Computerized marijuana leaf

DEMON
TIME
By Ringo Cross
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Somewhere deep in Romania...
There was no hope. There was no light. Salvation must be found elsewhere. Only darkness and the Dragon, feasted and festered here, upon the pitiful, sorrowful souls that screamed in utter damnation.
The underling who entered the cave gripped his chest and collapsed to his knees once he had reached the bowels of despair. The Dragon possessed evil like a mortal soul desperately clings to faith.
The terrified vampire trembled as he carefully reached for the handkerchief stuffed neatly in the front pocket of his suit coat. He coughed into it and was surprised to see that it was soaked in fresh blood.
Each breath was weak and overbearing. It felt like a massive vise-grip had squeezed down on his ribcage and refused to give an inch. Surely, he wouldn’t stay. He couldn’t be that zealous of a believer in the New Faith. His mind justified his suffering by clinging on to the hope that he wouldn’t have to stay here for too much longer. He did not want to end up like all the other souls who were forced to grace his ungodly presence.
His lips quivered when he went to speak. He almost made the mistake of uttering his name but stopped just short. “Thank God,” he muttered to himself in disbelief. God bless the souls brave enough to read this, less they succumb to the same wrathful fire.
The Dragon was surrounded by ceremonial candles that formed a perfect circle. He meditated in bleak hatred and longed for oppression. Damnation or divination, prophecy could be changed: “God’s throne is mine!”
Flame rose from his flesh, but he was unbothered by the withering agony. The sight was blasphemy. Unholy theophany opposite “the burning bush.” He sat menacingly and well-tempered like a blade forged in restless hellfire. He did not even bother to open his eyes as he waited for his trembling underling to speak.
There was no flame or pain in this life or hereafter that could match his demon. One slip of the tongue, and the fool before him would perish before he could blink. For he was the one who had led a rebellion. For he was the one who had taken all that was holy and tainted it.
The Dragon angled his head ever so slightly, away from the ethereal blaze. His tone plotted and deliberate, “You seek wisdom in the fire?”
“No! No, please, I-I don’t!”
“Then what is it you fear?”
“I... I... Oh God!”
“Seek. Every mortal utters his name out of instinct when they come to me.”
“F-Forgive me, my lord. I-I’ve come with news that the first phase of the awakening is complete. W-We will carry on with the next phase as ordered.”
“Speak now in the fire.”
“T-There is a slight problem.”
“My son?”
“N-No. N-Not him.”
“Then who?”
“The angels have taken interest in the one who helped him pass the trial.”
“Ah. The bard?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Hmm. In that case. Let us see what it is they see in this foolish mortal. Send one of my saplings.”
“As you wish.”
“Oh and, Sextus.”
“Y-Yes, my lord?”
“Disturb me again while I meditate, and I’ll scorch you like a soul in my Lake of Fire.”
“F-Forgive me, my lord.”
“Get out of my sight.”
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Chapter 1
Two weeks later in Detroit...
I backed my BMW into the designated spot several minutes earlier than the meeting was supposed to start. I had been told to wait inside the car until one of the members of his gang came out to greet me.
I checked my watch a second and third time. Humph. Always trying to be perfect was nerve-racking. Sure, everything had gone as planned thus far, but you never know, especially with a situation as crazy as this. Crazy or not, things had to go right.
“Why did I even agree to do this?” I asked myself without thinking. I mean, I know why I agreed, but... tch, whatever. I guess asking myself stupid questions aloud was one of my many bad habits. “At least no one’s around to see you do it this time, Lizzy. Unlike the last time when you were out shopping with your benefactor, and you let slip that you considered her a blood sister,” I murmured to myself, irritatingly enough.
I flipped the visor down and focused on touching up my makeup instead of focusing on touching up my fractured nerves. Well, when I say “focus,” what I actually meant was nervously checked my eyeliner for a third and fourth time. I can’t believe this. Can’t even get my thoughts together, I thought to myself as I thought to myself how totally not right of a situation this was.
Just then an African American male, clad in urban wear from head to toe, approached my vehicle and gently tapped on the window. He laughed when I jumped. I blushed from the sheer embarrassment of having been frightened by a human. He found the odd role reversal amusing as well. After that, we had a brief but lighthearted exchange—confirming who he was and that I was indeed who I said I was.
Surprisingly, the man was a complete gentleman. He opened my door, was well-spoken, and extremely careful in his actions. He introduced himself under the alias of “Big Deal,” which confused me at first. Who knows. I guess it’s something urbanites did to protect their identity. Oh, and I complimented him on his choice of eyewear in an honest attempt to match his politeness.
He smiled and said thanks. Then he quickly threw in the not-so useful tidbit that his eyewear was Cartier. When I shrugged in innocent confusion, he tossed in the added fun fact that they were a very expensive brand of eyewear, oh and that he owned several pair.
He laughed under his breath when I shrugged again, obviously no less confused by what he was putting out in the ether. He opened the door to the strip club, and I was immediately hit square in the face by an avalanche of weed smoke, wild ruckus, rowdy music, and scantily clad dancers. The situation was less than ideal, but I had already been forewarned by my benefactor that dealing with this person would always be less than ideal.
I was gently guided to the last booth. It was all the way in the corner, far removed from the wildness and craziness that ensued around the stage. The booth was dark. Intuition told me that the person seated across from me was indeed the vampire I had come to meet.
I cleared my throat and said: “Greetings, Mr. Winters. My name is Elizabeth Carnot. You can call me Liz. I’m assuming you have a ‘moniker’?”
He looked over at the gentleman seated next to him and shook his head. Then he looked over at me and grinned. His blue eyes pierced through the darkness like an iceberg on a bitterly cold night. “Call me Icy.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say ‘Icy’?”
“Yeah-yeah, Icy. ‘ICY.’”
“Okay, Mr. Icy. I’m your liaison.”
“‘Mr. Icy?’ Hah. Stop playing.”
“What do you mean? I wasn’t—"
“Call me by my regular name.”
“Okay, and what’s that?”
“Tch. Jake Winters.”
“Oh, sorry. I forgot.”
He pointed to the man seated next to him and blurted out, “Yeah, this my hitter, King Tut.”
“Um. Greetings, Mr. King Tut.”
“Sup,” he replied with a nod.
The individual by the name of Big Deal, the one who escorted me inside, he stood next to his boss with folded arms. He checked his phone a few times and seemed uneasy. By the look of it, he had some influence in our dealings and must have been a high-ranking member of their gang. But I could be wrong. You never know with these types.
Seeing my confounded expression, their boss told me, “What’s up? Why’re you acting scared?”
“I’m sorry. Come again?” I asked.
“Never mind. All I gotta do is sign some papers, right?” he asked in an irritated tone.
I placed my briefcase on the table, snapped it open, and told him, “Yeah. Give me a minute. I just need to gather the necessary documents.”
“These folks and their paperwork,” Mr. Winters told his counterpart seated next to him.
“You already know how they get down, boss,” Big Deal chimed in while patiently standing by.
“Hell yeah,” he shot back at his gang comrade before turning his attention back to me. He studied me carefully and rather rudely for a moment longer than I would’ve liked before finally asking, “What’s your name again?”
“Elizabeth Carnot.”
“You seem familiar.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m sure I would have remembered if we met.”
“Nah. Not you. Your dad. His name’s Philip, right?”
“Why as a matter of fact, yes. He’s employed as a factor for my benefactors.”
“Yeah. I can see the resemblance. Tell the old geezer I said, ‘Sup,’ when you see him.”
“Sure,” I smirked before looking around the place. “We couldn’t have done this anywhere else?”
“Nope.”
“Really?”
“I grew up in dem strips. My bruthers couldn’t tell me nothing. So naturally you couldn’t.”
“Okay...” I uttered not knowing what else to say.
“All you Báthory folk the same.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Dingy than a mother bleep. You remind me of old girl. I bet my Muller you know her.”
“You mean the countess?”
“Yeah. The ditz.”
“Yes. I know her.”
“Bet that up,” he said before adjusting his diamond studded watch, relieved at the fact that he didn’t have to part ways with it even though I had no idea what I was going to do with it other than stash it in one of the shelves in our museum’s storage room.
Humph. Who knows. Maybe he’ll die soon, which isn’t out of the realm of possibility, considering his reckless lifestyle. In that case, his watch could become one of our more “darker possessions,” I secretly hoped.
“Damn,” Big Deal murmured as he looked at his phone in dismay. His sudden uneasiness was very distracting. For a moment there, I thought something was wrong. He quietly and quickly fielded a call. Then he tapped his boss on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
Mr. Winters looked up at him in exasperation. He just shook his head and was like, “Another one?”
“Yup,” he solemnly replied.
Their boss brought his hands together and gathered his thoughts before coolly saying, “I know who it is getting at my spots, but I can’t prove it.”
“The Cash Cowboyz?” Big Deal asked.
“Man. Hell nah. I put that on the bros,” Mr. Winters vehemently replied to his underling. “Them bleeps tissue paper. If it wasn’t for her benefactor, we would’ve been stepped all over ‘em with the bros.”
Big Deal nodded, “Right. Yeah. Somebody with some juice putting in some serious work.”
“You good, Tut?” Jake asked.
“Meh. I was just thinking.”
“What’s on your mind, bro?”
“It’s strange... when I went to take out Martel after he murked Terrance... I don’t know boss... Something was off about the whole thing. I can’t put my finger on it, but we ain’t never found Terrance body, plus the guys keep saying he ain’t dead. That he came back as something. Something that ain’t human, or vampire, or whatever.”
“That’s the word in the streets, huh?” Mr. Winters asked him with a hint of anger.
“Yeah. I keep hearing rumors, too. I don’t know how true they are,” Big Deal threw in.
Tut chimed back in with the solemn statement, “Well. If it is him. I got a feeling he’s working for her benefactor. You know how the Illuminati move. They always trying to stay ahead of the game.”
“Word,” Jake nodded.
“What’s the move, boss? How far you willing to take it?” Big Deal asked very gingerly.
“How many spots got knocked?”
“Three so far.”
“Is that true?”
“Yup,” Tut confirmed.
“Bleep. I’m willing to take it all the way. Just cause they on demon time, don’t mean I can’t be on demon time. I ain’t giving up my spots for nobody.”
“Just think about it,” Deal chimed in.
“Here you go about to play Gandhi.”
“I’m saying. We might not be making as much dealing exclusively to vampires but it’s safer. After we ink this deal, we got a monopoly on all the blood dens. You know them fools own more than just Detroit, right?”
“Is that true?” Jake asked me.
“That is correct,” I nodded.
“Dang. What all they got?”
“Boss, I’m telling you, they laid. Man. Tch. They got Chicago, Toronto, Ohio, Minn, Wisconn, and some other satellite spots,” Big Deal explained.
“Damn, he for real?” he asked me.
“He is indeed correct,” I said with a smirk. “The only territorial dispute I know of is with the Windsor vampire order, over the territory of Toronto.”
“William’s sweet ass getting it like that?!” he asked me again with even more shock.
“You mean my benefactors?”
“Yeah. Him and his fiancée.”
“Well, I don’t know what you mean by ‘sweet,’ but yes, they have it ‘like that,’ as you put it.”
“Dude think he slick,” Jake groaned.
“Mm-hm. It’s probably him, trying to knock us off the block,” Tut replied after some thought.
“What’d you think we should do?” Jake asked the homie Big Deal, hoping against hope he had an answer instead of another irksome, nonchalant response.
He shrugged before further chagrining his boss by telling him, “I think we should leave it alone.”
“You supposed to be my captain, not the bleep who preaches peace every time I ask you for your two cents. Martin Luther King wannabe ass bleep.”
“Bleep you,” he replied back.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Hold on for a sec,” Jake said before signaling for one of his gang goons over by the bar. He came over and quickly passed him a blunt that was stuffed with what had to be marijuana. Jake wasted no time. He took a stupidly long toke before passing to Tut, who did the same thing before passing it back. Then Mr. Winters took another ignorantly long toke before offering me a hit.
When I politely declined, he called me a ‘lame ass white chick,’ which I found incredibly offensive, considering he was Caucasian too. So, for him to insult me like that was crass to say the least. My mind couldn’t help but wonder. Why was my clan making a deal with some thoughtless churl? To be fair, foreign affairs wasn’t exactly my department. Only reason I agreed to this was because our emissary was away on urgent business, and this “all-important” arrangement couldn’t wait.
Suddenly, the DJ made an announcement. He thanked Jake and his gang for the mountain of money they laid down on his workstation. The club atmosphere was instantly rejuvenated as soon as he mixed one of Mr. Winter’s songs. I couldn’t believe my ears. His lyrics were invective, classless, senseless, tasteless, and worst of all, stuffed with baseless Illuminati accusations.
Jake threw up the set and took another hit from the fattest marijuana blunt I had ever seen. Then he whistled at his gang underlings near the stage before flashing the set again. They responded by throwing that bleep back, and then tossing a flurry of cash onstage until it was blurry. He slouched in his seat and watched the thuggery unfold like a proud dad. The arrogant thug couldn’t help himself. He had to mumble the lyrics under his breath:
“They said a white bleep couldn’t make it. Now the streets hot, cause all I do is bake it. Ain’t just get even wid it—went and got sadistic wid it. Wholesale dope flows! Yeah! Fiends know I really get it. Yeah! My bleep mad cause I don’t really need her, rap career just went solar. Don’t pay her no mind, she bipolar. Sold hope to the kids and dope to they mommas.
