hell.

            “‘How have I been?’ Oh, I’ve been doing very well. You know, of course.”

            “Yes, you’re the talk of the legions.”

            “As I should be. No one else has ever accomplished this.”

            Charazadon lowered her head. “Do you think he will honor his part?”

            A little too quickly, C answered, “Of course. He is honor bound by our contract. He has to.”

            “Still, it is not like him to not try some tricks.”

            “Why are you here, Charazadon?”

            “I’ve been waiting here for you.”

            “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why are you here now?”

            “Is it so hard to believe that I’ve come to wish you well in your triumph?”

            “Yes.”

            Something played across her face. It was difficult to tell if it was a smile or a grimace.

            “I’ve come to ask you a favor.”

            “Yes?”

            Charazadon paused. With an effort, C could tell that she was crying. It was a terrible thing to see a demon cry. He wanted to hold her but didn’t. He stood waiting for her to speak again.

            “I want you to kill me.”

            Downstairs, in the lobby, A was questioning Dathon. “Is all ready for the special event tomorrow?”

            “Of course, my lord. All has been prepared. But, if I may, I have a small question...”

            A stood and glared at Dathon who began sweating. Dathon was one of those demons who could sweat while standing in the heart of a glacier.

            “Um,” Dathon began, “you aren’t actually going to go through with this, are you?”

            A smiled. Such naive faith and fear. It was positively delicious!

            “Yes, of course I am! I am a man of my word.”

            “Um, but you’re not exactly a man, are you?”

            “I suppose you might have a point there, Dathon, I suppose you might.” With that, A turned and walked away, signing a particularly odious song popular among the Roman legions under Tiberius.

            Dathon scurried away to the banquet hall, his steps echoing in the large room as he passed beneath the huge panoramic windows. There were times he really hated his job.

            “Charazadon, don’t be insane. You know I can’t do that.”

            “Only a demon can kill another demon. Either that or A and he’d never do it.”

            “No? I’d heard he’d threatened that.”

            “Threatened is not doing. He knows that keeping me the way I am is more painful than killing me.”

            “No doubt. Killing you would only make you one of the normal damned. You’d have none of the privileges of the demon class, but none of the problems either. I imagine that’s why you’re asking.”

            “You know it is. I haven’t damned anyone in decades and I don’t want to.”

            “No wonder your record is so poor lately and no one wishes to associate with you. But why? Don’t tell me that whole Gein thing is bothering you again.”

            “It’s not just that. It’s what it all started. First there was Ed. Then Charles, then Ted, then David. It just kept going on and on and on and on.”

            “Yes! That was the beauty of it! We did great work with Ed. Not only did we damn him but entire scores of other people who had never met him. It was magnificent!”

            “No, no it wasn’t. It was just wrong. We shouldn’t have done that. Look at the innocent people who died horribly in great pain because of it.”

            “So? That’s what they are born for. To die in great pain!”

            Charazadon looked at him. “I didn’t realize.”

            “You didn’t realize what?”

            “That you had learned so little. How long have you dwelt among them? You one of the oldest of us and yet you don’t understand them. Have you ever tried to talk to them?”

            “Talk to them? Why should I do that?”

            “You once told me that you had to learn everything about your subject for a successful damnation. Have you ever listened to them? Listened to their poetry? Their music? Read their literature? Have you never gone and talked to one of them? Felt their hopes and dreams? Their joys and sorrows? Tasted what it was to be human again?”

            C didn’t reply.

            “Once,” he said after some time, “I could remember what it was like. But it’s been so long that I can’t remember any more. After tomorrow, I won’t have to remember. A will give me my soul back and I’ll be human again.”

            “I know. That’s why I’m here. Once you’re human, you can’t kill me. And you’re the only one who would. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t go on damning them knowing what they’ll face and I’ll never get enough souls to win my freedom. I need you to do this for me.”

            “I can’t. You know I can’t. That’s breaking the rules. You’d be free, or as free as a damned soul in Hell can be, but I’d pay the price. You know that. If I kill you, I accept your contract. I’d be responsible for gathering your souls.”

