I, Church, solemnly swear that a demon was living in my sock drawer.

Yes, a legitimate demon that is inherently BFFs with Lucifer took residence in my sock drawer and stole random socks so I would have to buy new pairs of socks every two months. I am also fairly certain that the same demon loves to drink ink out of my printer making it impossible to print at home and so I have to go to the library and be charged ten cents per page.

I needed to get rid of this demon. No joke. Nobody wants to live with a demon, unless that demon promises immortality, and has the biggest and most stable 401K in the universe, and does not contact you…forever.

I contacted the closest whodoo-voodoo priestess who lives in Mississippi and she told me to talk to the Catholic Church because there is no such thing as a "sock-stealing-demon" in her belief system. I then summoned the ancient spirit of Dante Alighieri because I thought he would have a list of demons and things I can do to kill them, like a spiritual Pokedex, but unfortunately he loaned it out to the Atlantians and… they don't return things very often.

So I took matters into my own hands. I took my sock drawer, poured salt all over it because demons burn in contact with salt, threw it in the garbage, and said a few prayers.

I returned to my room and felt completely accomplished.

The next day, our English class started a unit on satire and I remembered buying a copy of Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels. I looked all over my room because I knew I wrote notes in the margins about satiric style. In fact, that book had numerous little papers I tucked in it that had my attempts to write satire.

I looked in my bookcase, under my desk, and even in my pillow cases (don't ask).

I felt defeated but I gave myself one last shot to find the book. I looked under my bed and lo and behold! My coveted copy of Gulliver's Travels!

And beyond that, a great pile of socks. I gathered all of them up, and I saw a piece of paper taped on a single black sock. I unfolded it and, in an ugly scrawl that looked less English and more like scribbles, read, "I'm sorry."

I felt awful.

It's not normal to feel bad for a demon, Constantine taught me that, yet somehow I did. I moped around for a while, ate a lot of ice cream, and watched some awful TV. As I was watching some lame reality game show I began to think to myself. What if everything that demon did was a game? I don't remember anything about fabulous prizes at the end but something about this was all too…odd. I mean, stealing socks and drinking my printer ink? If that isn't the dumbest thing for a spawn of Hell to do then I clearly missed something in the Screwtape Letters.

I went to look for my odd demon and I really had no clue where to search. Do they like to go to bars and party the night away? Do they secretly go into morgues to steal hearts? Do they just sit around at Starbucks acting cool and important and hip? I had no inkling about where I should go first.

Then a random pedestrian handed me a flyer that read, "Rebellious Teens Rebel Against Society! Sacrificial Lamb Offering Tonight!" Demons love sacrificial lamb offerings right?

I went to an old cave that stank of teen spirit and saw a bunch of naked teens making pots and dancing around a stuffed animal. I was saddened and decided to walk away from the ugly mess but something caught my ear.

"Dude, I thought there'd be a lamb offering tonight."

"Mortals fuckin' suck."

"Yeah, mine dumped salt all over me."

"Woah, sorry dude, wanna start a locust swarm? Trample on some corn stalks and make a few crop circles?"

"Nah."

"How about we teleport a bull into a china shop? You love that!"

"No, I'm gonna stick here."

"Alright, see ya tomorrow Scorpio."

I ran over to the sound and there I saw, for the first time, a demon. A real life (or is it unlife?) demon. He was practically my age and wore what I wore but in a dark bloody red and with more holes. I walked over to him and sat right next to him. He asked if I was going to exorcize him and send him back to the flaming lakes but I didn't say anything. I asked him if I did then where he would go; he didn't say anything.

I asked him to come back to my house and he looked at me like I got a two hundred on my SAT. I asked him again and he said yes.

It seems weird that I asked a demon, whose name is Scorpio, to live in my house but somehow I felt that all the great things in life would mean absolutely nothing if I didn't have any tragedy. I learned that he was the person that convinced me to quit piano lessons after eight years straight and he was the person that stole my Ipod. But in some sick way, he taught me to appreciate music again by forcing me to come to music instead of being fed it and how to love the people who are so willing to replace a one hundred dollar piece of junk with another one hundred dollar piece of junk.

So now he plays dumb games on my computer, first by playing Starcraft and then plugging in the Taylor Series on a three dimensional plane, and he steals my food; but he cuts the Internet connection when I have to study for a test and puts a banana instead of a bag of chips in my lunch bag. I hate bananas.

And somehow it's symbiosis at its best.


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