“Went from sliming in the slums to packed shows and packing plenty sums. Took a heavy loss and turned my demon on. Burn the streets up and got right back on. If the pack strong, you ain’t doing it wrong. I’m hopping off the porch with this fent all day long.
“Bandz ah make her dance, so I get plenty. Gunz ah make him dance so we pack many. I was dead and gone, but now I’m undead and standing all on my own. Tell them Cowboyz aim for the head if we foes, instead of doing it with their eyes closed like some street hoes. All these drugs get shipped in different zip codes. Rubbers bands on rubber bands—next to barcodes on barcodes.
“My angel said, ‘don’t do it.’ My demon said, ‘you better prove it.’ Linked up with the Illuminati just to keep chuggin’. Ten years slangin,’ and I’m still thuggin.’ Hell yeah, that savage in me still showing. What happened to gangster rap? That bleep ain’t growing. All these bleeps talk about is getting geeked-up. Stay strapped up—ain’t getting set-up by no foes. Sonic rings keep me banked-up on zeros. Stay trapped-up—call me ‘Scarface.’ Don’t get poured out like syrup. ‘Say goodnight to the bad guy,’ we ain’t no role models or heroes.
“I might be a white boy but I’m that bleep. Blood Gang tell I die we get figures. Got my money the wrong way, so why do it the right way? Gang in my blood until I tilt over. Pour some dark out for my dead homies—bleep it! Let that bleep spill over.
“Whole family died for diss American dream. Things ain’t exactly what they seem. Yeah, I’m serving whipped cream. Look at da flicka da wrist—still serving dem fiends. Chopped and screwed the white—3-6 Mafia. Demon time when I’m flickin’ da dope. New drug same flick as whipping coke. Diss that real bleep for dem real bleeps. This that jungle music for my silverback gorillas. This that murder music for my true killers. Ain’t no foe of mines—walking-me-down. Ain’t no chick of mines—talking-me-down.”
The beat transformed into something elegant and undead. When this odd transition transpired, the strip club exploded into a crescendo of undeserving cheers. It was all too much for me. Quite an uncomfortable spectacle I had few words for. I was just happy that he finally stopped rapping to his own song and at least let this new set of foulmouthed lyrics speak for themselves:
“Even though I’m a vampire and I got this new thirst, yeah, the money forever and always come first. Yeah! If I die, bleep it. Yeah! I lived a fast life, and I loved it. Yeah! Pour some white Henny out for my set. Yeah! We stay on that demonic bleep. Hell yeah! Bleep with us and get yo shed split. Hell yeah! Oh yeah, I came from the gutter like no other. Yeah! Beat hit like my switch kickback. Yeah! Used to get my hands dirty, now I just kick back. I’m a boss—but I still got that 21 Savage.
I’m ah do this gang bleep until die. If they saying, ‘I can’t go get it’ they a lie. Always throw my set up when I ride. Illuminati on my mother bleeping side. Money ain’t enough I need that blood. All this drug money in da strip club. Throw diss blood money in the feds face. They ain’t got no graves, they ain’t got no case.
“Always look your enemy in the eye. Cause if they flinch you know they afraid to die. Always cut your dope with some chems. Always step on the pack and make M&M’s. Always keep a mother bleeping scrap on your side.
“I’m geeked up. Geeked up. Yeah! I’m geeked up! Geeked up! Drugs got me high as a mug right now. White Henny in my cup got me geeked right now. She say her man at home—you know we ran game on her. Blood gang chain gang—you know we ran a train on her. This ain’t (Young) Jeezy, this that drug dealing white boy who make it look easy.”
“That jones go hard,” Tut remarked.
“Hell yeah it do,” Jake said before passing the blunt back to him. “Damn, bro, old girl, got a wagon.”
“Hell yeah she do,” Big Deal agreed.
“What’s her name?” Jake asked.
“Carnation,” Big Deal said.
“Carnation?” he asked again.
“Yes, sir,” Big Deal replied.
“Hey, Liz?” Jake said.
“Yes?” I politely replied.
“Can we speed this nonsense up? I’m trying to get on old girl with the wagon.”
“Nonsense?” I repeated.
“Yeah. I been gave y’all my word we good. I ain’t with all this extra nonsense.”
“Sure, one second.”
“Stop acting petty,” he told me, before having the nerve to offer me the joint.
I was a bit dumbfounded and offended by the offer and let slip, “Psst. As if.”
Big Deal tapped his boss on the shoulder and told him, “The little bros wanna be like the big bros. They’re asking for some paper to throw at the strippers.”
Their boss tapped the blunt a few times and chuckled under his breath before asking, “Oh yeah?”
“Hell yeah.”
“How much?”
“10 racks.”
“Tch. That’s it?”
“Yes, sir. Ten.”
“Give them fools 40.”
“You sure about that? Them young bleeps? You know they ain’t used to living like that.”
“They gotta learn one day.”
“Bet. I’ll make the call.”
“Um, I know it’s none of my business, but do you think it’s a good idea to close this deal, in particular, while under the influence?” I cautiously asked. When I looked down, I noticed my hand was gripping the edge of the table as if I was afraid my inquiry would spark his ire.
“I see you’re in your feelings.”
I rolled my eyes and said, “Um. No.”
“You ain’t never met a real bleep, huh?”
“Excuse me?” I asked a bit incredulous.
“Nah seriously. On Devil. A lot of y’all ain’t never been around no real bleep for real. I bet that bleep hit different, don’t it? Go head. Say I’m lying.”
“You’re not a... humph. Never mind. Most people like you are locked up you know.”
“Or dead,” he added.
“That too,” I agreed.
“Yeah, but I ain’t.”
His gang partner, Tut, chimed in with, “You ain’t just ain’t. You took that bleep somewhere else. That’s on the guys.” He raised the pharaoh pendant to his gold chain and kissed it for good measure. Then he tapped the blunt one more time before passing it back. “The world is yours, boss. Put on for the (dead) homies.”
“Hell yeah,” Jake replied.
“How?” I asked.
“How what?” he asked back.
“How are you not dead?”
“Strength,” he stated.
“Really? That’s it.”
“Yeah. It’s the only thing that matters in this world. Without it, you got nothing.” He paused and hit the blunt before throwing in, “You know how many times I almost died? I’m stronger for it not weaker.”
“How many times have you?”
“What? Almost died?” he asked.
“Yeah. How many?” I asked again.
“Pfft. Death is my best friend.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Me and that bleep go way back.”
“That’s a very negative thing to say.”
“You don’t know bleep about the gutta.”
Taken aback, I politely told him, “Wow. Okay. Candor isn’t exactly something you shy away from.”
He leaned forward and offered me the blunt yet again. I saw his face a little better in the light. Damn was he easy on the eyes. A little too easy for someone who had such an ugly personality. His eyes were so blue and his skin soft as the clouds. The vampire blood that coursed through his veins had really did a number on him. Of course, I would never tell him that. He was already cocksure enough. Oh, and crude too.
Speaking of which, his crudeness quickly reminded me why it was folly to think nice things about him. No matter how many pretty bones he had in his body, he was still an unpleasant ruffian without a polite bone.
“Stop playing, gurl. The leaf ain’t gon’ smoke itself. And I already know how y’all rich vampires affiliated with the Illuminati get down.”
I gave in and told him “Sure, why not,” just so I wouldn’t come off as hostile or ‘lame’ as he liked to put it. I took one small drag and began to cough wildly. After I cleared my throat, I reminded him that, “We’re not the Illuminati” and that, “He watched too many movies.”
“What do you call it then?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“A cabal of wicked ass vampires, with demons over everything, hellbent on taking over the world. And I ain’t talking about no harebrained Pinky and the Brain scheme. Nah. You guys is standing on business. You the one who watch too many movies if you think this ain’t Illuminati.”
“You’re very well informed.”
“I see you didn’t deny it.”
“Heard about what you did.”
“What’d I do this time?”
“You know ‘the fight.’”
“Oh. That’s old news.”
“Very cocky of you.”
“We took down a fallen angel. Why wouldn’t I be cocky after that? What’s the fool’s name? You know. The ashes me and your ‘benefactor’ smoking on.”
“Lord Jurael,” I answered.
“Yeah. That punk ass bleep. When you see him, ask him how his vacay in hell was.”
“Um. No thanks. I value my life too much to do that. And I don’t know if you know this or not, but yeah. He was kind of messing around with you guys. It was a test. And apparently you passed. Congrats.”
He threw up a gang sign and said, “Yeah, well tell him to get at me one on one next time. I was still fresh off the transformation when we tangled the first time. Tell all three of them bums to get at me. William, aka, your ‘benefactor,’ and that sneaky ass ninja-vampire, he always beefing with, he can get it too.”
“You have no shame.”
“Zero.”
“Wow.”
“I’m fresh out the mud. I put that on my bros. I put that on my dead brother.”
“I’m surprised my benefactor would associate himself with someone like you.”
“Enough with that. Stop calling old dude your ‘benefactor.’ We all know who you’re talking about. You’re talking about William’s punk ass.”
“I know. And I would but...”
“Sup? Cat got your tongue?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s bad luck to say his name.”
“Here we go with that devil speak.”
“It’s true you know. His father is—”
“Mannnn... gone somewhere with all that nonsense. You snobby vampires and your superstitions. I came from the fire, I know a demon when I see one, and he might be a son of a bleep, but he ain’t no son of a—"
He stopped mid affront to swat a fly that had landed on his arm. When the same fly hovered over his head, he went off on the establishment, “What kind of country ass bullbleep?! Flies flying around this dirty bleep!”
“You guys smell that?” I asked.
“Smell what?” Tut asked.
“Huh. It almost smells carrion.”
“Carry-onion? What that mean?” Tut asked Big Deal.
Big Deal smirked and responded with, “Sorry, ma’am. We’re human. You and the boss man are the only ones here who got a supernatural sense of smell.”
Their boss chimed in with: “I think you’re right. It does smell like a dead body. I should know, I’ve smelt plenty of—dammit!” he angrily cursed and swatted at another fly before he could finish his thoughts.
“You good, boss?” Tut asked.
“Go get the manager, homie.”
“I’m on it,” Big Deal said.
Before he could take off and do his boss’ bidding, a rush of panic hit the establishment. The ladies dressed in skimpy clothing screamed. The gangsters hollered at the thing that shuffled through the front door. The night went from zero to one hundred just like that. As if God had snapped his ethereal fingers. Fright and pandemonium swept through the room like a contagion. And the odor, ugh! So horrible, it made me sick to my stomach.
Our table was positioned at the worst angle. It was hopeless. No matter how much I glanced around, I couldn’t confirm my terrible suspicion. I flopped down in my chair and folded my arms in disgust. Great. As if this meeting could get any worse, I thought to myself. My sorrowful display was short lived. I wish that wasn’t the case. I wish I could have remained in the dark. Ignorance would have been a boon to my frayed nerves.
King Tut jumped from his seat and placed his hand on his weapon. He hesitated when he realized that it was one of their gang brothers. Not only was it one of the “bros,” but I could tell it was someone he was close too. His sudden expression of dismay made it clear that fate had stepped in and dealt him a cruel blow.
The poor wretch defied the laws of nature and good taste as he shambled over towards us at a speed slightly quicker than death while looking like he was at least already halfway there. There was no question he had paid for his sins in spades. For he was caked in flies from head to toe. And the smell... oh my, was it as wretched and repulsive as the sight. It was a stench that made me afraid to gasp. So unbearable and pungent to the senses, it was offensive even to those not easily offended by such things as the sour smell of a cadaver.
This rotting corpse of a once proud young man collapsed to his knees as soon as he reached our table. Then, as if that wasn’t excruciating and exonerating enough of a fate, he just stared at their boss but said nothing. I swear. The whole thing would have felt contrived if it wasn’t so agonizing to watch. It was like his suffering was a macabre scene that had been cherrypicked right out of a horror movie by a cruel director.
Jake’s reaction was as unflinching and coldhearted as it’ll ever get. He placed his hand over Tut’s arm and told him to “chill” before he drew his weapon in a fit of rage. Then he stared grimly at their suffering gang brother and coldly asked, “What’s up, lil homie?”
It was indescribable, to see flies covering every inch of his body like that. It was impossible to tell if he was alive, dead, or somewhere in between. Either way, the one thing that was for sure was that he had suffered. I could tell just by his deathly gaze.
A cluster of flies crawled from his mouth. Every twitch of the cheek looked agonizing and disgusting beyond measure. His throat buckled to the will of the insects as if some unseen puppeteer manipulated his vocal cords like invisible strings. I prayed that he was indeed dead. Because as convincing and reanimating of a performance as this was, it was still more distressing than fascinating. The worst part was the voice that escaped. It was this broken shrill of a thing filled with torment:
“Jake, Jake, Jake. Come out and play. The moon doth shine as bright as day. Leave your supper and leave your sleep behind. Come to me, your playfellow, into the streets. I’ll wait for you on the other side.”
“Who the bleep are you?” Jake asked.
“Heh. Are you afraid?”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Will you? Come out and play? Or do I have to turn more of your friends into my playthings?”
Jake ordered Big Deal and King Tut to keep everyone inside. He was about to tell me to do the same, but I quickly insisted on going with him. Uh-uh. My benefactor would’ve killed me if I played it safe and reported back to him emptyhanded. Okay. Maybe “kill” is a bit extreme. He was polite and gentlemanly enough, neither had he ever shown any outward signs of hostility towards me, but I wasn’t about to give him any reason whatsoever to start. If I had any doubts on what to do, my choice was made crystal clear by one overarching thought: even though I absolutely feared whatever fate awaited me outside, I feared the demonic wrath of my benefactor a whole lot more.

