Astrid the Devil Chapter 1: Uneasy (Excerpt)
Every single thing you touch or feel or say will die. Sentences will leave your mouth, ill-thought and unwise, and theyâll die halfway through the air. Some things take longer, some things take more effort. But they die.
Iâm no exception. My mother is no exception. But weâre more like plastic than we are animals. Weâre more like nuclear waste.
I thought about styrofoam and plastic as I read the letter, ignoring Noahâs anger as she prepped my arm for bloodwork.
âI canât believe you opened my fucking mail,â she spat, searching for my vein. I ignored her and kept reading and rereading the letter.
Noah, my best friend for over a decade, opened my mail all the time.
Iâd find opened bills on my coffee table after work, come across my childrenâs report cards sitting on hers. She never actually let me know that sheâd taken any of it â I always had to find them. New debit cards with post-it notes that read âACTIVATED IT HUNâ with whatever pin sheâd chosen for me. Cell phone bills, âI PAID IT ALREADY DONâT GIVE THESE VULTURES ANY MORE MONEYâ written in her swirly handwriting across the top. Sheâd renew my car insurance. Respond to inquiries about services for my speech therapy practice. Sometimes, my husband would walk in the house with an incredulous frown, whining about a stack of my mail that heâd found sitting on top of her car. Sheâd always had an insane privacy issue that seemed reserved for me, my things, my personal space.
I never told her not to do it. It didnât change my life in any way, really.
The letter Iâd opened was the first thing of hers that Iâd ever snooped through. And Noah was immediately vile with anger. Seething. I understood why before Iâd even reached the second sentence, but I wasnât sorry.
The letter traveled with us to our lab appointment despite her angry protests.
âCanât even keep mail on the fucking tableâŚitâs either covered in applesauce by the time I get to it or your ass is in my house, opening shitâŚâ
I read the letter slowly, sucking in each word, and nodded. There wasnât really anything to nod about. The most recent company Noahâd convinced to fund her research into my blood, to pay for the lab work, wanted to âchange the parameters.â âGo in a different direction.â
Noah waited for me to quiet my nerves before she plunged the needle into my skin.
I felt the pull of the plunger but nothing else.
We recommend burning her.
I thought about those words while Noah pulled back another plunger on another needle, sucking my almost black blood into another syringe. She swapped the containers, glancing over at me periodically, and I ignored her glances. The anger sifted out of her as she continued. Shame replaced it.
When it felt like there wasnât any blood left to suction, she stopped.
âSame as always, hun. Eight vials get the sweet spotâŚyou still donât see it?â I didnât move. Something about the practice embarrassed me. Made me feel open.
Try not to think about what you deserveâŚ
âThereâs like a yellow color in there. Itâs really faint, but I can see it for sure. Can you put that down and look?â I ignored her. Noah sighed, irritated, and I yanked my arm away. A long line of blood bubbled up and slid down my arm. It hit the floor and was dry in seconds.
Just like that. Completely dry.
Noah spent a long time rolling her huge eyes. Neither one of us looked at the blood drop again.
We recommend burning her. We need to know what happens when her body is destroyed. Please note, we have yet to receive your report going over the methods youâve tried already. Yvette Lincoln, the head of our financial department, will stop by as our most senior representative toâŚ
âItâs really yellow now. Like the fucking sun.â Slowly, she reached her short arm over and grabbed the letter from my hand. I realized she was shaking herself. The floor seemed calm compared to our faces, our attitudes, so I watched that instead of trying to speak. I wished I could sink into it.
Noah ripped the letter in two and placed her tiny hand on my shoulder.
âLetâs get on with our day, hun.â
After the lab work was done for the day and weâd shared a solemn lunch, we traveled from her small downtown office to her house. Sitting in her living room, she passed me letter after letter. She had boxes. Some of the wording seemed nicer than others â sheâd lost a lot of investors over the years as they slowly figured out she wasnât going to meet their demands. That she was stalling. Sheâd been threatened with legal action too many times. She used tricky language and lied too much to convince universities and corporations to donate lab equipment and give her grant money.
She mentioned immortal cells a lot. She mentioned a lack of aging. An inability to produce tears.
Eon Tech was one of the last investors willing to work with her.
âHow long has Eon been asking you to do this type of thing to me? Did you tell them that you would,â I asked. And Noah stared down at my hands instead of at my face.
âWeâre going to be late to meet the boys if we donât go soon, Astor.â
Read the rest of the chapter at Astridthedevil.com
Astrid the Devil is a serialized paranormal horror drama created and written by me, Trey Briggs, with artwork by @freemechanism. Catch up to the current chapter now at AstridtheDevil.com. New chapters and content will drop every other Thursday at 6 PM Eastern. There are also character bios, short stories, and background pages so that you can stay up to date on the creatures and inhabitants of this world.
âAstrid the Devil is an ongoing tale of generational doom. Itâs an in-depth look at the lives of a few good friends, their own clashing personal struggles, and the struggle to keep from becoming the monster you just might be. Itâs a story about the ocean, the uncertainty of friendship and love, and maintaining hope throughout madness. Welcome to the lives of the Snows, the Dills, and all the other âThingsâ out thereâÂ
All writing by Trey Briggs || All art by @freemechanism
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