Mondays fucking suck, but none sucked harder than that Monday. I woke up 20 minutes past when my alarm was supposed to go off. It was my fault for insisting on an old-school alarm clock rather than using my phone like a normal person.

Now, I only had enough time to wash my “important bits,” throw on half-clean business casual slacks and an only slightly stained blouse. I didn’t even have time to flirt with the way-too-young-for-me barista at my local cafe, so I grabbed a probably expired granola bar and shoved it in my back pocket before heading to the L. That’s what the elevated train is called in Chicago.

At the station, the fare card scanner wasn’t accepting my phone payment no matter how many times or how many angles I tapped on it. It was my fault for using my phone instead of an old-school fare card. “Fuck!” I screeched, slamming down the phone one more time. The nearby yuppies, eyes wide and wild, clutched their bags and clung to their pockets as they scurried past me up the steps to the train platform. The regular folks ignored me.

With that last bang of my phone, the stupid machine dinged and unlocked the turnstile. I pushed the metal arm forward with my hips and sprinted up those steps. I nearly face planted on the last two as the train slid to a stop into the station.

A different set of yuppies, asses tight and faces pinched in half-fear, half-disgust, avoided going in the same doors as me, but we all ended up in the same train car anyway. I took an empty seat close to the back of the car. By the time I realized that the entire row was empty –and why–, it was too late. I gagged at the sour BO wafting from the splayed body of a transient, positive the stench was now clinging to my already sweaty, faux office attire. I tried standing to move downwind of the stench, but the train pulled into the next station and a crowd squeezed in through both sets of doors. I was stuck in Stankville.

Fuck. I cursed my plight, but in my head this time. Not because I wanted to spare the yuppies. It was because I didn’t want to taste the smell, which would have been inevitable if I opened my mouth to curse again. As if reading my mind, the transient wiggled under their plastic trash bag blanket, pulling it closer to his or her body. It did nothing to mask their scent, though. If anything, it blew more body funk in my direction.

Ding-dong. “Doors are closing,” the recorded announcement said. But the doors didn’t close for several seconds. The announcement played again but the doors remained open. “Doors are closing.”

“Then close them motherfuckas and let’s go!” yelled an impatient man with a tight, neat Afro and paint-stained jeans.

“Stand clear of the doors,” the driver said over the speakers with a slight attitude. Finally, the doors slid close.

“Shiiddd… Fools finna make me late,” Paint Jeans grumbled.

I tried to check my watch, but only saw the freckles and peach fuzz covering my melanated wrist. I could see the watch still sitting in its glass box on the dresser in my mind. I shrugged. The crowd told me there was still time.

The auras were everywhere. With this many, I’d for sure win the bet Kevin and I had going. But I’d lose it if I was too hasty, and I needed this win. I smiled as the train pulled into Addison station because flapping in the wind off the balconies along the platform were white flags with blue W’s. I imagined they were waving for me, even though I had yet to begin.

The gods were on my side apparently, because the next thing I heard was, “This train will run express from Addison to Lake. Repeat, this train will run express from Addison to Lake.” A few people huffed and got off the train, giving me much more space to move. And breathe. Even with the crowd having thinned out, there were plenty of auras left on the train.

As the train began to creep down the track, careful not to hit any of the neon-vested, hard-hatted construction workers, I finally stood up and moved to the middle of the train. I counted them, just so I could give Kevin an exact number when I rubbed my W in his face later.

Fifty-five! Sure, it was a little less than half of the car’s full capacity, but that only meant this wasn’t going to take long. I could get to the other cars before we got to Lake Street, kicking Kevin’s narrow ass.

The question then was, “Who’d be first?” I made eye contact with the girl closest to me. She had terrible acne and greasy hair, but no aura. I fished for my phone, though my watch would’ve been quicker. Make do with what you have, Goddess Narwa always said in training, and it stuck with me. I swiped the passcode and thankfully the girl was still eyeing me because it didn’t even take the full two seconds to veil her. Her bright greenish gray eyes dilated too much, though, and I hoped none of the auras had noticed. Thankfully, she closed them as she bobbed to the beats in her Beats.

I glanced around the train car. Two more to veil and the rest to neutralize, I’d counted in my head. I pretended to be interested in the ad above an older man’s head. I had to be extra slick because he was at least five seats down from the girl. More luck was on my side. The ad had a QR code so it wouldn’t be too obvious if I had my phone in his face. It took a little longer than two seconds to veil him, but I remained undetected as I continued. Or so I thought.

