Short Story - Tell me what you think

Artiminium V. Black Mon Dec 03, 2012 3:05 pm

In The Beginning

The angel quietly deals out five cards to each of them and sets the deck on the tree stump they're using as a makeshift table. "We were assigned names today," he murmurs, almost casually.

Across from him, the demon inclines his head in a way that means go on, go on, I'm listening, and starts to shuffle through his cards, putting them in a different order. The angel gives him an indulgent look and props his chin up in his hand, staring without a hint of self-consciousness until the demon looks up.

"Don't you want to know my name?" the angel asks.

The demon gives him a dark look

Unruffled the angel says, "Bethuel. My name's Bethuel."

The demon pauses for a minute, his eyes flashing inhumanly yellow for a moment in his concentration. "Bethuel," he murmurs, like he's trying to get the word right.

Bethuel beams unexpectedly, his face lighting up and brightening the woods around them. "Do you like it?"

Squinting against the heavenly light, the demon mutters, a little defiantly, "It's okay. I guess. For an angelic name," and then grudgingly admits, "They named us today too."

They pause to put their bets in: the angel setting two of Earth's new water-worn 'pebbles' down, the demon calling with one perfectly green leaf.

"So what's your name?" Bethuel asks when they're done. He turns the first card from the deck over and regards his hand again.

The demon makes a face, mouth tilting down at one corner. "You're cheating, aren't you?"

"I'm an angel," Bethuel chides, looking slightly offended.

Grumbling, the demon puts in another leaf and two small brown acorns. "Doesn't mean anything. You're still sneaky."

A few hands later, Bethuel taps his knuckles on the wood and checks. While the demon's occupied with turning over the next few cards from the deck, he subtly reminds, "What was your name again?"

"Alvah," the demon answers absently, and then catches himself, looking irritated. "You - you..."

Bethuel rolls the sound around in his mouth, ignoring the demon's indignant sputtering. "I like it," he finally declares. "Alllvaaah."

"You're saying it wrong."

"Allllvah," Bethuel says again, exaggerating the syllables. "Alvaaaah."

Mulishly, the demon grumbles, "Tomorrow we're inventing sickness. Just wait until I trick you into eating bad fruit. Then we'll see who has the last laugh."

He startles slightly when the angel leans across the tree stump, messing up their carefully ordered cards. "Tomorrow we're inventing love," Bethuel whispers, and softly touches their lips together. "I think it's going to catch on."