DEMON
TIME
By Ringo Cross
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Somewhere deep in Romania...
There was no hope. There was no light. Salvation must be found elsewhere. Only darkness and the Dragon, feasted and festered here, upon the pitiful, sorrowful souls that screamed in utter damnation.
The underling who entered the cave gripped his chest and collapsed to his knees once he had reached the bowels of despair. The Dragon possessed evil like a mortal soul desperately clings to faith.
The terrified vampire trembled as he carefully reached for the handkerchief stuffed neatly in the front pocket of his suit coat. He coughed into it and was surprised to see that it was soaked in fresh blood.
Each breath was weak and overbearing. It felt like a massive vise-grip had squeezed down on his ribcage and refused to give an inch. Surely, he wouldn’t stay. He couldn’t be that zealous of a believer in the New Faith. His mind justified his suffering by clinging on to the hope that he wouldn’t have to stay here for too much longer. He did not want to end up like all the other souls who were forced to grace his ungodly presence.
His lips quivered when he went to speak. He almost made the mistake of uttering his name but stopped just short. “Thank God,” he muttered to himself in disbelief. God bless the souls brave enough to read this, less they succumb to the same wrathful fire.
The Dragon was surrounded by ceremonial candles that formed a perfect circle. He meditated in bleak hatred and longed for oppression. Damnation or divination, prophecy could be changed: “God’s throne is mine!”
Flame rose from his flesh, but he was unbothered by the withering agony. The sight was blasphemy. Unholy theophany opposite “the burning bush.” He sat menacingly and well-tempered like a blade forged in restless hellfire. He did not even bother to open his eyes as he waited for his trembling underling to speak.
There was no flame or pain in this life or hereafter that could match his demon. One slip of the tongue, and the fool before him would perish before he could blink. For he was the one who had led a rebellion. For he was the one who had taken all that was holy and tainted it.
The Dragon angled his head ever so slightly, away from the ethereal blaze. His tone plotted and deliberate, “You seek wisdom in the fire?”
“No! No, please, I-I don’t!”
“Then what is it you fear?”
“I... I... Oh God!”
“Seek. Every mortal utters his name out of instinct when they come to me.”
“F-Forgive me, my lord. I-I’ve come with news that the first phase of the awakening is complete. W-We will carry on with the next phase as ordered.”
“Speak now in the fire.”
“T-There is a slight problem.”
“My son?”
“N-No. N-Not him.”
“Then who?”
“The angels have taken interest in the one who helped him pass the trial.”
“Ah. The bard?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Hmm. In that case. Let us see what it is they see in this foolish mortal. Send one of my saplings.”
“As you wish.”
“Oh and, Sextus.”
“Y-Yes, my lord?”
“Disturb me again while I meditate, and I’ll scorch you like a soul in my Lake of Fire.”
“F-Forgive me, my lord.”
“Get out of my sight.”
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Chapter 1
Two weeks later in Detroit...
I backed my BMW into the designated spot several minutes earlier than the meeting was supposed to start. I had been told to wait inside the car until one of the members of his gang came out to greet me.
I checked my watch a second and third time. Humph. Always trying to be perfect was nerve-racking. Sure, everything had gone as planned thus far, but you never know, especially with a situation as crazy as this. Crazy or not, things had to go right.
“Why did I even agree to do this?” I asked myself without thinking. I mean, I know why I agreed, but... tch, whatever. I guess asking myself stupid questions aloud was one of my many bad habits. “At least no one’s around to see you do it this time, Lizzy. Unlike the last time when you were out shopping with your benefactor, and you let slip that you considered her a blood sister,” I murmured to myself, irritatingly enough.
I flipped the visor down and focused on touching up my makeup instead of focusing on touching up my fractured nerves. Well, when I say “focus,” what I actually meant was nervously checked my eyeliner for a third and fourth time. I can’t believe this. Can’t even get my thoughts together, I thought to myself as I thought to myself how totally not right of a situation this was.
Just then an African American male, clad in urban wear from head to toe, approached my vehicle and gently tapped on the window. He laughed when I jumped. I blushed from the sheer embarrassment of having been frightened by a human. He found the odd role reversal amusing as well. After that, we had a brief but lighthearted exchange—confirming who he was and that I was indeed who I said I was.
Surprisingly, the man was a complete gentleman. He opened my door, was well-spoken, and extremely careful in his actions. He introduced himself under the alias of “Big Deal,” which confused me at first. Who knows. I guess it’s something urbanites did to protect their identity. Oh, and I complimented him on his choice of eyewear in an honest attempt to match his politeness.
He smiled and said thanks. Then he quickly threw in the not-so useful tidbit that his eyewear was Cartier. When I shrugged in innocent confusion, he tossed in the added fun fact that they were a very expensive brand of eyewear, oh and that he owned several pair.
He laughed under his breath when I shrugged again, obviously no less confused by what he was putting out in the ether. He opened the door to the strip club, and I was immediately hit square in the face by an avalanche of weed smoke, wild ruckus, rowdy music, and scantily clad dancers. The situation was less than ideal, but I had already been forewarned by my benefactor that dealing with this person would always be less than ideal.
I was gently guided to the last booth. It was all the way in the corner, far removed from the wildness and craziness that ensued around the stage. The booth was dark. Intuition told me that the person seated across from me was indeed the vampire I had come to meet.
I cleared my throat and said: “Greetings, Mr. Winters. My name is Elizabeth Carnot. You can call me Liz. I’m assuming you have a ‘moniker’?”
He looked over at the gentleman seated next to him and shook his head. Then he looked over at me and grinned. His blue eyes pierced through the darkness like an iceberg on a bitterly cold night. “Call me Icy.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say ‘Icy’?”
“Yeah-yeah, Icy. ‘ICY.’”
“Okay, Mr. Icy. I’m your liaison.”
“‘Mr. Icy?’ Hah. Stop playing.”
“What do you mean? I wasn’t—"
“Call me by my regular name.”
“Okay, and what’s that?”
“Tch. Jake Winters.”
“Oh, sorry. I forgot.”
He pointed to the man seated next to him and blurted out, “Yeah, this my hitter, King Tut.”
“Um. Greetings, Mr. King Tut.”
“Sup,” he replied with a nod.
The individual by the name of Big Deal, the one who escorted me inside, he stood next to his boss with folded arms. He checked his phone a few times and seemed uneasy. By the look of it, he had some influence in our dealings and must have been a high-ranking member of their gang. But I could be wrong. You never know with these types.
Seeing my confounded expression, their boss told me, “What’s up? Why’re you acting scared?”
“I’m sorry. Come again?” I asked.
“Never mind. All I gotta do is sign some papers, right?” he asked in an irritated tone.
I placed my briefcase on the table, snapped it open, and told him, “Yeah. Give me a minute. I just need to gather the necessary documents.”
“These folks and their paperwork,” Mr. Winters told his counterpart seated next to him.
“You already know how they get down, boss,” Big Deal chimed in while patiently standing by.
“Hell yeah,” he shot back at his gang comrade before turning his attention back to me. He studied me carefully and rather rudely for a moment longer than I would’ve liked before finally asking, “What’s your name again?”
“Elizabeth Carnot.”
“You seem familiar.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m sure I would have remembered if we met.”
“Nah. Not you. Your dad. His name’s Philip, right?”
“Why as a matter of fact, yes. He’s employed as a factor for my benefactors.”
“Yeah. I can see the resemblance. Tell the old geezer I said, ‘Sup,’ when you see him.”
“Sure,” I smirked before looking around the place. “We couldn’t have done this anywhere else?”
“Nope.”
“Really?”
“I grew up in dem strips. My bruthers couldn’t tell me nothing. So naturally you couldn’t.”
“Okay...” I uttered not knowing what else to say.
“All you Báthory folk the same.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Dingy than a mother bleep. You remind me of old girl. I bet my Muller you know her.”
“You mean the countess?”
“Yeah. The ditz.”
“Yes. I know her.”
“Bet that up,” he said before adjusting his diamond studded watch, relieved at the fact that he didn’t have to part ways with it even though I had no idea what I was going to do with it other than stash it in one of the shelves in our museum’s storage room.
Humph. Who knows. Maybe he’ll die soon, which isn’t out of the realm of possibility, considering his reckless lifestyle. In that case, his watch could become one of our more “darker possessions,” I secretly hoped.
“Damn,” Big Deal murmured as he looked at his phone in dismay. His sudden uneasiness was very distracting. For a moment there, I thought something was wrong. He quietly and quickly fielded a call. Then he tapped his boss on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
Mr. Winters looked up at him in exasperation. He just shook his head and was like, “Another one?”
“Yup,” he solemnly replied.
Their boss brought his hands together and gathered his thoughts before coolly saying, “I know who it is getting at my spots, but I can’t prove it.”
“The Cash Cowboyz?” Big Deal asked.
“Man. Hell nah. I put that on the bros,” Mr. Winters vehemently replied to his underling. “Them bleeps tissue paper. If it wasn’t for her benefactor, we would’ve been stepped all over ‘em with the bros.”
Big Deal nodded, “Right. Yeah. Somebody with some juice putting in some serious work.”
“You good, Tut?” Jake asked.
“Meh. I was just thinking.”
“What’s on your mind, bro?”
“It’s strange... when I went to take out Martel after he murked Terrance... I don’t know boss... Something was off about the whole thing. I can’t put my finger on it, but we ain’t never found Terrance body, plus the guys keep saying he ain’t dead. That he came back as something. Something that ain’t human, or vampire, or whatever.”
“That’s the word in the streets, huh?” Mr. Winters asked him with a hint of anger.
“Yeah. I keep hearing rumors, too. I don’t know how true they are,” Big Deal threw in.
Tut chimed back in with the solemn statement, “Well. If it is him. I got a feeling he’s working for her benefactor. You know how the Illuminati move. They always trying to stay ahead of the game.”
“Word,” Jake nodded.
“What’s the move, boss? How far you willing to take it?” Big Deal asked very gingerly.
“How many spots got knocked?”
“Three so far.”
“Is that true?”
“Yup,” Tut confirmed.
“Bleep. I’m willing to take it all the way. Just cause they on demon time, don’t mean I can’t be on demon time. I ain’t giving up my spots for nobody.”
“Just think about it,” Deal chimed in.
“Here you go about to play Gandhi.”
“I’m saying. We might not be making as much dealing exclusively to vampires but it’s safer. After we ink this deal, we got a monopoly on all the blood dens. You know them fools own more than just Detroit, right?”
“Is that true?” Jake asked me.
“That is correct,” I nodded.
“Dang. What all they got?”
“Boss, I’m telling you, they laid. Man. Tch. They got Chicago, Toronto, Ohio, Minn, Wisconn, and some other satellite spots,” Big Deal explained.
“Damn, he for real?” he asked me.
“He is indeed correct,” I said with a smirk. “The only territorial dispute I know of is with the Windsor vampire order, over the territory of Toronto.”
“William’s sweet ass getting it like that?!” he asked me again with even more shock.
“You mean my benefactors?”
“Yeah. Him and his fiancée.”
“Well, I don’t know what you mean by ‘sweet,’ but yes, they have it ‘like that,’ as you put it.”
“Dude think he slick,” Jake groaned.
“Mm-hm. It’s probably him, trying to knock us off the block,” Tut replied after some thought.
“What’d you think we should do?” Jake asked the homie Big Deal, hoping against hope he had an answer instead of another irksome, nonchalant response.
He shrugged before further chagrining his boss by telling him, “I think we should leave it alone.”
“You supposed to be my captain, not the bleep who preaches peace every time I ask you for your two cents. Martin Luther King wannabe ass bleep.”
“Bleep you,” he replied back.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Hold on for a sec,” Jake said before signaling for one of his gang goons over by the bar. He came over and quickly passed him a blunt that was stuffed with what had to be marijuana. Jake wasted no time. He took a stupidly long toke before passing to Tut, who did the same thing before passing it back. Then Mr. Winters took another ignorantly long toke before offering me a hit.
When I politely declined, he called me a ‘lame ass white chick,’ which I found incredibly offensive, considering he was Caucasian too. So, for him to insult me like that was crass to say the least. My mind couldn’t help but wonder. Why was my clan making a deal with some thoughtless churl? To be fair, foreign affairs wasn’t exactly my department. Only reason I agreed to this was because our emissary was away on urgent business, and this “all-important” arrangement couldn’t wait.
Suddenly, the DJ made an announcement. He thanked Jake and his gang for the mountain of money they laid down on his workstation. The club atmosphere was instantly rejuvenated as soon as he mixed one of Mr. Winter’s songs. I couldn’t believe my ears. His lyrics were invective, classless, senseless, tasteless, and worst of all, stuffed with baseless Illuminati accusations.
Jake threw up the set and took another hit from the fattest marijuana blunt I had ever seen. Then he whistled at his gang underlings near the stage before flashing the set again. They responded by throwing that bleep back, and then tossing a flurry of cash onstage until it was blurry. He slouched in his seat and watched the thuggery unfold like a proud dad. The arrogant thug couldn’t help himself. He had to mumble the lyrics under his breath:
“They said a white bleep couldn’t make it. Now the streets hot, cause all I do is bake it. Ain’t just get even wid it—went and got sadistic wid it. Wholesale dope flows! Yeah! Fiends know I really get it. Yeah! My bleep mad cause I don’t really need her, rap career just went solar. Don’t pay her no mind, she bipolar. Sold hope to the kids and dope to they mommas.
