9/2/25 - Ohio Portal
Securing the portal today. The angels had been running a Christian store. Kitsch, Willow calls it. Saint statues and candles and shit. Our people in the government got it rezoned overnight and the Ohio demons are opening up a soup kitchen and farmers market in the same spot.
No goatmen allowed. Not during the day anyway. I’m still at the farm.
Fine by me. My horns are itchy today. Willow and Dolphina feel it, too. Something is coming. Can’t tell when.
Not soon maybe.
But maybe.
Dreams rumble through my body at night like an involuntary orgasm. Shaking me hard. Whimpering. Moaning.
Tears.
Nay sobbing.
After I woke up this morning I stood in the open barn door and watched the sunrise. Goats bleating behind me.
It seemed a dark crack opened up on the sun’s red surface, splitting wider as it rose too fast.
Bisecting.
The goats bleating behind me.
And then the sun fell in two halves.
The blue and green planet oozed out like a yolk.
A goat bit my ass.
Everything was fine.
I think this is a good omen.
Heaven, but Hell
She’s found me.
I was inside the lovely accommodation they’ve given me here. She knocked politely and by the damnable bonds of decency I was compelled to answer. There are no servants here, due to the aforementioned segregation we cannot hire them from other sectors. It’s quite a strict policy it seems. Most of the policies here are.
A downside, most certainly. The writer wasn’t much of a domestic and I’ve lamented the lack of someone doing all my things for me.
Evelyn’s nostrils flared upon the door opening. Her eyes narrowed under piles of perfumed and curled hair the color of just ripening strawberries. Perfect lips pursed in agitation. She trembled, prohibited as she was by the dictates of upperclass conduct from raging.
I trembled from fear.
“August.”
“Evelyn. Do come in.”
“Thank you. I’ve only just arrived. You can imagine I was quite shocked by my sudden transfer. I asked and was given no explanation at all. Simply, ‘Sorry, lady, they want you up there.’”
“Please sit.” I pointed to a chair, tea and biscuits appeared on the table next to it. “As you can imagine I’m simply delighted to see you.” I sat on the other side, pouring tea for her into delicate china cups.
“I’ll have cream. No sugar.”
“Didn’t you used to take sugar?”
“I did but I’ve outgrown my sweet tooth I’m afraid.”
“Pity.” I plopped two sugars into my own tea.
“This is quite different, Heaven.”
“Is it?” Her eyes burned like blue flames, I had to avert my own to avoid losing my nerve.
“Very dull really.”
“We’ve just played croquet yesterday! Today the plan is to walk to the lake for a spot of picnic and poetry. There are no poets here it seems, but a few of us have taken a crack at it. Should be jolly good fun.”
“Did you send for me?”
“Not on your life. I know you pushed me off that cliff.” I sucked in a breath and took a gulp of tea.
“I did. You were a bore and a scold. I hated you.”
“Well I thought you were perfect in every way, except your tendency to think all the time. Hopefully you’ve curbed that nasty habit.”
“I think more now than I ever used to. I hate it here. Come to Hell with me. I think maybe I could fix you down there.”
“Fix me? Why, Evelyn, the nerve. I am a perfect gentleman.”
She pursed her lips again.
“Where’s your lady friend?”
“No idea. And good riddance.”
“You didn’t love her?”
I paled, I tried not to, but imagine such a question. The impropriety! “Of course not. She also thought too much. And talked too much. And threw salt at me too often. How I hated her dark hair and grey eyes. Her sense of humor…”
“Hm. Well, seeing as we’re married, I have not been given an accommodation of my own. I’m to stay here.”
“But you murdered me,” August whined.
Evelyn shrugged. “Seems not to matter.”
“Until death do us part.”
“Stupid, we’re both dead.”
“I hate you.”
“And I you.”
So that’s how it went. And now I’m stuck with her. I’m to see my friend The Administrator this evening at the picnic. With any luck I’ll get her sent back. She’s wretched, truly.
9/2/25 Deadwater
I’m ill. Not really, it’s just. I have a husband. And he expects sex. Apparently it was a thing we did often. A thing we do often. I do write about it an alarming amount in my journals. It’s just.
I don’t know the man.
He touches me and I flinch. He thinks something’s wrong. He did something.
Oh gods I wish I had stayed in the other timeline.
This is….
Too much.
I will have to do it at some point and I don’t want to. He smokes a lot of weed. Maybe I’ll try that. To relax.
How do I even?
I’m mourning the last eighteen years of my life and this man wants sex.
This is Hell, truly.
Did I mention they call me Becky here?
Hell.