            “I know. I just hoped that...”

            “No. I’ve come too far.”

            Charazadon hung her head lower and looked out of the hotel window. “Sometimes I just like to watch the lights. The way they dance around in the sky and on the ground. The humans attach so much importance to lights. Have you ever noticed that? Everything good is light and everything bad is dark.”

            “Charazadon, why are you telling me this?”

            “Because I can’t remember what it is to be light and I want to.”

            She walked by him and out the door. This surprised him because demons normally don’t use doors. They were for the common hordes of meat. C sat down on the bed (the first bed he had taken the time to rest on for a millennium) and thought.

            The time had come. The players were arranged and the banquet hall was full. C’s three way triumph had already spread through the convention and all the guests were anxiously waiting the final act. Would A come through? The betting demons were given odds that A would pull something out at the last minute and save the day. No one beat him, after all, that was what his reputation was built on. But there were still other issues as well. More than a few demons were hoping against hope that C would pull it off. That he would succeed where no other demon had before and win his freedom. Otherwise, what were they all bothering with this for?

            The roast was still underway. Other lesser demons were making fun of C, bringing up times when things didn’t work out the way they were planned or other things intervened. C didn’t care for it, but put up with it, laughing good naturedly but always looking for Charazadon. She was nowhere to be seen. A, however, was watching C intently.

            “And now,” Dathon said, “we come to the main event. A!”

            A stood up amidst much applause and motioned everyone down.

            “Tonight,” he began, “is a very special night. This is an event that has never happened before in our shared history and may never happen again! Cluchach has done the impossible. He has secured One Zillion and Two souls!”

            More applause. Still no Charazadon. C sniffed the air. Something wasn’t quite right.

            “And so, we gather here tonight to honor him and to wish him well for he is now leaving us for good.”

            A smattering of applause.

            C smelled violets. That stupid human perfume of Charazadon. But from where?

            “So, it is with great regret, that we come to the end, Cluchach and I. For centuries we have worked side by side. I’ll miss him, but mostly I’ll miss all the souls he brought me!”

            Much laughter. C looked around but still couldn’t see Charazadon. But he knew she was there. Then he looked up at the large panoramic windows through which the whole room could see the lights of the city below. Except for one very large dark patch.

            “But I am a man of my word and I am here tonight to keep my word. So, without further ado...”

            A pulled an ancient parchment out of his jacket. The dark shape on the window shifted. C tensed.

            “This,” A held the parchment up high, letting everyone see, “is something most of you newer demons have never seen. It’s a written contract!”

            A smattering of laughter. There was the sound of small cracks.

            “With the burning of this,” A’s finger burned with flame, “Cluchach is released and his soul is his again! May God have mercy on his soul!”

            More laughter and A’s finger moved closer to the paper as the large window collapsed and a black angry shape burst down into the room.

            Demons scattered left and right as they cowardly fled. The dark shape fell upon the floor and drew itself up. It was Charazadon.

            “NO!” she screamed. There was no pretense at humanity, there was no false form. She was truly a demon in every sense of the word. And yet, C still smelled violets.

            “He is mine!” she yelled. “He owes me a debt and I demand to be paid!”

            “Demand?” A bellowed. “You demand of me? Who are you to demand anything from any of us?”

            “I am Charazadon, daughter of the Seventh Circle. And I have come to claim what is owed me.”

            “And that is?”

            “Cluchach’s soul. It belongs to me. He promised it to me aeons ago and I will have it!”

            C jumped to his feet. “I never promised you anything!”

            Charazadon turned and glared at C. “Yes, you did, a long time past but you did.”

            “Enough of this,” A said. “Begone.”

            “NO!” Charazadon screamed. Her very being seemed to come apart with the intensity of her yell. She leaped at A.

            “Charazadon! What are you doing?” C yelled.

            A stepped back. “She is completing her doom.”

            White fire burst from A’s hand and engulfed Charazadon. C screamed and jumped over the table to her.

            “Let her go!”

            C tried to pull her out of the bright flame but she was held fast. Her very being was melting from the inside out. A gestured with his other hand and C went flying across the room. “This is none of your affair, Cluchach.”