“Went from sliming in the slums to packed shows and packing plenty sums. Took a heavy loss and turned my demon on. Burn the streets up and got right back on. If the pack strong, you ain’t doing it wrong. I’m hopping off the porch with this fent all day long.
“Bandz ah make her dance, so I get plenty. Gunz ah make him dance so we pack many. I was dead and gone, but now I’m undead and standing all on my own. Tell them Cowboyz aim for the head if we foes, instead of doing it with their eyes closed like some street hoes. All these drugs get shipped in different zip codes. Rubbers bands on rubber bands—next to barcodes on barcodes.
“My angel said, ‘don’t do it.’ My demon said, ‘you better prove it.’ Linked up with the Illuminati just to keep chuggin’. Ten years slangin,’ and I’m still thuggin.’ Hell yeah, that savage in me still showing. What happened to gangster rap? That bleep ain’t growing. All these bleeps talk about is getting geeked-up. Stay strapped up—ain’t getting set-up by no foes. Sonic rings keep me banked-up on zeros. Stay trapped-up—call me ‘Scarface.’ Don’t get poured out like syrup. ‘Say goodnight to the bad guy,’ we ain’t no role models or heroes.
“I might be a white boy but I’m that bleep. Blood Gang tell I die we get figures. Got my money the wrong way, so why do it the right way? Gang in my blood until I tilt over. Pour some dark out for my dead homies—bleep it! Let that bleep spill over.
“Whole family died for diss American dream. Things ain’t exactly what they seem. Yeah, I’m serving whipped cream. Look at da flicka da wrist—still serving dem fiends. Chopped and screwed the white—3-6 Mafia. Demon time when I’m flickin’ da dope. New drug same flick as whipping coke. Diss that real bleep for dem real bleeps. This that jungle music for my silverback gorillas. This that murder music for my true killers. Ain’t no foe of mines—walking-me-down. Ain’t no chick of mines—talking-me-down.”
The beat transformed into something elegant and undead. When this odd transition transpired, the strip club exploded into a crescendo of undeserving cheers. It was all too much for me. Quite an uncomfortable spectacle I had few words for. I was just happy that he finally stopped rapping to his own song and at least let this new set of foulmouthed lyrics speak for themselves:
“Even though I’m a vampire and I got this new thirst, yeah, the money forever and always come first. Yeah! If I die, bleep it. Yeah! I lived a fast life, and I loved it. Yeah! Pour some white Henny out for my set. Yeah! We stay on that demonic bleep. Hell yeah! Bleep with us and get yo shed split. Hell yeah! Oh yeah, I came from the gutter like no other. Yeah! Beat hit like my switch kickback. Yeah! Used to get my hands dirty, now I just kick back. I’m a boss—but I still got that 21 Savage.
I’m ah do this gang bleep until die. If they saying, ‘I can’t go get it’ they a lie. Always throw my set up when I ride. Illuminati on my mother bleeping side. Money ain’t enough I need that blood. All this drug money in da strip club. Throw diss blood money in the feds face. They ain’t got no graves, they ain’t got no case.
“Always look your enemy in the eye. Cause if they flinch you know they afraid to die. Always cut your dope with some chems. Always step on the pack and make M&M’s. Always keep a mother bleeping scrap on your side.
“I’m geeked up. Geeked up. Yeah! I’m geeked up! Geeked up! Drugs got me high as a mug right now. White Henny in my cup got me geeked right now. She say her man at home—you know we ran game on her. Blood gang chain gang—you know we ran a train on her. This ain’t (Young) Jeezy, this that drug dealing white boy who make it look easy.”
“That jones go hard,” Tut remarked.
“Hell yeah it do,” Jake said before passing the blunt back to him. “Damn, bro, old girl, got a wagon.”
“Hell yeah she do,” Big Deal agreed.
“What’s her name?” Jake asked.
“Carnation,” Big Deal said.
“Carnation?” he asked again.
“Yes, sir,” Big Deal replied.
“Hey, Liz?” Jake said.
“Yes?” I politely replied.
“Can we speed this nonsense up? I’m trying to get on old girl with the wagon.”
“Nonsense?” I repeated.
“Yeah. I been gave y’all my word we good. I ain’t with all this extra nonsense.”
“Sure, one second.”
“Stop acting petty,” he told me, before having the nerve to offer me the joint.
I was a bit dumbfounded and offended by the offer and let slip, “Psst. As if.”
Big Deal tapped his boss on the shoulder and told him, “The little bros wanna be like the big bros. They’re asking for some paper to throw at the strippers.”
Their boss tapped the blunt a few times and chuckled under his breath before asking, “Oh yeah?”
“Hell yeah.”
“How much?”
“10 racks.”
“Tch. That’s it?”
“Yes, sir. Ten.”
“Give them fools 40.”
“You sure about that? Them young bleeps? You know they ain’t used to living like that.”
“They gotta learn one day.”
“Bet. I’ll make the call.”
“Um, I know it’s none of my business, but do you think it’s a good idea to close this deal, in particular, while under the influence?” I cautiously asked. When I looked down, I noticed my hand was gripping the edge of the table as if I was afraid my inquiry would spark his ire.
“I see you’re in your feelings.”
I rolled my eyes and said, “Um. No.”
“You ain’t never met a real bleep, huh?”
“Excuse me?” I asked a bit incredulous.
“Nah seriously. On Devil. A lot of y’all ain’t never been around no real bleep for real. I bet that bleep hit different, don’t it? Go head. Say I’m lying.”
“You’re not a... humph. Never mind. Most people like you are locked up you know.”
“Or dead,” he added.
“That too,” I agreed.
“Yeah, but I ain’t.”
His gang partner, Tut, chimed in with, “You ain’t just ain’t. You took that bleep somewhere else. That’s on the guys.” He raised the pharaoh pendant to his gold chain and kissed it for good measure. Then he tapped the blunt one more time before passing it back. “The world is yours, boss. Put on for the (dead) homies.”
“Hell yeah,” Jake replied.
“How?” I asked.
“How what?” he asked back.
“How are you not dead?”
“Strength,” he stated.
“Really? That’s it.”
“Yeah. It’s the only thing that matters in this world. Without it, you got nothing.” He paused and hit the blunt before throwing in, “You know how many times I almost died? I’m stronger for it not weaker.”
“How many times have you?”
“What? Almost died?” he asked.
“Yeah. How many?” I asked again.
“Pfft. Death is my best friend.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Me and that bleep go way back.”
“That’s a very negative thing to say.”
“You don’t know bleep about the gutta.”
Taken aback, I politely told him, “Wow. Okay. Candor isn’t exactly something you shy away from.”
He leaned forward and offered me the blunt yet again. I saw his face a little better in the light. Damn was he easy on the eyes. A little too easy for someone who had such an ugly personality. His eyes were so blue and his skin soft as the clouds. The vampire blood that coursed through his veins had really did a number on him. Of course, I would never tell him that. He was already cocksure enough. Oh, and crude too.
Speaking of which, his crudeness quickly reminded me why it was folly to think nice things about him. No matter how many pretty bones he had in his body, he was still an unpleasant ruffian without a polite bone.
“Stop playing, gurl. The leaf ain’t gon’ smoke itself. And I already know how y’all rich vampires affiliated with the Illuminati get down.”
I gave in and told him “Sure, why not,” just so I wouldn’t come off as hostile or ‘lame’ as he liked to put it. I took one small drag and began to cough wildly. After I cleared my throat, I reminded him that, “We’re not the Illuminati” and that, “He watched too many movies.”
“What do you call it then?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“A cabal of wicked ass vampires, with demons over everything, hellbent on taking over the world. And I ain’t talking about no harebrained Pinky and the Brain scheme. Nah. You guys is standing on business. You the one who watch too many movies if you think this ain’t Illuminati.”
“You’re very well informed.”
“I see you didn’t deny it.”
“Heard about what you did.”
“What’d I do this time?”
“You know ‘the fight.’”
“Oh. That’s old news.”
“Very cocky of you.”
“We took down a fallen angel. Why wouldn’t I be cocky after that? What’s the fool’s name? You know. The ashes me and your ‘benefactor’ smoking on.”
“Lord Jurael,” I answered.
“Yeah. That punk ass bleep. When you see him, ask him how his vacay in hell was.”
“Um. No thanks. I value my life too much to do that. And I don’t know if you know this or not, but yeah. He was kind of messing around with you guys. It was a test. And apparently you passed. Congrats.”
He threw up a gang sign and said, “Yeah, well tell him to get at me one on one next time. I was still fresh off the transformation when we tangled the first time. Tell all three of them bums to get at me. William, aka, your ‘benefactor,’ and that sneaky ass ninja-vampire, he always beefing with, he can get it too.”
“You have no shame.”
“Zero.”
“Wow.”
“I’m fresh out the mud. I put that on my bros. I put that on my dead brother.”
“I’m surprised my benefactor would associate himself with someone like you.”
“Enough with that. Stop calling old dude your ‘benefactor.’ We all know who you’re talking about. You’re talking about William’s punk ass.”
“I know. And I would but...”
“Sup? Cat got your tongue?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s bad luck to say his name.”
“Here we go with that devil speak.”
“It’s true you know. His father is—”
“Mannnn... gone somewhere with all that nonsense. You snobby vampires and your superstitions. I came from the fire, I know a demon when I see one, and he might be a son of a bleep, but he ain’t no son of a—"
He stopped mid affront to swat a fly that had landed on his arm. When the same fly hovered over his head, he went off on the establishment, “What kind of country ass bullbleep?! Flies flying around this dirty bleep!”
“You guys smell that?” I asked.
“Smell what?” Tut asked.
“Huh. It almost smells carrion.”
“Carry-onion? What that mean?” Tut asked Big Deal.
Big Deal smirked and responded with, “Sorry, ma’am. We’re human. You and the boss man are the only ones here who got a supernatural sense of smell.”
Their boss chimed in with: “I think you’re right. It does smell like a dead body. I should know, I’ve smelt plenty of—dammit!” he angrily cursed and swatted at another fly before he could finish his thoughts.
“You good, boss?” Tut asked.
“Go get the manager, homie.”
“I’m on it,” Big Deal said.
Before he could take off and do his boss’ bidding, a rush of panic hit the establishment. The ladies dressed in skimpy clothing screamed. The gangsters hollered at the thing that shuffled through the front door. The night went from zero to one hundred just like that. As if God had snapped his ethereal fingers. Fright and pandemonium swept through the room like a contagion. And the odor, ugh! So horrible, it made me sick to my stomach.
Our table was positioned at the worst angle. It was hopeless. No matter how much I glanced around, I couldn’t confirm my terrible suspicion. I flopped down in my chair and folded my arms in disgust. Great. As if this meeting could get any worse, I thought to myself. My sorrowful display was short lived. I wish that wasn’t the case. I wish I could have remained in the dark. Ignorance would have been a boon to my frayed nerves.
King Tut jumped from his seat and placed his hand on his weapon. He hesitated when he realized that it was one of their gang brothers. Not only was it one of the “bros,” but I could tell it was someone he was close too. His sudden expression of dismay made it clear that fate had stepped in and dealt him a cruel blow.
The poor wretch defied the laws of nature and good taste as he shambled over towards us at a speed slightly quicker than death while looking like he was at least already halfway there. There was no question he had paid for his sins in spades. For he was caked in flies from head to toe. And the smell... oh my, was it as wretched and repulsive as the sight. It was a stench that made me afraid to gasp. So unbearable and pungent to the senses, it was offensive even to those not easily offended by such things as the sour smell of a cadaver.
This rotting corpse of a once proud young man collapsed to his knees as soon as he reached our table. Then, as if that wasn’t excruciating and exonerating enough of a fate, he just stared at their boss but said nothing. I swear. The whole thing would have felt contrived if it wasn’t so agonizing to watch. It was like his suffering was a macabre scene that had been cherrypicked right out of a horror movie by a cruel director.
Jake’s reaction was as unflinching and coldhearted as it’ll ever get. He placed his hand over Tut’s arm and told him to “chill” before he drew his weapon in a fit of rage. Then he stared grimly at their suffering gang brother and coldly asked, “What’s up, lil homie?”
It was indescribable, to see flies covering every inch of his body like that. It was impossible to tell if he was alive, dead, or somewhere in between. Either way, the one thing that was for sure was that he had suffered. I could tell just by his deathly gaze.
A cluster of flies crawled from his mouth. Every twitch of the cheek looked agonizing and disgusting beyond measure. His throat buckled to the will of the insects as if some unseen puppeteer manipulated his vocal cords like invisible strings. I prayed that he was indeed dead. Because as convincing and reanimating of a performance as this was, it was still more distressing than fascinating. The worst part was the voice that escaped. It was this broken shrill of a thing filled with torment:
“Jake, Jake, Jake. Come out and play. The moon doth shine as bright as day. Leave your supper and leave your sleep behind. Come to me, your playfellow, into the streets. I’ll wait for you on the other side.”
“Who the bleep are you?” Jake asked.
“Heh. Are you afraid?”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Will you? Come out and play? Or do I have to turn more of your friends into my playthings?”
Jake ordered Big Deal and King Tut to keep everyone inside. He was about to tell me to do the same, but I quickly insisted on going with him. Uh-uh. My benefactor would’ve killed me if I played it safe and reported back to him emptyhanded. Okay. Maybe “kill” is a bit extreme. He was polite and gentlemanly enough, neither had he ever shown any outward signs of hostility towards me, but I wasn’t about to give him any reason whatsoever to start. If I had any doubts on what to do, my choice was made crystal clear by one overarching thought: even though I absolutely feared whatever fate awaited me outside, I feared the demonic wrath of my benefactor a whole lot more.

