My Demons

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
She's here. He here and that was all that mattered.But not enough. Because worse things always happened. Always.

Submitted: May 01, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 01, 2013




He stood all alone in the rain. Shaken. Terrified. Soaked to the boot. The road was empty, deserted. Even animals had found shelter from the unflinching rain and wind that whipped his body, as if adamant on moving the sinister stillness that surrounded him.


It didn’t matter because the stillness had penetrated him. His insides were numb. Frozen. He didn’t want to go back. Not there. Anywhere but there.


A solitary car zoomed by, a small child staring at him maybe wondering what he was doing in the rain. He didn’t acknowledge it. His mind was numb, raw with the teremity of it. Of how long it had been. He had forgotten. All the people around him said he was a silent child. No he wasn’t. But after what had happened he had just lost the cognitive ability to think. It was a silenced silencing. One that nobody would notice. Ever. Over the years he had withdrawn into his own small world where he occupied very little space. A speck in bloating stars. A squid had poured his murky ink into his mind, blinding him of thought. Its tentacles ever so slightly whisking the words off his tongue.  Maybe over the years he had forgotten how to speak. Because he did occupy very little space in the world. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing ever could. Worse things always happened. Always.


His only possession in the world was a black t shirt, the jeans, the boots that he wore on his slightly toned feet. And a battered old watch. The relevance of it lost to the squid which had its tentacles dug deep into his mind. Why did he feel so hollow? So empty? A shell in the rain. Solid. Unfeeling. Cold. And that too could not matter enough because worse things always happened. Always.


He let his eyes slide shut. His mind replayed slight wisps of memories which had remained untainted by the squid. His father whipping him with that belt. His cries. The burning feeling that came. His mother’s laugh. High and squeaky. The hot iron. The terrible, terrible pain that shook his body. He did not cry. He couldn’t. He had lost that to the squid a long time ago. He opened his eyes to find himself in a different world. A slightly terrible but wet world.


 He looked at her. She was oddly unaffected by rain. Not a single hair strand wet. Her skin pearly white. Her ever so slightly platinum locks spreading across the nape of her neck.


He remembered mentioning her to his mother. Imaginary. That’s what she had yelled and slapped him back. How could she be imaginary? She was here. And that was all that mattered. But it did not matter enough because worse things always happened. Always. After all he did occupy very little space in the world...

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