            Stumbling weakly to his feet, C looked quickly at Charazadon. She did not have much time left. Gathering his strength, he flung his arms together and sent a blazing white hot sheet of pain towards A.

            It hit him full in the face and caught him totally unprepared. A shrieked and fell backward, breaking his hold on Charazadon. C ran over to her.

            Charazadon’s body was charred on one side, yet oozing and liquid on the other. A, on the other hand, was completely motionless.

            Climbing out from a table, Dathon stared at the scene before him. His brain could not take it all in. Cluchach had killed A. He had killed the Fallen One. He had killed the First. Dathon screamed. It was not unlike the sound of a cat’s claws being raked over a blackboard.

            Dathon ran over to A’s corpse. Smoke was rising from it. Dathon was sobbing. This was the worst event he had ever organized. “He’s dead,” was all Dathon said.

            Beneath him, lying in C’s arms, Charazadon began to laugh.

            “Why are you laughing?” C asked.

            “Because,” Charazadon said, “because you never could appreciate a good joke.”

            Charazadon began to shimmer, her body acquiring a glow. C put her down and stepped back. Quietly, he called for Dathon.

            The pudgy little demon rushed over. Charazadon’s body continued to pulse and undulate until finally there was a completely different being lying in her place. It was A and he was laughing.

            C walked back to the podium. On the floor behind it lay Charazadon. She was completely and utterly dead.

            A stood up, still laughing. Dathon, not believing what he was seeing, sat heavily down in a nearby chair.

            “Well, well, it appears that we have a change of plans here. Cluchach, you’ve killed one of my demons. You know what the penalty is, don’t you?”

            “Yes.” C said flatly. “What was her contract for?”

            “Oh, well, you know, she was one of the later additions, back when there were a lot more people and inventory quotas were higher.”

            “How much?”

            “Not much more than your old one. Only two zillion.”

            C straightened up and slicked his hair back. He dusted off his suit and tightened his tie. “I’ll make it,” he said.

            A walked up and looked him straight in the eye. “I have no doubt that you will, Cluchach, I’m counting on it.”

            In a small, remote corner of hell, a young woman was writhing in torment, burning under volcanic fires. Every breath she took was an effort as her lungs filled with black smoke. Her flesh blistered and cracked but she was smiling.

            A man moved up near her. He was youthful and handsome and, though he no longer beamed happiness, he was still confident.

            “Hello, Charazadon.” He said.

            She spun about. “Cluchach! What are you doing here?”

            “Shh. I’m not supposed to be here. A’s too busy with some earthquake and plague in Northern Turkey but it won’t be long until he notices I’m here.”

            She wouldn’t look at him and dropped her head into the lava. When she pulled up, her burned flesh regenerated itself. “I didn’t want to, you know, he made me.”

            “‘The Devil Made You Do It’? No, I don’t think so.”

            She paused. “No, he didn’t. I suggested it actually. After you refused me.”

            “That’s what I thought.”

            They laid there in silence for a moment. Their flesh sizzling in the molten earth.

            “I am sorry, though.”

            “I know.”

            “I...I just wanted you to know that.”

            “I knew that too. He would have broken the bargain one way or another. Listen, I just wanted to give you this. Close your eyes.”

            Charazadon closed her eyes and C waved his hand over her. A scent of violets filled the air.

            “Cluchach! What are you doing?”

            “Just a little gift. Thought you might need it. Don’t expect there’s much perfume down here. It won’t wear off. It’s a permanent scent for as long as you want it. I’ve got to go. Got something going down in Florida. Social Security scam with Dathon. Might be big. I’ll stop by again when I can.”

            He moved away and became more indistinct.

            “Oh, and Charazadon?”

            “Yes?”

            “You forgot that we can’t wear scents when in demon form. We can only wear them when we’re in human form and A never cared for violets.”

            As his voice drifted away and the screams of the damned rose again in her ears, Charazadon silently cried to herself and said, “thank you,” even though she couldn’t be sure if anyone else was listening.

            Rising above the stench of burning flesh, floated the fragile smell of violets.

end