Blasphemy: A Like Story

Chapter Seven

"He."

Clap.

"Doesn't."

Clap.

"Love you."

Clap.

I was not getting my point across. As I stood in front of Bishop, who sat at the end of his twin bed of room we shared, clapping and waving my hands, a car alarm was going off outside. It had been going off repeatedly throughout the day. That, the confined conditions, and the fact that we were lodged in possibly the most disreputable motel in the city had us at each other's throats. Okay, it had me at everyone's throat.

"You are kind of an asshole, Koke," said Bishop. "Why won't you just let us be happy together?"

I gave a frustrated honk. "He is trying to take your soul!"

I looked at Asmodeus, who was resting at the headboard. He had pulled an old and battered copy of Larry Niven's Inferno out of the Waning and was flipping through it, a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.

"Let's settle this once and for all," said Bishop. He glanced behind him. "Do you love me, Asmodeus?"

"Absolutely," said the demon without looking up from his book.

"See?"

"He's lying!" I cried.

I couldn't take any more of this. I stomped around in a circle. Why wouldn't he listen? I walked to the flimsy wooden door, unbolted it and flung it open.

"Fine," I said. "You deserve what you get."

I walked out into the cool night amidst the chatter of crickets and crack addicts. The breeze sweeping in felt good on my temper reddened face. Across from the motel was a small building dubbed "The Recreation & Senior Center", and beside that an ancient looking gas station no longer in operation.

As I started down the stairs, Asmodeus popped out of the room and called, "Get us some food while you are out,"

Bishop's debit card hit me in the back of the head. Grumbling, I picked it up and eventually took the sidewalk where it picked up at the corner of the block. In the street the gutters were clogged with broken Styrofoam cups and snack wrappers. A stray cat picked at a bag of McDonalds smashed in the center of the road. I passed two nail solons and a homeless man in an orange hat shouting passages from the book of Revelations. The entire block smelled like burnt hair.

I walked on in autopilot, ignoring the taunts of acne caked boys when I wandered to close to their corner and easily avoiding the lure of cheap phones at the mobile phone booth set up in front of a fried chicken restaurant. When I saw a sign for Chinese struggling to complete a rotation on its pole across the street, I gravitated towards it. A corpulent man in a dirty apron was smoking out front and when I went in, he followed me with a loud sigh.

Knowing I was the only one of us three who liked spicy food, I spitefully ordered three spicy dishes and sat down to wait as the man in the apron prepared them. When they were done, I ate mine, standing next to a trash can outside. I felt I had a lot of new feelings as a human-all of them as terrible as the last. But food really did go a long way to restore some sanity to the situation.

Eventually it began to sprinkle. Light drops of rain licking my neck and sticking in my hair. Retracing my steps wasn't easy. I was less angry by the time I got back to the motel, and a little more determined to drive a wedge between my traveling companions. I slid my key card into the lock and pushed the door open.

The first thing I noticed was the sound of the shower running. The motel was old and the pipes groaned laboriously under the pressure of the water. I could also hear Asmodeus humming along with Natalie Imbruglia's Torn from the bathroom. I closed the door, glanced at the bed and dropped the Chinese on the floor.