DEMON
TIME
By Ringo Cross
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Somewhere deep in Romania...
There was no hope. There was no light. Salvation must be found elsewhere. Only darkness and the Dragon, feasted and festered here, upon the pitiful, sorrowful souls that screamed in utter damnation.
The underling who entered the cave gripped his chest and collapsed to his knees once he had reached the bowels of despair. The Dragon possessed evil like a mortal soul desperately clings to faith.
The terrified vampire trembled as he carefully reached for the handkerchief stuffed neatly in the front pocket of his suit coat. He coughed into it and was surprised to see that it was soaked in fresh blood.
Each breath was weak and overbearing. It felt like a massive vise-grip had squeezed down on his ribcage and refused to give an inch. Surely, he wouldn’t stay. He couldn’t be that zealous of a believer in the New Faith. His mind justified his suffering by clinging on to the hope that he wouldn’t have to stay here for too much longer. He did not want to end up like all the other souls who were forced to grace his ungodly presence.
His lips quivered when he went to speak. He almost made the mistake of uttering his name but stopped just short. “Thank God,” he muttered to himself in disbelief. God bless the souls brave enough to read this, less they succumb to the same wrathful fire.
The Dragon was surrounded by ceremonial candles that formed a perfect circle. He meditated in bleak hatred and longed for oppression. Damnation or divination, prophecy could be changed: “God’s throne is mine!”
Flame rose from his flesh, but he was unbothered by the withering agony. The sight was blasphemy. Unholy theophany opposite “the burning bush.” He sat menacingly and well-tempered like a blade forged in restless hellfire. He did not even bother to open his eyes as he waited for his trembling underling to speak.
There was no flame or pain in this life or hereafter that could match his demon. One slip of the tongue, and the fool before him would perish before he could blink. For he was the one who had led a rebellion. For he was the one who had taken all that was holy and tainted it.
The Dragon angled his head ever so slightly, away from the ethereal blaze. His tone plotted and deliberate, “You seek wisdom in the fire?”
“No! No, please, I-I don’t!”
“Then what is it you fear?”
“I... I... Oh God!”
“Seek. Every mortal utters his name out of instinct when they come to me.”
“F-Forgive me, my lord. I-I’ve come with news that the first phase of the awakening is complete. W-We will carry on with the next phase as ordered.”
“Speak now in the fire.”
“T-There is a slight problem.”
“My son?”
“N-No. N-Not him.”
“Then who?”
“The angels have taken interest in the one who helped him pass the trial.”
“Ah. The bard?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Hmm. In that case. Let us see what it is they see in this foolish mortal. Send one of my saplings.”
“As you wish.”
“Oh and, Sextus.”
“Y-Yes, my lord?”
“Disturb me again while I meditate, and I’ll scorch you like a soul in my Lake of Fire.”
“F-Forgive me, my lord.”
“Get out of my sight.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 1
Two weeks later in Detroit...
I backed my BMW into the designated spot several minutes earlier than the meeting was supposed to start. I had been told to wait inside the car until one of the members of his gang came out to greet me.
I checked my watch a second and third time. Humph. Always trying to be perfect was nerve-racking. Sure, everything had gone as planned thus far, but you never know, especially with a situation as crazy as this. Crazy or not, things had to go right.
“Why did I even agree to do this?” I asked myself without thinking. I mean, I know why I agreed, but... tch, whatever. I guess asking myself stupid questions aloud was one of my many bad habits. “At least no one’s around to see you do it this time, Lizzy. Unlike the last time when you were out shopping with your benefactor, and you let slip that you considered her a blood sister,” I murmured to myself, irritatingly enough.
I flipped the visor down and focused on touching up my makeup instead of focusing on touching up my fractured nerves. Well, when I say “focus,” what I actually meant was nervously checked my eyeliner for a third and fourth time. I can’t believe this. Can’t even get my thoughts together, I thought to myself as I thought to myself how totally not right of a situation this was.
Just then an African American male, clad in urban wear from head to toe, approached my vehicle and gently tapped on the window. He laughed when I jumped. I blushed from the sheer embarrassment of having been frightened by a human. He found the odd role reversal amusing as well. After that, we had a brief but lighthearted exchange—confirming who he was and that I was indeed who I said I was.
Surprisingly, the man was a complete gentleman. He opened my door, was well-spoken, and extremely careful in his actions. He introduced himself under the alias of “Big Deal,” which confused me at first. Who knows. I guess it’s something urbanites did to protect their identity. Oh, and I complimented him on his choice of eyewear in an honest attempt to match his politeness.
He smiled and said thanks. Then he quickly threw in the not-so useful tidbit that his eyewear was Cartier. When I shrugged in innocent confusion, he tossed in the added fun fact that they were a very expensive brand of eyewear, oh and that he owned several pair.
He laughed under his breath when I shrugged again, obviously no less confused by what he was putting out in the ether. He opened the door to the strip club, and I was immediately hit square in the face by an avalanche of weed smoke, wild ruckus, rowdy music, and scantily clad dancers. The situation was less than ideal, but I had already been forewarned by my benefactor that dealing with this person would always be less than ideal.
I was gently guided to the last booth. It was all the way in the corner, far removed from the wildness and craziness that ensued around the stage. The booth was dark. Intuition told me that the person seated across from me was indeed the vampire I had come to meet.
I cleared my throat and said: “Greetings, Mr. Winters. My name is Elizabeth Carnot. You can call me Liz. I’m assuming you have a ‘moniker’?”
He looked over at the gentleman seated next to him and shook his head. Then he looked over at me and grinned. His blue eyes pierced through the darkness like an iceberg on a bitterly cold night. “Call me Icy.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say ‘Icy’?”
“Yeah-yeah, Icy. ‘ICY.’”
“Okay, Mr. Icy. I’m your liaison.”
“‘Mr. Icy?’ Hah. Stop playing.”
“What do you mean? I wasn’t—"
“Call me by my regular name.”
“Okay, and what’s that?”
“Tch. Jake Winters.”
“Oh, sorry. I forgot.”
He pointed to the man seated next to him and blurted out, “Yeah, this my hitter, King Tut.”
“Um. Greetings, Mr. King Tut.”
“Sup,” he replied with a nod.
The individual by the name of Big Deal, the one who escorted me inside, he stood next to his boss with folded arms. He checked his phone a few times and seemed uneasy. By the look of it, he had some influence in our dealings and must have been a high-ranking member of their gang. But I could be wrong. You never know with these types.
Seeing my confounded expression, their boss told me, “What’s up? Why’re you acting scared?”
“I’m sorry. Come again?” I asked.
“Never mind. All I gotta do is sign some papers, right?” he asked in an irritated tone.
I placed my briefcase on the table, snapped it open, and told him, “Yeah. Give me a minute. I just need to gather the necessary documents.”
“These folks and their paperwork,” Mr. Winters told his counterpart seated next to him.
“You already know how they get down, boss,” Big Deal chimed in while patiently standing by.
“Hell yeah,” he shot back at his gang comrade before turning his attention back to me. He studied me carefully and rather rudely for a moment longer than I would’ve liked before finally asking, “What’s your name again?”
“Elizabeth Carnot.”
“You seem familiar.”
“I do?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m sure I would have remembered if we met.”
“Nah. Not you. Your dad. His name’s Philip, right?”
“Why as a matter of fact, yes. He’s employed as a factor for my benefactors.”
“Yeah. I can see the resemblance. Tell the old geezer I said, ‘Sup,’ when you see him.”
“Sure,” I smirked before looking around the place. “We couldn’t have done this anywhere else?”
“Nope.”
“Really?”
“I grew up in dem strips. My bruthers couldn’t tell me nothing. So naturally you couldn’t.”
“Okay...” I uttered not knowing what else to say.
“All you Báthory folk the same.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Dingy than a motherfucker. You remind me of old girl. I bet my Muller you know her.”
“You mean the countess?”
“Yeah. The ditz.”
“Yes. I know her.”
“Bet that up,” he said before adjusting his diamond studded watch, relieved at the fact that he didn’t have to part ways with it even though I had no idea what I was going to do with it other than stash it in one of the shelves in our museum’s storage room.
Humph. Who knows. Maybe he’ll die soon, which isn’t out of the realm of possibility, considering his reckless lifestyle. In that case, his watch could become one of our more “darker possessions,” I secretly hoped.
“Damn,” Big Deal murmured as he looked at his phone in dismay. His sudden uneasiness was very distracting. For a moment there, I thought something was wrong. He quietly and quickly fielded a call. Then he tapped his boss on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
Mr. Winters looked up at him in exasperation. He just shook his head and was like, “Another one?”
“Yup,” he solemnly replied.
Their boss brought his hands together and gathered his thoughts before coolly saying, “I know who it is getting at my spots, but I can’t prove it.”
“The Cash Cowboyz?” Big Deal asked.
“Man. Hell nah. I put that on the bros,” Mr. Winters vehemently replied to his underling. “Them fuckers tissue paper. If it wasn’t for her benefactor, we would’ve been stepped all over ‘em with the bros.”
Big Deal nodded, “Right. Yeah. Somebody with some juice putting in some serious work.”
“You good, Tut?” Jake asked.
“Meh. I was just thinking.”
“What’s on your mind, bro?”
“It’s strange... when I went to take out Martel after he murked Terrance... I don’t know boss... Something was off about the whole thing. I can’t put my finger on it, but we ain’t never found Terrance body, plus the guys keep saying he ain’t dead. That he came back as something. Something that ain’t human, or vampire, or whatever.”
“That’s the word in the streets, huh?” Mr. Winters asked him with a hint of anger.
“Yeah. I keep hearing rumors, too. I don’t know how true they are,” Big Deal threw in.
Tut chimed back in with the solemn statement, “Well. If it is him. I got a feeling he’s working for her benefactor. You know how the Illuminati move. They always trying to stay ahead of the game.”
“Word,” Jake nodded.
“What’s the move, boss? How far you willing to take it?” Big Deal asked very gingerly.
“How many spots got knocked?”
“Three so far.”
“Is that true?”
“Yup,” Tut confirmed.
“Shit. I’m willing to take it all the way. Just cause they on demon time, don’t mean I can’t be on demon time. I ain’t giving up my spots for nobody.”
“Just think about it,” Deal chimed in.
“Here you go about to play Gandhi.”
“I’m saying. We might not be making as much dealing exclusively to vampires but it’s safer. After we ink this deal, we got a monopoly on all the blood dens. You know them fools own more than just Detroit, right?”
“Is that true?” Jake asked me.
“That is correct,” I nodded.
“Dang. What all they got?”
“Boss, I’m telling you, they laid. Man. Tch. They got Chicago, Toronto, Ohio, Minn, Wisconn, and some other satellite spots,” Big Deal explained.
“Damn, he for real?” he asked me.
“He is indeed correct,” I said with a smirk. “The only territorial dispute I know of is with the Windsor vampire order, over the territory of Toronto.”
“William’s sweet ass getting it like that?!” he asked me again with even more shock.
“You mean my benefactors?”
“Yeah. Him and his fiancée.”
“Well, I don’t know what you mean by ‘sweet,’ but yes, they have it ‘like that,’ as you put it.”
“Dude think he slick,” Jake groaned.
“Mm-hm. It’s probably him, trying to knock us off the block,” Tut replied after some thought.
“What’d you think we should do?” Jake asked the homie Big Deal, hoping against hope he had an answer instead of another irksome, nonchalant response.
He shrugged before further chagrining his boss by telling him, “I think we should leave it alone.”
“You supposed to be my captain, not the nigga who preaches peace every time I ask you for your two cents. Martin Luther King wannabe ass nigga.”
“Fuck you,” he replied back.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Hold on for a sec,” Jake said before signaling for one of his gang goons over by the bar. He came over and quickly passed him a blunt that was stuffed with what had to be marijuana. Jake wasted no time. He took a stupidly long toke before passing to Tut, who did the same thing before passing it back. Then Mr. Winters took another ignorantly long toke before offering me a hit.
When I politely declined, he called me a ‘lame ass white chick,’ which I found incredibly offensive, considering he was Caucasian too. So, for him to insult me like that was crass to say the least. My mind couldn’t help but wonder. Why was my clan making a deal with some thoughtless churl? To be fair, foreign affairs wasn’t exactly my department. Only reason I agreed to this was because our emissary was away on urgent business, and this “all-important” arrangement couldn’t wait.
Suddenly, the DJ made an announcement. He thanked Jake and his gang for the mountain of money they laid down on his workstation. The club atmosphere was instantly rejuvenated as soon as he mixed one of Mr. Winter’s songs. I couldn’t believe my ears. His lyrics were invective, classless, senseless, tasteless, and worst of all, stuffed with baseless Illuminati accusations.
Jake threw up the set and took another hit from the fattest marijuana blunt I had ever seen. Then he whistled at his gang underlings near the stage before flashing the set again. They responded by throwing that bitch back, and then tossing a flurry of cash onstage until it was blurry. He slouched in his seat and watched the thuggery unfold like a proud dad. The arrogant thug couldn’t help himself. He had to mumble the lyrics under his breath:
“They said a white nigga couldn’t make it. Now the streets hot, cause all I do is bake it. Ain’t just get even wid it—went and got sadistic wid it. Wholesale dope flows! Yeah! Fiends know I really get it. Yeah! My chick mad cause I don’t really need her, rap career just went solar. Don’t pay her no mind, she bipolar. Sold hope to the kids and dope to they mommas.
“Went from sliming in the slums to packed shows and packing plenty sums. Took a heavy loss and turned my demon on. Burn the streets up and got right back on. If the pack strong, you ain’t doing it wrong. I’m hopping off the porch with this fent all day long.
“Bandz ah make her dance, so I get plenty. Gunz ah make him dance so we pack many. I was dead and gone, but now I’m undead and standing all on my own. Tell them Cowboyz aim for the head if we foes, instead of doing it with their eyes closed like some street hoes. All these drugs get shipped in different zip codes. Rubbers bands on rubber bands—next to barcodes on barcodes.
“My angel said, ‘don’t do it.’ My demon said, ‘you better prove it.’ Linked up with the Illuminati just to keep chuggin’. Ten years slangin,’ and I’m still thuggin.’ Hell yeah, that savage in me still showing. What happened to gangster rap? That shit ain’t growing. All these niggas talk about is getting geeked-up. Stay strapped up—ain’t getting set-up by no foes. Sonic rings keep me banked-up on zeros. Stay trapped-up—call me ‘Scarface.’ Don’t get poured out like syrup. ‘Say goodnight to the bad guy,’ we ain’t no role models or heroes.
“I might be a white boy but I’m that nigga. Blood Gang tell I die we get figures. Got my money the wrong way, so why do it the right way? Gang in my blood until I tilt over. Pour some dark out for my dead homies—fuck it! Let that shit spill over.
“Whole family died for diss American dream. Things ain’t exactly what they seem. Yeah, I’m serving whipped cream. Look at da flicka da wrist—still serving dem fiends. Chopped and screwed the white—3-6 Mafia. Demon time when I’m flickin’ da dope. New drug same flick as whipping coke. Diss that real shit for dem real niggas. This that jungle music for my silverback gorillas. This that murder music for my true killers. Ain’t no foe of mines—walking-me-down. Ain’t no chick of mines—talking-me-down.”
The beat transformed into something elegant and undead. When this odd transition transpired, the strip club exploded into a crescendo of undeserving cheers. It was all too much for me. Quite an uncomfortable spectacle I had few words for. I was just happy that he finally stopped rapping to his own song and at least let this new set of foulmouthed lyrics speak for themselves:
“Even though I’m a vampire and I got this new thirst, yeah, the money forever and always come first. Yeah! If I die, fuck it. Yeah! I lived a fast life, and I loved it. Yeah! Pour some white Henny out for my set. Yeah! We stay on that demonic shit. Hell yeah! Fuck with us and get yo shed split. Hell yeah! Oh yeah, I came from the gutter like no other. Yeah! Beat hit like my switch kickback. Yeah! Used to get my hands dirty, now I just kick back. I’m a boss—but I still got that 21 Savage.
“I’m ah do this gang shit until die. If they saying, ‘I can’t go get it’ they a lie. Always throw my set up when I ride. Illuminati on my motherfucking side. Money ain’t enough I need that blood. All this drug money in da strip club. Throw diss blood money in the feds face. They ain’t got no graves, they ain’t got no case.
“Always look your enemy in the eye. Cause if they flinch you know they afraid to die. Always cut your dope with some chems. Always step on the pack and make M&M’s. Always keep a motherfucking scrap on your side.
“I’m geeked up. Geeked up. Yeah! I’m geeked up! Geeked up! Drugs got me high as a mug right now. White Henny in my cup got me geeked right now. She say her man at home—you know we ran game on her. Blood gang chain gang—you know we ran a train on her. This ain’t (Young) Jeezy, this that drug dealing white boy who make it look easy.”
“That jones go hard,” Tut remarked.
“Hell yeah it do,” Jake said before passing the blunt back to him. “Damn, bro, old girl, got a wagon.”
“Hell yeah she do,” Big Deal agreed.
“What’s her name?” Jake asked.
“Carnation,” Big Deal said.
“Carnation?” he asked again.
“Yes, sir,” Big Deal replied.
“Hey, Liz?” Jake said.
“Yes?” I politely replied.
“Can we speed this nonsense up? I’m trying to get on old girl with the wagon.”
“Nonsense?” I repeated.
“Yeah. I been gave y’all my word we good. I ain’t with all this extra nonsense.”
“Sure, one second.”
“Stop acting petty,” he told me, before having the nerve to offer me the joint.
I was a bit dumbfounded and offended by the offer and let slip, “Psst. As if.”
Big Deal tapped his boss on the shoulder and told him, “The little bros wanna be like the big bros. They’re asking for some paper to throw at the strippers.”
Their boss tapped the blunt a few times and chuckled under his breath before asking, “Oh yeah?”
“Hell yeah.”
“How much?”
“10 racks.”
“Tch. That’s it?”
“Yes, sir. Ten.”
“Give them fools 40.”
“You sure about that? Them young niggas? You know they ain’t used to living like that.”
“They gotta learn one day.”
“Bet. I’ll make the call.”
“Um, I know it’s none of my business, but do you think it’s a good idea to close this deal, in particular, while under the influence?” I cautiously asked. When I looked down, I noticed my hand was gripping the edge of the table as if I was afraid my inquiry would spark his ire.
“I see you’re in your feelings.”
I rolled my eyes and said, “Um. No.”
“You ain’t never met a real nigga, huh?”
“Excuse me?” I asked a bit incredulous.
“Nah seriously. On Devil. A lot of y’all ain’t never been around no real nigga for real. I bet that shit hit different, don’t it? Go head. Say I’m lying.”
“You’re not a... humph. Never mind. Most people like you are locked up you know.”
“Or dead,” he added.
“That too,” I agreed.
“Yeah, but I ain’t.”
His gang partner, Tut, chimed in with, “You ain’t just ain’t. You took that shit somewhere else. That’s on the guys.” He raised the pharaoh pendant to his gold chain and kissed it for good measure. Then he tapped the blunt one more time before passing it back. “The world is yours, boss. Put on for the (dead) homies.”
“Hell yeah,” Jake replied.
“How?” I asked.
“How what?” he asked back.
“How are you not dead?”
“Strength,” he stated.
“Really? That’s it.”
“Yeah. It’s the only thing that matters in this world. Without it, you got nothing.” He paused and hit the blunt before throwing in, “You know how many times I almost died? I’m stronger for it not weaker.”
“How many times have you?”
“What? Almost died?” he asked.
“Yeah. How many?” I asked again.
“Pfft. Death is my best friend.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Me and that nigga go way back.”
“That’s a very negative thing to say.”
“You don’t know shit about the gutta.”
Taken aback, I politely told him, “Wow. Okay. Candor isn’t exactly something you shy away from.”
He leaned forward and offered me the blunt yet again. I saw his face a little better in the light. Damn was he easy on the eyes. A little too easy for someone who had such an ugly personality. His eyes were so blue and his skin soft as the clouds. The vampire blood that coursed through his veins had really did a number on him. Of course, I would never tell him that. He was already cocksure enough. Oh, and crude too.
Speaking of which, his crudeness quickly reminded me why it was folly to think nice things about him. No matter how many pretty bones he had in his body, he was still an unpleasant ruffian without a polite bone.
“Stop playing, gurl. The leaf ain’t gon’ smoke itself. And I already know how y’all rich vampires affiliated with the Illuminati get down.”
I gave in and told him “Sure, why not,” just so I wouldn’t come off as hostile or ‘lame’ as he liked to put it. I took one small drag and began to cough wildly. After I cleared my throat, I reminded him that, “We’re not the Illuminati” and that, “He watched too many movies.”
“What do you call it then?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“A cabal of wicked ass vampires, with demons over everything, hellbent on taking over the world. And I ain’t talking about no harebrained Pinky and the Brain scheme. Nah. You guys is standing on business. You the one who watch too many movies if you think this ain’t Illuminati.”
“You’re very well informed.”
“I see you didn’t deny it.”
“Heard about what you did.”
“What’d I do this time?”
“You know ‘the fight.’”
“Oh. That’s old news.”
“Very cocky of you.”
“We took down a fallen angel. Why wouldn’t I be cocky after that? What’s the fool’s name? You know. The ashes me and your ‘benefactor’ smoking on.”
“Lord Jurael,” I answered.
“Yeah. That punk ass nigga. When you see him, ask him how his vacay in hell was.”
“Um. No thanks. I value my life too much to do that. And I don’t know if you know this or not, but yeah. He was kind of messing around with you guys. It was a test. And apparently you passed. Congrats.”
He threw up a gang sign and said, “Yeah, well tell him to get at me one on one next time. I was still fresh off the transformation when we tangled the first time. Tell all three of them bums to get at me. William, aka, your ‘benefactor,’ and that sneaky ass ninja-vampire, he always beefing with, he can get it too.”
“You have no shame.”
“Zero.”
“Wow.”
“I’m fresh out the mud. I put that on my bros. I put that on my dead brother.”
“I’m surprised my benefactor would associate himself with someone like you.”
“Enough with that. Stop calling old dude your ‘benefactor.’ We all know who you’re talking about. You’re talking about William’s punk ass.”
“I know. And I would but...”
“Sup? Cat got your tongue?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s bad luck to say his name.”
“Here we go with that devil speak.”
“It’s true you know. His father is—”
“Mannnn... gone somewhere with all that nonsense. You snobby vampires and your superstitions. I came from the fire, I know a demon when I see one, and he might be a son of a bitch, but he ain’t no son of a—"
He stopped mid affront to swat a fly that had landed on his arm. When the same fly hovered over his head, he went off on the establishment, “What kind of country ass bullshit?! Flies flying around this dirty bitch!”
“You guys smell that?” I asked.
“Smell what?” Tut asked.
“Huh. It almost smells carrion.”
“Carry-onion? What that mean?” Tut asked Big Deal.
Big Deal smirked and responded with, “Sorry, ma’am. We’re human. You and the boss man are the only ones here who got a supernatural sense of smell.”
Their boss chimed in with: “I think you’re right. It does smell like a dead body. I should know, I’ve smelt plenty of—dammit!” he angrily cursed and swatted at another fly before he could finish his thoughts.
“You good, boss?” Tut asked.
“Go get the manager, homie.”
“I’m on it,” Big Deal said.
Before he could take off and do his boss’ bidding, a rush of panic hit the establishment. The ladies dressed in skimpy clothing screamed. The gangsters hollered at the thing that shuffled through the front door. The night went from zero to one hundred just like that. As if God had snapped his ethereal fingers. Fright and pandemonium swept through the room like a contagion. And the odor, ugh! So horrible, it made me sick to my stomach.
Our table was positioned at the worst angle. It was hopeless. No matter how much I glanced around, I couldn’t confirm my terrible suspicion. I flopped down in my chair and folded my arms in disgust. Great. As if this meeting could get any worse, I thought to myself. My sorrowful display was short lived. I wish that wasn’t the case. I wish I could have remained in the dark. Ignorance would have been a boon to my frayed nerves.
King Tut jumped from his seat and placed his hand on his weapon. He hesitated when he realized that it was one of their gang brothers. Not only was it one of the “bros,” but I could tell it was someone he was close too. His sudden expression of dismay made it clear that fate had stepped in and dealt him a cruel blow.
The poor wretch defied the laws of nature and good taste as he shambled over towards us at a speed slightly quicker than death while looking like he was at least already halfway there. There was no question he had paid for his sins in spades. For he was caked in flies from head to toe. And the smell... oh my, was it as wretched and repulsive as the sight. It was a stench that made me afraid to gasp. So unbearable and pungent to the senses, it was offensive even to those not easily offended by such things as the sour smell of a cadaver.
This rotting corpse of a once proud young man collapsed to his knees as soon as he reached our table. Then, as if that wasn’t excruciating and exonerating enough of a fate, he just stared at their boss but said nothing. I swear. The whole thing would have felt contrived if it wasn’t so agonizing to watch. It was like his suffering was a macabre scene that had been cherrypicked right out of a horror movie by a cruel director.
Jake’s reaction was as unflinching and coldhearted as it’ll ever get. He placed his hand over Tut’s arm and told him to “chill” before he drew his weapon in a fit of rage. Then he stared grimly at their suffering gang brother and coldly asked, “What’s up, lil homie?”
It was indescribable, to see flies covering every inch of his body like that. It was impossible to tell if he was alive, dead, or somewhere in between. Either way, the one thing that was for sure was that he had suffered. I could tell just by his deathly gaze.
A cluster of flies crawled from his mouth. Every twitch of the cheek looked agonizing and disgusting beyond measure. His throat buckled to the will of the insects as if some unseen puppeteer manipulated his vocal cords like invisible strings. I prayed that he was indeed dead. Because as convincing and reanimating of a performance as this was, it was still more distressing than fascinating. The worst part was the voice that escaped. It was this broken shrill of a thing filled with torment:
“Jake, Jake, Jake. Come out and play. The moon doth shine as bright as day. Leave your supper and leave your sleep behind. Come to me, your playfellow, into the streets. I’ll wait for you on the other side.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Jake asked.
“Heh. Are you afraid?”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
“Will you? Come out and play? Or do I have to turn more of your friends into my playthings?”
Jake ordered Big Deal and King Tut to keep everyone inside. He was about to tell me to do the same, but I quickly insisted on going with him. Uh-uh. My benefactor would’ve killed me if I played it safe and reported back to him emptyhanded. Okay. Maybe “kill” is a bit extreme. He was polite and gentlemanly enough, neither had he ever shown any outward signs of hostility towards me, but I wasn’t about to give him any reason whatsoever to start. If I had any doubts on what to do, my choice was made crystal clear by one overarching thought: even though I absolutely feared whatever fate awaited me outside, I feared the demonic wrath of my benefactor a whole lot more.