A growl. I whipped my head in the direction of the sound, but there was no telling which one of them had made it. It was either the middle-aged man in the too-tight dress slacks showing off his massive glutes and thighs, or the young woman with the 1990s Jennifer Aniston layered haircut. Even if I wasn’t able to see auras, I would’ve clocked her ass from a mile away. I smirked and shook my head. Neither was looking in my direction. This was going to be too easy.

The vagrant! I’d forgotten all about – Oof! Before I realized what was happening, the homeless person, a very young-looking male, leapt from beneath the trash bag and knocked me to the floor. Never mind the physical assault. My cover was blown when the others noticed that neither the old man nor the girl bat an eyelash at the scene. Even if Chicagoans are used to such bullshit and fuckery (aka random acts of violence), they still react. And grandpa and pizza face girl were chilling, completely oblivious.

The auras stood, no longer concerned with masking their true identities. I made it too easy for them, too. Shiiiid.

The tight pants man’s tight shirt split down the back and his wings popped up and extended like one of those fancy, no-effort tents. Aniston Cut crouched on all fours. Hair sprouted in all directions out of her designer dress, and her face grew long and grotesque. Her mouth stretched wide and her canine teeth grew into gnarly fangs. I watched all this from my third eye, because at that moment, the vagrant was choking me out and I couldn’t see shit IRL. But when Ms. Werewolf dove for my arm with her mouth, I jerked away so hard, it knocked the transient off of me and onto her.

“Oh shit,” I said aloud. I had forgotten that when all the demons within a certain radius have been eliminated, we immortals can no longer see the mortals. They’re there, I just can’t see them. “Beam me up, Scottie,” I said flippantly to the Gods, but I remained in the subway station. I’d have to walk to ground level. Probably a punishment for not saving Kevin in time. Whatever.

That was close. Too close. The others had morphed. All 47 of them, but I gripped the metal poles and swung my entire body in a semicircle, toppling the ones in front. I knew they wouldn’t stay down long, but that gave me enough time to run to the opposite end of the train car. I punched through one of the lights in the ceiling and charged up. Rubbing my hands together, I created an electric ball and hurled it at the crowd struggling to their feet.

“Ugh!” I’d only vanquished four demons, but of course I knew that would happen. They had acted as a shield for the ones behind them. But four was better than none.

I needed another source of energy. I found another light and juiced up. I couldn’t keep using the lights or I really wouldn’t be able to see. My third eye didn’t exactly have night vision, you know?

The remaining demons advanced on me, but I was ready. I threw the light ball at the front of the crowd, but they ducked, and the ball took out the middle row. Not good enough. I was being backed into a corner. I felt a blast of wind on my back.

“Kevin?”

Before my partner could answer, he aimed his wristwatch at the demons, pushing me behind him. In two-point-two seconds, all 40 remaining demons poofed into ash.

“Rookie!” Kevin grinned. “We’re not done. You woke the others.” He hitched his thumb behind him, and I could see the open, snarling mouths pressed against the window of the next train car. If I got there first, I could win the bet!

I pried my body from Kevin’s and pushed through to the next car. I still had electricity running through my veins and used it to stun the shit out of the demons of Car Three. I didn’t get a chance to count how many there were, but I knew Kevin’s watch was counting down. Mine was too, back in its box.

All of Car Four, containing nothing but demons, had been vanquished. Car Five. Six. Seven. Good old morning rush hour! Even if I couldn’t make it to Car Eight, the last car on the L, I had successfully neutralized five train cars full of demons, so it was for sure more than what Kevin had slain. I won!

The train finally pulled into the Lake stop. The doors opened. I waited for the humans to exit the train, but none emerged. I poked my head out and only saw Kevin. Was he smiling at me? Did I lose and not realize it? Just as I stepped onto the platform, a tentacle reached out, wrapped itself around Kevin and sucked him back into his train car. I ran full speed to get to him.

“Ding dong! Doors closing,” the computer voice said, and I slipped inside just as the doors closed. The kraken had Kevin in its mouth up to his ankles. It was too late.

I ducked and ran for cover, knowing what was coming next. Did the kraken know and not care? Its massive eye followed me as I crouched behind a row of seats. It reached its other tentacle to me. I laid flat to the floor and felt the train rumbling under my body as it rolled down the track.

“Three… two…,” I whispered.

