One of the many perks of heaven are all of the beautiful people. Everyone, the most glamorous version of themselves, pretty and pampered, no make-up or liposuction required. But with all the pretty people in heaven it really just made Edith miss the ugly. He saw his fair share of breasts throughout his time in heaven, but those were the perfect titties. He'd always find his mind wandering to the beat up titties, stretch mark titties, the pancake titties. To think something could be too perfect, too low stress, too perky. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say a person who can't find happiness in a place literally designed to produce joy for all, well maybe they don’t deserve to be happy.
Edith pulls into the parking lot, the lines look as though a child drew them with an etch-a-sketch. Regardless, he parks as well as anyone can for their first time behind the wheel. Edith unbuckles his seat belt and realizes he's fully exposed.
"Well, shit," he gasps.
Normally he would be all for walking into an establishment like this au natural, and brawling it out with whichever meathead took issue. Today however, he'd like to avoid his seemingly endless game of groundhog day. So, he needed some clothes. He ducks his way to the back of the SUV to see what treasures it held in its trunk. There is only one bag, a pink tote scattered with the many expressions of some famous pop star he doesn't know the name of. He opens the bag already expecting what lies within, he sees a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra, both matching and hot pink.
Guess I have no choice.
Edith was strong but still fairly slender, so the clothes actually fit him quite nicely. The outside of the bar was wrapped in multi-colored Christmas lights and has a large neon sign with a glass of milk on it. The parking lot has a strange musk to it, kind of like If tuna fish and sawdust had a baby. The 80's hair metal from within is loud and fully audible from the outside.
"Titties and beer," He mumbles as he bursts through the entrance.
At first glance this was your ordinary run-of-the-mill titty bar, barely meeting one's expectations for naked women, booze and steak, but Edith has a way with immediately spotting the unusual. The first thing he notices is all of the women, every single one of them is pregnant, even the bartender and servers. The even stranger part, not a single hillbilly in the entire joint. He struts towards the bar, inspecting the guest as he passes them by, each with something exposing them for what they were... rich folk. Shining rolexes, pearl-white teeth and nicely pressed shirts.
But why a place like this?
He locks eyes with the young blonde bartender, without the lump on her stomach you'd never know she was pregnant.
"Three shots of whiskey and two Mojitos,".
He'd grown a taste for the sweet stuff this past week, but didn't want to seem like he couldn't also handle his liquor. She nods and begins to prepare his drinks. Edith takes another glance around the bar. He notices a man who’s appearance closely resembles that of a wooly mammoth seated at a table behind him. The main’s gaze is already set on Edith. They lock eyes. A strange stillness fills the air, this momentary gaze lasts what feels like an eternity. The furry man's eyes shine red, like a fire burning within his skull exposed by two fuzzy windows. Edith turns back to the bar slowly.
Well shit.
He scans the tabletop for anything that could be used as a weapon. He's seeing nothing particularly useful and he feels his momentary upper hand slipping away.
"Fuck it!" he shouts.
He snatches a half empty beer bottle from the dapper patron to his right and hurls it in the direction of the wooly man who is mid draw of a handgun from his waistline. The bottle cracks across his skull causing a moderate gash. Edith immediately grabs an unnecessarily thick menu from the dapper man and sprints towards his stunned enemy. As he gets in range he uses the menu in a chopping motion to knock the gun from the man's hand. Edith then grabs the man by his curly q's and slams his head full force into the table, places the menu flat on top of the man's head and begins punching it repeatedly. Edith isn't what you would call a strong man, compared to a Schwarzenegger or a Terry Crews and what have you, he is however...
"Squish! Squish! Squish! Squish!" Edith roars.
He's completely batshit insane, which can be even better in situations like these. The entire bar stares at the scene in awe.
“Keep making my fucking drinks bitch!" he shouts in a frenzy, still bashing the man's head into the table.
A horrific crunch erupts as his head finally flattens and Edith lifts the menu to take a look at his carnage. A guilty smile spreads across his face, so easily pleased with himself. Edith feels a wave of calm with his threat now neutralized and takes a seat back at the bar. He takes a quick look at the menu and flicks a small chunk of brain off. He smiles at the dapper patron.
"Sorry about that bud, you can have this back."
The man returns a forced smile and grabs the menu in a pinching motion from the one tiny corner free of blood and brain matter. His five drinks are now lined in a row in front of him, the whiskey looked fine of course. The Mojito however, looked as though it had been birthed from warm garden hose water, no fresh mint, not even a lime wedge, just the light green tint that can only be created from a prepackaged mix. He downs the whiskeys one by one, completely ignoring his audience of slack jawed witnesses. A shadowy figure initiates a slow clap through an open doorway on the opposite side of the bar. A slow southern drawl erupts from the silhouette.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"An angel and a demon walk into a bar, huh?"
