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In Suspended Decision
“You know,” the whisper was almost silent, smug and all-knowing, as if it didn’t need much effort to do its job. “You don’t have to do the right thing. It’s not mandatory…”
The little red man - lean and wiry, clothed in a trench coat so black the folds were almost invisible - smiled a tiny bit bigger as the swirling golden orb suspended in the middle of the dark, empty, warehousesque room drifted slightly towards him.
“But,” the second figure, sitting with its legs crossed in a high backed, feather encrusted chair proclaimed diplomatically, “think about poor Johnny! How would he feel?”
The red man’s lips were wrenched downwards as his cheeks transformed his mouth into a cruel and menacing scowl – a horrible, nasty, Grinch scowl. Stepping forward from his place and leaning against the ridged metal wall, he ran his clawed fingers through his messy raven hair, uselessly trying to flatten the two horn like bumps that resided there.
“Yet what he did was unforgivable. Pummel the punk!” He topped off his sly hiss with a fist to his palm.
The gold ball (which indicated who in the argument was winning) floated back to the center.
The man patted himself on the back inwardly. This was the longest he’d been able to keep the orb’s attention.
A small angelic sigh echoed around the room, bouncing leisurely off the walls like a Ping-Pong ball.
The man’s beady black eyes turned their attention to his companion, who stood up regally, smoothing her pillow white silk gown and fixing her buttery blonde hair.
“Don’t listen to him.” She started forward, walking slowly towards the sphere, seeming to simply glide through the air. “You know what the right thing to do is, so do it.” A delicate smile touched her thin lips. Her logic was sound - it was as easy as that.
The crystal shifted drastically over towards the girl, who’s pleased look turned to one of delight. The man scoffed. It was bad enough that he had to do this every day, but did she always have to win too? Steeling himself, determined to be the victor this time, he shouted,
“But the boy needs justice!”
He watched as the girl’s eyes darkened, and he gulped. She might be on the side of what’s right, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do horrible things.
“Don’t EVER speak like that about justice again! You know nothing about that!” She spat. Then, more calmly, she said, “What he wants to have you do is considered revenge – something I know that you are better than.”
It was the red man’s eye’s turn to catch alight. Snatching up his three pronged staff, he marched angrily up to the blonde, forked tail swatting the air behind him.
“I do NOT want revenge!” He howled. “Justice is making people pay!”
A frustrated, irritated look came over the girl’s face. “Must we go through this again!? It is not!” Now she was moving rapidly towards him, abandoning all sense of grace, gown sweeping furiously behind her. “Justice is ‘just behavior or treatment!’”
“Oh, come on! That’s the dictionary definition!”
“Fine! Justice is giving people proper punishment! What they deserve!”
“Is that not exactly what I said? Did I not just – Did anyone hear that?”
The girl growled and stamped her foot. “No, NOT exactly! I said something completely different!”
The man snorted. “Oh, please, did not.”
“Did too!”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Angel!”
“Devil!”
“That’s not an insult! That’s my name, moron!”
“Hypocrite! You used mine right before I used yours!”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
The two were face to face now; his crooked, beaked nose smashed against her perfect princess one. Angel could smell rancid meat on him - a horrible, putrid smell that came from hiding in the underworld for too long. Devil could smell flowers. Too much flowers. It was overpowering, suffocating; way too unnatural and clean. He remembered a trip their host had taken to the mall, where she’d ran through the perfume isle. Angel smelled like that.
They were both so completely caught up in their stare-down, they were surprised when the orb shattered, pressed fully against the left wall – Angel’s wall. A million pieces of glass went whizzing through the air, tinkling against the walls.
Both blinked slowly, not quite sure what happened. A smile and a sneer slowing formed on Angel’s and Devil’s lips respectively.
“Ha. I win.”
Devil’s mortal enemy then flipped her hair over her shoulder and sauntered to the door.
“Don’t forget to lock up.”
And with that, she disappeared.
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Whenever you have to make a tough decision in life, you know you can always count on two people: The Angel, and the Devil. Angel, forever the peacekeeper, tries to make you see the right side; the honest thing to do. Devil, ever the trickster, tries to make you do the wrong thing; you know, the thing that gets you grounded. But ever wonder what one of their arguments looks like?
Written for a writing competition. Prompt: Suspended