Johnson County Kansas is at it again, what’s up with the closest county to Missouri and their rage boner against marijuana? Two Chiefs players were arrested Thursday night for possessing marijuana, a crime most Americans wish wouldn’t be prosecuted. In a week when President Biden pushed for a declassification of marijuana to a schedule 3 drug, Johnson County is devoting significant resources to protect its citizens from… checks notes… other people possessing marijuana. No one gives a shit, stop pulling over every brown person you see and stop kicking down doors and holding people at gunpoint for marijuana possession.
For those of you that forgot, a few years ago Johnson Coubty, Kansas police worked with Missouri police to get information about patrons at a grow shop, turns out it was just a retired couple in their 60s growing tomatoes. Some of you don’t remember what the Johnson County sheriffs did so let me remind you by posting the story here:
“ A Missouri Highway Patrol officer was parked nearby, surveilling the store for people who might be buying supplies for indoor marijuana growing operations.
Based on the officer’s tip, Johnson County sheriff’s deputies rooted through the Hartes’ trash and found wet green vegetation mixed in with kitchen trash. After deputies conducted a field test and determined the vegetation was marijuana, seven officers clad in black SWAT uniforms and brandishing 9 mm Glocks, an AR-15 assault rifle and a battering ram pounded on the Hartes’ door and burst in, guns drawn, at around 7:30 a.m. on April 20, 2012, a day celebrated by marijuana activists.
Robert Harte was forced face-down to the floor, shirtless, as the deputies searched the house for more than two hours. All four family members, including the Harte children, were detained in the living room under armed guard.
The search proved fruitless, even after the deputies called in a drug dog. No marijuana was found and the vegetation in the trash turned out to be nothing more than loose-leaf tea.”
That, that’s what our WAY TOO HIGH tax dollars are being used for in Johnson County. Breaking down peoples doors and holding them down at gunpoint with assault rifles because a Missouri police officer told Johnson County police officers they were spying on people buying tomato plants.
In Kansas City you are 500% more likely to have your car searched if you are black. Five hundred percent! This isn’t what I want my tax dollars used for, breaking down doors and pulling over every brown person for possession of marijuana. Meanwhile fifteen minutes away on the Missouri side it’s basically an Apple Store but for weed

