Good to the Last Demon

What does a forty-year-old former child star do when she finds out she’s a Demon? A sitcom, of course. Age is just a number unless you’re an actress of a certain age trying to make a comeback in La La Land. Back in the day, I was the child star of the hit show Camp Bites. Today, I’m still living it down.After a disastrous soap opera audition and getting fired from a TV show for not having a bodacious enough backside, one would think I’d be smart enough to go into real estate. Nope. Just found out from the rudest, meanest, and hottest guy alive that I’m a Demon.

With a show to produce and my career as an actress on the line, I really don’t have time to die—especially violently. However, while that might not be on my agenda, it seems to be on other’s. Awesome. Instead of acting in my latest endeavor, I’m playing the real-life role of Reluctant Demon Who Has To Save The World—or at the very least, the hot hero.

Recently, I was given my own sitcom and my forties were looking fabulous. My dreams were finally coming true—were being the operative word. Of course, just when I think I might have a grip on my newly discovered Demon status, it all goes to Hell. Literally. I’ve gone from enemies-to-lovers back to enemies with the hottest Demon alive, who also happens to be the producer on my show. What I’d like to do is never see Abaddon’s stupidly handsome face again.

I thought being a Demon sucked, but being a Demon Goddess is a whole ’nother level. Life had been so much easier when I was just a forty-year-old has-been actress trying to make a comeback in the land of Botox and BS. For the love of everything absurd, I was just getting used to being a Demon … and BAM … all of a sudden I’m supposed to be one of the two gals in charge? I mean, being the co-star of the show is great until it involves ruling the Darkness with the evil whack job who destroyed my mother.

The show must go on…even if it takes a U-turn into Hell. I have too much to lose if Pandora wins. With the love of my demonic life by my side, along with the profane, toothpick-loving Keeper of Fate, and a cast of inappropriate characters, I’m going to embrace this starring role. I have to. If I can’t solve the problem of unboxing the box, my life as I know it will be over. No TV show, no close-up, and, definitely, no Emmy. So, I’m onto my next gig. I have no clue how the episode will end.

I just lived through a dream state mash-up of The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland and Survivor. You’d think I’d catch a break. You would be incorrect. After successfully evicting my mortal enemy—now frenemy—who was squatting in my head, and making friends with fanged munchkins who bare uncanny resemblances to Hollywood A-listers, I now have a new enemy—a really powerful and vengeful enemy.

One might think fighting the bad guy and coming out on top would earn me a vacation… One would be wrong. I’d stirred up a hornet’s nest that could end existence as we know it. Not my best move. I know more about acting than Goddess-ing, but that won’t stop me. I’m about to assume the character and plow though the script to the very end even though I’m wildly underrehearsed and more adept at sitcoms than action movies with real life consequences. Too bad, so sad.