Jhema
1 Published Story
Jhema's Book and Story
Doctor Devil
Modern Hi there, my name is Lucifer and I think you know who am I already. I have gone by many names from the dawn of time- the prince of darkness, the serpent, Satan- the list goes on and on, and I didn't ask for these names but I guess it kinda grew on me. Well, at least it tells you all you need to know, I am the whole personification of evil.
I'm sure you are familiar with the old story about my rebellion against dear old dad which led to a great war in heaven- blah blah, and in the end, my father cast me down from the heavens. What you haven't heard though is about a certain time when I lived among you humans as one of you.
Shocker right? But yeah, I did, and the only way you could understand this story is if I start from the beginning so here goes, this story began in the city of New York, sometime around fall the year 2020...
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Dr. Henry Bates, a scientist researching interdimensional portals becomes accidentally possessed by Lucifer, Lord of hell and the prince of darkness after an experiment goes wrong. Now Lucifer is determined to understand what it is to be human, taking on the doctor's identity while he figures out what triggered Henry's portal to lead to hell in the first place. His decision would attract a lot of friends, enemies, lovers, and emotions as well as rekindle grudges that have been held since the great war in heaven.
Would his ordeal he more than he bargained for or would life as a human be a walk in the park?
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Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect
Fritz Heaney I was driving through a rainstorm in upstate New York, pushing my old Volvo to the limit just to pick up a Dior gown for my wife, Catarina. She needed it for a gala tonight, where she planned to spend the evening standing next to the man she actually loved, Atticus Deleon.
The truck hit me head-on, crossing the center line and sending my car rolling down an embankment in a shriek of twisted metal and shattered glass. As the steering column crushed my chest, my brain didn't see a white light; it was pried open by a digital tsunami, flooding my mind with the "Quantum Archive"-billions of data points on surgery, high-frequency trading, and combat.
I woke up in the ICU with three broken ribs and a concussion, but the only thing waiting for me was a screaming voicemail from my wife's assistant.
"Jorden, where the hell are you? Catarina has been waiting for thirty minutes! You are so incompetent it's actually impressive."
There was no "Are you okay?" or "Are you alive?"-only fury over a ruined dress and a missing tie. While I was being resuscitated, my wife was on Instagram, singing "Endless Love" with Atticus and laughing at my "tantrum." She even called the family lawyer to freeze my credit cards, wanting to make sure I couldn't even buy a coffee without her permission.
For three years, I had been the "useful husband," the doormat who apologized whenever she stepped on my toes. But the accident had overwritten my desperation with cold, hard logic, and I realized I had almost died for a woman who viewed me as a liability with a negative return on investment.
When Catarina finally stormed into my hospital room to demand an apology for ruining her night, I didn't look at her with the usual puppy-dog eyes. I looked at her with ice in my veins and handed her a manila envelope I had drafted myself.
"Sign the divorce papers, Ms. Evans. I'm done being your canary."