Machine Go Lie and Die outside
open ya mouth wide - ma glock slides in-side
Blow out brains an Spines real wide
I Rhyme so much now my mouths all dried
This a Salty Beef - East Coast - West side
Marijuana leaf , rolled up an smoked - real High
You a DOPE bro not the dopest guy
I Sacrifice a GOAT - I roast ya Whole life
I smell burnt toast - nope that just " Outside "
I'm the Obscene Machine I can go all night
So is this coward gonna run and hide ?
You couldn't Rap a rhyme to save your life.

TL;DR: it looks like generating invoices in foreign currencies (such as EUR) and producing BIR-compliant reports (such as the alphalists of payees for the withholding tax) are not commonly found together in online accounting solutions - at least, I found none that tick both boxes.
Hi. I have an OPC that has foreign customers. So far, I have created invoices manually in LibreOffice, sent PDFs to customers, and then, after they paid, issued them manual official receipts from the booklet that was printed for me under the ATP. The invoices were treated as "internal documents" and were, therefore, subject to no requirements, so I was told that making them in LibreOffice was OK. The auditor did ask to show them, but did not say anything bad or good about them. All the accounting and auditing was done using the official receipts as a basis.
Now that BIR demands (via EoPT regulation and Revenue Regulations (RR) No.7-2024) that the invoice becomes the primary document and can, therefore, no longer be treated as an internal document. Therefore, LibreOffice is apparently no longer a legal way to make invoices.
Going back to manual invoices (handwriting in a booklet printed under ATP) or even loose-leaf invoices (that would require a dot-matrix printer) would look quite unprofessional. Therefore, I am looking at applying for a permit to use a computerized accounting system. But to apply, I need to choose one.
I already asked MPM, and the result is that their cloud-based system is not suitable, as it is not able to create invoices in foreign currencies. According to the videos from oojeema, they have the same problem.
A sales person from MPM recommended QuickBooks, however, then it's on me to produce all the documentation (e.g., sample reports) required by BIR. I think there are other solutions, but I don't know about them.
So, here are my requirements:

• Cloud-based solution for invoicing and accounting, with nothing to install on my laptop except a browser
• Compliant with PH laws
• Can issue professionally-looking invoices and official receipts as PDFs that I can send to customers
• Can issue invoices and official receipts using foreign currencies
• Can track bank account balances in multiple currencies (currently we just enter everything in Pesos, which is also fine, but then it needs to understand that the "~61500 PHP equivalent" increase in the EUR account balance directly corresponds to the customer paying the previously issued 1000 EUR invoice)
• Can automatically submit e-invoices generated by them to BIR in JSON format (if this is indeed a requirement - not sure here)
• Would help me with the initial BIR application for the permit to use the CAS (here MPM would do it for an additional fee, but with QuickBooks this is out of question)
• Ideally a local company

Any recommendations?

My doc thinks that marijuana will lead to pain breakthroughs too and I agree.
I recently came across a business that sells 7-hydroxymitragynine in 15mg tablets. From a pharmaceutical perspective, it’s not terribly difficult to isolate from Kratom leaf, it doesn’t possess the mu-opioid binding afinity of traditional opiates (so no death from respiratory depression), and to me 15 mg had the equivalent effectiveness of 15-20 mg of oxycodone.
I ask that you please don’t message me asking for source. If you’re interested then it doesn’t take a lot of digging.

Do not buy from Rick Martinez on Facebook.
I have Stage Testicular Cancer and I'd heard Rick Simpson Oil (RSO) can help.
I got connected with Rick Martinez from a cancer group forum.
I chatted wirh Rick and he pointed me to a website to purchase. I bought 10 grams for $200. I was instructed by Rick to pay via PayPal under 'friends and family.'
I'm in Toronto. A few days later I started getting sketchy shipping company texts that I'm sure we've all seen before. Some terrible looking company and texts called 'Fexpress' and they matched the 'FXL #' that Rick shared with me.
The texts said I had to pay Refundable $580 for a 'Canadian Custom License Permit Release Form.' When I questioned it, they started to insinuate that I would be in legal trouble if I didn't pay. I called the text line, it was clearly a personal line. Someone called back and again insisted that I would be in legal trouble if I didn't pay.
I said I wanted an actual invoice and contract and that I'd never heard of Fexpress. So they emailed a similarly sketchy looking document, but all of a sudden it had a signature and FedEx logo at the bottom 🤣 And they made a point of texting something like 'now it looks legitimate right?'
Of course Rick was no help in this process and would not refund or even give me a call to discuss this, like a human being. He said it was just out his hands and that I had to pay.
Not only that, but when the fake shipping company emailed the contract, they wanted me to pay a PayPal account that just so happened to have the same last name as Rick. How stupid is this!?
When I resisted paying 'Fexpress' - they finally said 'don't worry about it'. Great, clearly it's a scam but Rick won't refund me because he says 'get me the package.' They've given up trying to get the $580 but of course they and Rick will not communicate with me anymore.
I have no recourse with PayPal because Rick told me to pay via 'friends and family.'
So I'm out $200. I'm so glad I didn't buy $1200 worth like Rick was trying to push.
It seems I have no recourse, but hopefully I can help someone else from getting scammed by Rick Martinez.
As soon as I posted this on the Facebook page it was immediately deleted and blocked me.
I don't have the link to the Facebook account, but it's Rick Martinez, and the image is a marijuana leaf.

"I didn’t eat my dog. I didn’t shoot my dog. I loved my dog, and my dog loved me." - Mitt Romney, piling on former South Dakota governor Kristi Noem, who did shoot her dog.

The Struggle Israel

College campuses are on edge after a clash in LA and hundreds of arrests around the country.

• Things got violent on the UCLA campus last night, in the latest sign that pro-Palestinian protests on dozens of campuses nationwide are escalating. The confrontation at UCLA was apparently sparked by pro-Israel counter-protesters who approached the barriers around a pro-Palestinian encampment, ripping down placards, tearing down barriers and shouting abuse. Fifteen people were hurt in the ensuing brawl, according to the president of the University of California, although the exact number seems to be in question. UCLA canceled classes on Wednesday. On the other side of the country, at Columbia University, NYPD cops moved into the Hamilton Hall administration building, which pro-Palestinian demonstrators had occupied the night before. Overall, more than 1,000 demonstrators have been arrested on campuses, many of whom aren’t students. That last part is a dilemma for school administrators, as they look to find ways to keep the protests from interfering with imminent commencement ceremonies and final exams. University of Chicago president Paul Alivisatos, for example, hailed the “core animating value” of free expression…while issuing a plea (warning?) to protesters to consider alternatives to an encampment. As of this writing, the U of C encampment is still growing. It shouldn’t be lost you, dear What a Day reader, that Chicago will host the Democratic National Convention later this summer.
  
