IMPERFECT

 

THE DREADED WAITING ROOM

 

It was unbearable. The plush, deep chairs, the pastel flowery wallpaper, and the gentle elevator music were simply unbearable to his leathery ears. Nothing in Hell was more dreadful than being comfortable in a nice room while having the office secretaries smile and be polite. In fact, it made his bones quiver beneath his lumpy skin. This treatment was not only abhorrent to his nature, but this imp knew that something worse, a darker punishment, was on the horizon. If he could have wet himself, he would have but the room disallowed it. He couldn’t spit, curse, vomit; he couldn’t even fart. The room was magicked in a way that kept demons and imps and the like from doing anything remotely gross. And he had been waiting, in that fluffy chair, for weeks. Unable to utter a single note of flatulence.

“When is this going to end?” he muttered to himself as his double eyelids drooped. He couldn’t sleep – another torture of the waiting room. But he knew the answer. It was likely to last forever. Hell was famous for its ability to keep its prisoners in pain and discomfort for eternity. And he had messed up again. This time a bigger mistake than the last four disasters. The more he thought about his last failed attempt at signing a soul, the more his stomach sank with the realization that he could indeed wait there for eternity.

The imp dared to look up at the receptionist who was smiling and humming along with the soft oboe sliding through the speakers. Boy, was she good at her job, he thought. That she could be pleasant without even a hint of detestation leaking through her pale façade was infuriating.

Then her blue eyes acknowledged his and her smile brightened. “Good news,” she said, her voice reminding him of a mother speaking to her child. The imp grimaced. “The Doctor is ready to see you.”

The door that led to the back rooms swept open showing him the bright white halls he had come to know so well.

The imp said nothing. He slid off of the chair and into a stretch. Sitting for weeks at a time had taken a toll on his poor tail and his backside which both stung with the pin and needle pain of waking up from numbness. He enjoyed the pain as much as he enjoyed the clacking of his grimy toenails against the pristine tile floor. But the imp didn’t waste any time. He walked straight to the Doctor’s office. He swallowed back the lump in his throat as he came face to face with the words Defectum Medicus burned onto a pane glass door. Words which translated to failure doctor. Words that made the imps organs sink down to the soles of his feet.

This high demon wasn’t a doctor; that was a title he had given himself. What he really was, was a master in the art of finding fault with others. He was a fact-checking, perfectionist-seeking, bureaucrat who existed solely to shame lower demons and creatures into better performances using torture and fear and every other tool Hell employed. And if he couldn’t shame them – if he thought that the lower demon was in over their head or just plain useless – then he decided whether or not they got to keep their job. He also decided whether or not that failure of a demon would suffer with the human souls for an eternity or be blinked out of existence. The latter was preferable but had never, at least to this imp’s knowledge, been granted.

The imp didn’t have the opportunity to open the office door before it swung wide and a deep voice boomed, “Enter.”

So, he did. On shaking feet, the imp made his way to the soft, velvety chaise lounge where he knew he was to lay down.

“This is your fifth time in my office, you worthless bag of pus.”

The imp almost breathed a sigh of relief at the utter hatred in the doctor’s voice. It was easier to withstand than the niceties of the waiting room.

The demonic doctor leaned over his desk to look down at the imp. His massive head was adorned with multiple horns jutting out in all directions, numerous eyes and leaking pustules dotted his fiery orange skin, and his fangs hung low over his bottom lip. The imp never tired of seeing the doctor in all his glory. He was magnificent. A being of pure horror and disgust. The imp could only ever wish that he would become that hideous.

The doctor’s twin tongues danced like fighting snakes as he said, “Do you not remember what I told you the last time you came to me?”

The imp cleared the loogie from his windpipe. “I do.” His voice sounded so small in the tight room.

The doctor growled. “And what excuse do you have for me this time? Did another cat get in your way? Chase you out of the house. Or did you trip over your tail again and lose sight of the human you were supposed to be stalking?”

That was embarrassing. Not only had both of those actually happened but he had managed to get maimed in the process. The cat had nearly taken one of his eyes and he had broken his jaw when he had fallen in the crowded street. The imp was clumsy, there was no denying that, but he worked hard.

“This was just an unfortunate accident,” the imp began.

“Just?” roared the doctor, pus exploding from a dozen of his open sores. “They have all been unfortunate accidents. And the only common denominator is you. I’ve seen human babies more terrifying and coordinated than you.”

“I – I can do better. I can get you a soul, I promise,” whimpered the imp.

The doctor chuckled. “No, you can’t.”

This was it, thought the imp, his sickly yellow skin prickled with goose bumps. “I almost had her. I was so close.”

“No, you weren’t. You had one simple job: get the teenage girl to steal the earrings. That’s it. And in doing so you would have begun her journey into our arms. But now, after listening to her disgusting conscience, we might have lost her soul forever.”

“Not forever,” insisted the imp. “I had her. She had the earrings and was about to slip them into her purse.”

“But she didn’t. And why was that?” Half of the doctor’s bulging eyes glared down at the imp and his tongues wet his fangs.

The imp squeezed his eyes shut. It was too embarrassing for him to say out loud, but he had no choice. “Because I,” he took a deep breath and let it loose, “I fell off of the jewelry counter and knocked her purse out of her hand.”

Oh, the shame he felt admitting that.

The doctor leaned back into his chair, a sneer widening his cracked lips. His claws scratched through the volcanic shaped pustules on his cheek causing a river of pus to flow down to his neatly buttoned shirt and paisley tie. “I believe it is finally time, maggot, to put you in your proper place. Somewhere fun,” the imp held back a flinch, “somewhere colorful and full of toys.” The demon chuckled and said, “Somewhere like the nursery.”

The imp’s black heart fell to his feet. The nursery? There were deeper places in the underworld that were rumored to be worse but as far as the imp was concerned, this was going to be a long and torturous eternity. “You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” he muttered to the doctor.

“Oh, maggot,” said the demon, “I am savoring every moment of this.   

A small pair of ragged wings flew over the imp, latching onto one of the Doctor’s ears.

“What?” he roared. His multitude of eyes rolling about with aimless anger, he shoved himself away from his desk and threw the heavy armchair across the office while the mangy flying devil that had brought the Doctor this obviously unhappy news flew as far out of reach as it could as quickly as it could. The Doctor screamed when he could not reach the tiny devil.

Whatever that news was, thought the imp, the Doctor was furious.

“You.”

A long, filthy nail pointed at the imp. He would have given anything at that moment to be able to disappear. And not to just become invisible but to be able to blink out of existence only to blink back into reality somewhere far, far away.

The imp gulped and the Failure Doctor rounded the desk. “I have waited so long to rid myself of you and your miserable luck.” The Doctor’s claws curled into meaty fists by the imp’s nose and the imp trembled in anticipation. No hit came though. The Doctor dropped the imp to the hard floor and stomped back to his desk, motioning for his chair to be brought back to place by an invisible worker.

“You are free to go. Do not disappoint me again for this is your last chance, maggot.”

Before the imp could question him, the Doctor waved his massive hand, and the imp was dropped to a new place. A cathedral. And his new target was standing in the pulpit.