A smile shoots across Edith's face, a voice he'd never forget.
"Should have known a creep like you would be running a
place like this," Edith jokes back.
He grabs his two Mojitos and begins to head towards the back room, he stops along the way to pick up the gun from the man whose head he'd squished and places it in his waistline.
"Sorry about the disturbance everyone, continue doing... whatever this is," Edith employs to the petrified audience.
Edith and the man take a seat across from one another in a small office in the back, it's grimy but neat. Various How to: business books in perfect little rows, not a piece of paper out of their neat piles on the desk. The man is older, maybe late 50's, but his demeanor is that of a child.
"So, they finally realized you didn't belong up there huh?" The man asks.
"Something like that... What are you doing on Earth Francis?"
"Man's gotta work, we didn't all get lucky like you. Though it looks like you went and fucked that all up too."
Francis lights a cigarette, the spark of the match turns his cotton white hair a buttery yellow. Edith takes a look down at his Sludgejitos, and a sudden wave of sadness rolls over him.
"I seem to do that a lot" Edith says solemnly.
In an attempt to curb this rising storm of emotion he slurps down the beverages as quickly as he can, droplets of liquid dripping from his cheeks to his sports bra.
"So what is this place exactly, some kind of demon conversion camp?"
"They wanted to be rich, so we made them rich. And for some odd reason they all share a love for the more, gestationally inclined, so we gave them that too."
"You just... gave it to em' huh?" Edith asks, sneering at the gesture.
"I still do not see what the good lord saw in you, still a spiteful little shit after what, 200 years in Heaven?”
"Yeah, well it's not all it's cracked up to be."
Edith stands up and walks over to the bookshelf. He pulls out a pristine book, Science Aficionado: Artificial Insemination.
"But I need to get back."
"Why on Earth would you want to go back? They already kicked you out once."
"I have some unfinished business. And who better than a bottom-dwelling, demon errand boy to take me?" Edith says in a playful tone.
"And when you get there, what?" Asks Francis, his playful tone subsiding.
"I'll give the people who fucked me over what’s coming to them, one way or another!”
Francis slams the desk in outrage.
"You're not some goddamn superhero! A soul can't be destroyed, even by God himself. Why do you think Heaven and Hell exist boy?"
"Listen, I just need to know how to get there. I can figure out the rest from there.”
"I can't do it friend, I don't jump into schemes like this halfcocked anymore, I'm a businessman now."
Edith draws the gun on Francis and aims it directly at his head from across the office, Edith is noticeably heated.
"I have to do this Francis." Says Edith. Francis briskly walks towards Edith and stops as the gun barrel is touching his forehead.
"I know you do," Says Francis in a calming demeanor.
"See you soon."
Francis pulls the trigger for Edith, his brains scatter across his desk adding a bit of much needed color to the drab office. He lowers his smoking sidearm and wipes the streaks of blood from his face. He begins to disrobe starting with the now stinking and filthy yoga pants and uses them to wipe his face while retching at their stench. He realizes he still hasn't showered since waking up covered in his own shit. The deep red velvety suit currently sported by the corpse of his old friend catches his eye.
Well, it would be a waste.
He wiggles the suit from his Francis’ limp body, throws it under his arm and heads out towards the main bar area. The music is playing loudly again, it must have drowned out the gunshot. Figuring the shower is likely in the back with the dancers he jumps atop the lit up stage and heads through the curtains. The shower room has three dancers standing about smoking cigarettes, likely on break. He nods at them smugly ensuring they are fully aware he is buck naked… They do, but all they can manage to do is stare at him confusedly. The shower is small and old, the caulk between the tiles turned a shade of green Edith previously wasn't aware existed. The best part of a shower isn't usually the sensation of grime and feces leaving your body, though that's a huge plus. It's the mental benefits it can offer, the time it gives you to promote to self contemplation.
Fuck... I need a plan.
Edith dries off and takes a long deep breath, the scent of Clorox wipes and lubrication fills his lungs. He begins to pull up the shiny red pants that are about two sizes too big and realizes he has no underwear or shirt.
"You, give me your panties and corset!" He says to one of the young dancers.
He points his gun at her haphazardly. She appears more annoyed than scared, likely due to removing clothes for a living. She hands him a tube sports bra and a pair of plain blue panties. He had actually quite enjoyed wearing the sports bra previously as it offered him a level of support he'd never experienced previously, he just hoped the feminine underwear would offer the same comfort. Now fully clothed in a ridiculous attire that only he could pull off, he sits in his SUV drinking a cheap plastic bottle of Vodka trying to think of something... anything he can do to get the revenge he ever so desires.