Kaboom! Splat! The train went dark. The lights were still on, but they were now covered in kraken, and Kevin, bits. And so was I. Guess the kraken had no idea that they couldn’t digest slayers.

Rookie! I thought, but the word stung. Kevin loved using that word. At my expense but still.

The train stopped at Monroe and the doors opened. No one entered. No one exited.

I won but I felt shitty. I didn’t really dig Kevin that much, but I didn’t want him to be eaten by a big ass octopus looking motherfucker. What a way to go out.

The escalator brought be to the next level and I pushed through the turnstile and trudged up the steps. I’d take out my wings and finally get to use the suckers since I was no longer visible. I was over taking public transportation and couldn’t exactly Uber in invisible mode.

I started to unbutton my blouse so my wings wouldn’t destroy it once they were fully extended but when I reached the street, my hands froze. The city was… gone.

“FUCK!!!!” I screeched and the remaining demons turned and smirked at me. Not only did I lose that stupid bet, but I had also lost all of humanity. Rookie!

The End

https://www.amazon.com/Dead-Awakened-Leigh-Michelle-ebook/dp/B0BL436RZK/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1NA0H7YMXG9HE&keywords=leigh+michelle+dead+awakened&qid=1667582221&qu=eyJxc2MiOiItMC4wMSIsInFzYSI6IjAuMDAiLCJxc3AiOiIwLjAwIn0%3D&sprefix=leigh+michelle+dead+awakened%2Caps%2C105&sr=8-1

TW: Racism, brief sexual situation, violence, self-harm, and strong language

Synopsis: A lab-made virus has broken out in Chicago, reawakening the infected dead and mutating them into nocturnal, flesh-hungry creatures that disrupt the lives of citizens across the city. But not just the dead are waking up.

After months of support, the city abruptly breaks its promise to have its citizens’ backs until there’s a cure, but is there one? With their supplies dwindling and no end in sight to the horrific epidemic, bougie married couple Nya and Justin must abandon their high-end home in their upper-middle-class ’hood. They find refuge at the mysterious Black-owned and operated safe zone.

Shortly after their arrival, the couple discovers the sanctuary’s shady role in recent events and learns of a devastating secret connection between some of its residents, including Nya and Justin.

Joined by sanctuary residents, they set off on an inevitable mission that forces them to re-examine their once-comfortable lives, re-evaluate their tightly-held beliefs, and confront their deepest fears before it’s too late for them and their entire community.

Sometime between the release of Chris Rock’s Good Hair (2009) and Justin Simien’s Bad Hair (2020), I stopped using chemical relaxers on my curly hair for the second time, forever. But my motivation for “going natural” had nothing to do with the issues Rock or Simien brought up about Black women’s hair in their respective films. In fact, my motivation was entirely unexpected and is probably the creepiest. But I wouldn’t be me without an oddball excuse for doing shit, so here goes:

Around 2015, I was watching AMC’s The Walking Dead (I was new to the series) and a gorgeous brown-skinned woman appeared. Her hair was natural and my first thought was, I swear, “Well, that makes sense because how could you get a touch-up while fighting for your life?”

Even though I wasn’t expecting any zombies to pop out of nowhere, or a nuclear apocalypse a la Mad Max 2, or a superflu like in Stephen King’s The Stand, I did think, “What if something pops off and I’m just out here with half-straight hair and no way to keep it up?” (Hey, Covid! How you doin’ girl?) And with that, I went back to my stylist to have her transition my hair out of its relaxed state, and by March 2016, she gave me my second “big chop”. My first “big chop” was in 2007 and I’d gotten that one done because a) I really wanted to have curly hair and forgot that I did under all those chemicals, and b) my scalp was royally effed because of chemicals! However, frustrated with the process of trying to “get to know” my own hair and looking fruitlessly for products (which weren’t as plentiful and readily available as they are now), I decided to keep returning to the so-called creamy crack. I started seeing a regular stylist and as gentle and cool as she was, the burns were still a thing. But I looked fly so I kept getting the relaxers until I had seen Sasha Williams and freaked out about having to maintain straight hair during an apocalypse.

So, there you go. My love of horror and fear of a possible apocalyptic future that kinda did “pop off” in the form of a pandemic were the basis for my wearing my natural hair for just over 6 years now… and counting. I’m not opposed to donning a dope wig or getting a fire blowout and silk press, but for now, I’m all natural and lovin’ it!