• Meanwhile, in the Middle East, the home of the actual war, U.S. and Saudi officials are doing their best to talk up a massive defense pact that would normalize relations with Israel and incentivize Israel’s right-wing government to end the war in Gaza and endorse a future Palestinian state. The deal would require landing lots of political back-flips, like OK’ing advanced U.S. weapons for the Saudis, who recently have had a tendency to use them in Yemen; giving the Saudis security guarantees even against an aggressive Iran; and, maybe hardest of all, getting PM Benjamin Netanyahu (or a successor?) to endorse Palestinian statehood. Add onto all of that the likely need to get Senate treaty ratification from skeptical and divided lawmakers.
  
• In Gaza, Secretary of State Antony Blinken and other negotiators are still hoping a proposed ceasefire deal can stave off Israel’s planned invasion of Rafah. As of this writing, Hamas still hasn’t responded to the offer, which would exchange the release of 33 Israeli hostages for a 40-day ceasefire and clearance for displaced Palestinians to move back north in the strip. Desperately-needed humanitarian aid is reportedly flowing more freely over the last week. Still, Jordan said two of its Gaza-bound humanitarian aid convoys were attacked by Israeli settlers as they made their way through the West Bank.
  

Disgraced former President Donald Trump called for college presidents to clear out demonstrators and “vanquish the radicals,” because the guy is just always looking for ways to escalate conflicts and harm protesters. Yes, things can get much MUCH worse.

Look No Further Than Crooked Media

Election years can be overwhelming, so mark your calendars for June 25th to get your copy of Democracy or Else: How to Save America in 10 Easy Steps! Jon, Jon and Tommy are already 34% toward their pre-order target which will, with any luck, land them on the New York Times Best Seller list and bump Ben Shapiro off! Plus, Crooked is donating all of its profits from Democracy or Else to Vote Save America and 2024 campaigns. So when you pre-order you’re not just getting a book and ruining Ben Shapiro’s day - you’re already making a difference. Head to https://crooked.com/books to pre-order your copy now!

Under The Radar

Joe Biden may be president, but in so many ways we’re still living in disgraced former President Donald Trump’s America—or, at least, with the problems he left us. Tens of millions of American women saw their rights whipsawed today as Trump’s signature gutting of Roe v. Wade burrows in. Florida’s post-Roe abortion ban went into effect today, cutting off women from seeking most abortions after six weeks. Yes, that’s before most women realize they’re even pregnant. Here is a tragic story of a woman who tried to access abortion before Florida’s deadline only to be turned away. Fla. Governor Ron DeSantis spent the day protecting Floridians from the scourge of lab-grown meat. Meanwhile, Republicans in swing-state Arizona completed their frantic retreat from their own policy of banning abortion by passing a repeal to that state’s 1864 near-total abortion ban. Arizona’s prevailing law will be a 15-week ban once the governor signs the repeal. If you think the legislature’s contortions are gross, wait til you see Trumpist GOP Senate candidate Kari Lake, who’s been on an incoherent journey for the 1864 ban, then against it, then back again. But hey, she’s great on TV!

What Else?

The House easily passed a bill expanding the federal definition of antisemitism at the Dept. of Education. The bill is the latest flourish in Republicans’ cynical efforts to drive division and de-legitimize protests by pretending to care about antisemitism. We’ll have more to say about this grossness in tomorrow’s newsletter—and also on the What A Day podcast!
Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA) says she’ll charge ahead with her plan to try to oust Speaker Mike Johnson (R-La.) from his post next week. Greene doesn’t have the votes, since Dems have pledged to protect Johnson, which in turn would sort of prove her point to other Republicans that Johnson owes his gavel to the enemy party. As we say every day at this time: DOOOOO IT MARGE!!
A federal appeals court rejected Louisiana’s latest congressional district map that contains expanded power for Black voters to choose the candidates of their choice. It’s part of a long-running battle over Louisiana’s violations of the Voting Rights Act. Now the whole thing is likely headed to the Supreme Court, with a critical House seat in the balance.
Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer is reupping his push to fully legalize marijuana and completely remove it from the DEA’s list of controlled substances. Schumer’s hoping to capitalize on momentum from news yesterday that the Biden Administration plans to loosen federal restrictions on marijuana.
The Biden Administration announced another $6.1 billion in student debt relief, this time for more than 315,000 attendees of Art Institutes schools that scammed students with false promises of post-study employment. The relief goes automatically to students who attended any of Art Institutes’ dozens of schools between 2004 and 2017. Hey young and young-ish voters!
The Federal Reserve declined to cut interest rates, citing concerns that “sticky” inflation was taking longer to come down than hoped. Still, Fed Chair Jerome Powell said he still expects inflation to wane, and he all but ruled out a pre-election rate hike.

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Light At The End Of The Email

The United Methodist Church, one of the largest protestant denominations in America, overwhelmingly voted to end its bans on LGBTQ clergy and same-sex marriage.
An amusingly large number of people are collecting endorsements to run for president of Iceland, after the process moved online. Eighty-two people have been put forward so far, including at least 11 whose names were entered accidentally and had no idea that someone else endorsed their candidacy.

Enjoy

Moon Star Glow (@moon.cat.life) on Instagram: "Text on video: "At 5 months old, I have An apartment, two passive incomes, and a personal chef. Follow me for more financial advice""

I absolutely loved weed. I couldn’t go a single day without smoking, morning noon and night. I started by rolling weed in swisher sweets, then Dutch masters, then backwoods and lastly grabba leaf. I would feel nauseous in the morning if I didn’t smoke a blunt. I decided to quit because I could tell that smoking was starting to affect my health. I realized that small activities would make me out of breath and soon started to get daily heart palpitations. So 13 years later I’ve decided to quit cold turkey!
Day 1: 24 hours after quitting. I thought I was going to faint. I was irritable, my body was super weak, my heart constantly palpitated, I had absolutely NO appetite. I went to the hospital because I never felt all those symptoms and once and it was VERY SCARY. At the hospital the checked my urine, ran blood test and put me on the EKG. Everything came back normal. I was pretty upset because I just knew something was wrong with me.
Day 2: I took off of work because I woke up extremely weak and tired. Still no appetite, still had palpitations. Tried to snack as much as I could. Still felt like sh*t majority of the day.
Day 3: Horrible day again, I woke up shaky nauseous and extremely weak. I had diarrhea anytime I ate or drank. Still no appetite, still had palpitations. I just felt completely devastated at this point and cried because I had no control over the physical symptoms my body was going through. I was scared & I went back to the hospital. Again they ran a bunch of tests found nothing wrong. They gave me an IV with fluids (this did temporarily make me feel a little better). The doctor explained that my body was just reacting to me quitting cold turkey when it’s used to having marijuana and nicotine to function. Pretty much my body is fighting me for not giving it the substances that it’s addicted too.
Day 4: Still no energy, still no appetite, still having heart palpitations, still have diarrhea and an overwhelming amount of anxiety. At this point I tried yoga and different breathing techniques to help with the anxiety and heart palpitations (this helped).
Day 5: Very similar to day 4, still had all the same symptoms. Miserable but now at the point where I’m coping better with the stmptoms.
Day 6: Woke up feeling all the same symptoms. I Felt better by the afternoon. I was able to go for a walk without feeling like I was going to faint. This was the first time I felt a glimpse of hope. Still no appetite, still semi-weak, still had diarrhea, still had anxiety and palpitations.
Day 7: I was able to get up this morning and go to work. It was NOT easy but I was able. I was also able to eat a little more today. Still a little weak but I’m able to fight through. Still had diarrhea but not as frequent. Woke up with mild anxiety and heart palpitations still.
I’m just hoping that I can start to feel 100% again soon. I’ve tried to find something similar online and was unable too because it was just showing cigarette withdrawal or weed withdrawal, not both. For me it’s been a lot tougher physically than mentally. I haven’t had the urge to smoke. The withdrawal symptoms are extremely hard. I’ve decided to just take it one day at a time.
**Prayer has been helping me overcome this struggle.
I really hope this helps someone who may be experiencing the same. Please let me know your experience and if you’ve went through something similar.

I absolutely loved weed. I couldn’t go a single day without smoking, morning noon and night. I started by rolling weed in swisher sweets, then Dutch masters, then backwoods and lastly grabba leaf. I would feel nauseous in the morning if I didn’t smoke a blunt. I decided to quit because I could tell that smoking was starting to affect my health. I realized that small activities would make me out of breath and soon started to get daily heart palpitations. So 13 years later I’ve decided to quit cold turkey!
Day 1: 24 hours after quitting. I thought I was going to faint. I was irritable, my body was super weak, my heart constantly palpitated, I had absolutely NO appetite. I went to the hospital because I never felt all those symptoms and once and it was VERY SCARY. At the hospital the checked my urine, ran blood test and put me on the EKG. Everything came back normal. I was pretty upset because I just knew something was wrong with me.
Day 2: I took off of work because I woke up extremely weak and tired. Still no appetite, still had palpitations. Tried to snack as much as I could. Still felt like sh*t majority of the day.
Day 3: Horrible day again, I woke up shaky nauseous and extremely weak. I had diarrhea anytime I ate or drank. Still no appetite, still had palpitations. I just felt completely devastated at this point and cried because I had no control over the physical symptoms my body was going through. I was scared & I went back to the hospital. Again they ran a bunch of tests found nothing wrong. They gave me an IV with fluids (this did temporarily make me feel a little better). The doctor explained that my body was just reacting to me quitting cold turkey when it’s used to having marijuana and nicotine to function. Pretty much my body is fighting me for not giving it the substances that it’s addicted too.
Day 4: Still no energy, still no appetite, still having heart palpitations, still have diarrhea and an overwhelming amount of anxiety. At this point I tried yoga and different breathing techniques to help with the anxiety and heart palpitations (this helped).
Day 5: Very similar to day 4, still had all the same symptoms. Miserable but now at the point where I’m coping better with the stmptoms.
Day 6: Woke up feeling all the same symptoms. I Felt better by the afternoon. I was able to go for a walk without feeling like I was going to faint. This was the first time I felt a glimpse of hope. Still no appetite, still semi-weak, still had diarrhea, still had anxiety and palpitations.
Day 7: I was able to get up this morning and go to work. It was NOT easy but I was able. I was also able to eat a little more today. Still a little weak but I’m able to fight through. Still had diarrhea but not as frequent. Woke up with mild anxiety and heart palpitations still.
I’m just hoping that I can start to feel 100% again soon. I’ve tried to find something similar online and was unable too because it was just showing cigarette withdrawal or weed withdrawal, not both. For me it’s been a lot tougher physically than mentally. I haven’t had the urge to smoke. The withdrawal symptoms are extremely hard. I’ve decided to just take it one day at a time.
I really hope this helps someone who may be experiencing the same. Please let me know your experience and if you’ve went through something similar.

I know a lot of us were sad when we realized that SB 555 was a Medical Marijuana bill that was made by a man who wanted to monopolize all medical Marijuana in the state. However, a new and better bill has been introduced as SB 135. https://www.kslegislature.org/li/b2023_24/measures/sb135/
Before the Legislative Break, SB 135 was moved back into play by Sen. Olson. When the legislature reconvenes on April 26th, it is expected a motion will be made to put the bill into General Orders and brought to a vote! This means a record can at the very least show who does and does not support regulating cannabis products (Something advocates have been diligently working towards for nearly a decade)
What Can We Do?
Contact your State Legislators and ask them to vote YES on SB 135. Personalize your email to your legislators by using the form below! Adding in a personal story is especially important to show legislators that these are real people messaging them and it isn’t just a computerized bulk email.
Please use your own words, but here are some helpful things to remember when writing your legislator:

• Protecting the patient and medical provider relationship is a serious matter, therefore we must enact laws respecting our rights. The War on Drugs has directly harmed generations of Americans including patients suffering from pain and nausea due to conditions ranging from cancer and chemotherapy treatments to Alzheimer's and Parkinson’s, epilepsy and a host of other conditions.
• Over 70% of Kansans support legalizing cannabis for medical purposes. Time and again polls have shown that public opinion has only increased over time. Voters are ready for change, and will use their civic power to elect leaders who represent their constituents in peoples’ statehouse.
• Federal government changes will have negative impacts if Kansas has nothing. Not if/but when national authorities reschedule or deschedule cannabis in the Controlled Substances Act, states like Kansas with no laws in place will grow unregulated markets from out-of-state cannabinoid products…more so than it already has.