A Short Story

I lay, eyes closed, fixed on one thing. Defeat it.

In my mind a battle raged on, me against ‘it’. The thing that had haunted me for years, what seemed like an eternity. All it had caused me was pain, the numerous scars on my wrists were proof enough. The bags under my eyes were just a temporary reminder that I was at rock bottom and this thing, this demonic creature in my head only amplified everything.

“No one cares … your no one … you wouldn’t be missed … cut deeper, you deserve this pain … you enjoy it because you know you deserve it!” it whispered to me, constantly, willing me to destroy myself more than I already had. I was literally the shell of what I used to be.

But no more.

In my mind’s eye, the creature was waiting on it’s throne carved out of my “sins” as it claimed them to be; waiting, knowing the confrontation that was about to happen. It’s decayed hands crept from under its billowing and torn black robes, it’s teeth sharp as a thousand knives with only rotted skin surrounding them where lips should be. The rest of its face and body concealed by complete mystery and darkness.

“You’ve finally decided to face me then … boy?”

It knew I hated being called that, so degrading, so … humiliating. Anger and rage erupted from me like a vicious typhoon hitting peaceful shores. This was it.

A war of fists erupted through my mind, neither one of us backing down, strike after strike, fists connecting with bone and flesh, and soon enough blood of two colours stained each of us as we recoiled from one another for what seemed like the hundredth time. Deep crimson red, I knew that was my blood, but the other … green. A fitting colour for something as putrid and vile as this creature that had roamed my mind for too long now.

It was then I realised as I looked at this thing, this creature panting, smiling at me like a cheshire cat waiting to pounce. It wasn’t the fight I had to win. It was the desire for freedom, to get away from this thing, this huge figment of depression in my mind. I had to will it to leave, not fight it.

“For years you’ve plagued me, convinced me I was nothing, killing me slowly. You have made me lose everything. Friends, family and the life I once loved. Not anymore mate. Your done. You thought I was weak, I’m not. I’ve got something you don’t. I want to live, experience the world and even find LOVE someday. Now get the hell out of my head before I stick my fist through my mouth and drag you out and burn you like the foul thing you really are … arse hole.”

It staggered in shock, shock that I could even be brave enough to say such things to it, as if I was … offending it almost. Fading from the bottom up it simply snarled at me:

“I’ll be back boy, do not think you’ve seen the last of me, I’ll always be here, reminding you just how pathetic you and your sodden life are. When your at deaths door I will greet you and you will have missed me by then. Everyone always does.”

I smiled at it, and the only fitting response I could think of came to mind. I replied:

“See you at the finish line then … old friend.”

And it was gone, like a final flame on a camp fire finally giving into it’s end.

Sleep took me soon after, and for the first time in months I didn’t dream of my many deaths ‘it’ had once given me.

 

I dreamt of stars and moonlight, it was then I knew it was the beginning of a new adventure.

*by Alastair Harris (myself) 🙂