What Have I Become?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 03, 2016

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Submitted: April 03, 2016

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Truth would be mangled into a lie if I were to say my monster doesn’t exist past my imagination, but I’d rather not make it any more real by giving it a name. It doesn’t live like the storybook monsters, hiding in my closet or beneath my bed. No, this one is different; I can hear it scratching and moving around in the dark of night, keeping my eyes pried open with terror for so long that they burn from not blinking. How incessantly I wish I could walk out of my house and leave it behind. I’ve never seen my demented puppeteer - I only hear it’s loutish whispers resounding through my head; I’ve never felt its rancid presence, only the lingering sensation of being mastered by my own mind, my movements that of a dumb creature’s; my once efficient influence over my own actions vanishing like a snowflake settling onto the warm skin of a passerby.

 

No matter what I do or say I can never be rid of it - doing so would be ridding myself of a part of me. I can feel it feeding off my emotions and memories, creating a sense of emptiness inside me until I’ll have no choice but to swallow myself up in my own black hole. I can feel the imperishable pressure filling my head, attempting to force a confession from my very mouth; a confession that offers up my most deeply and carefully hidden secret. Merely a hint of it’s exposure brings out in me a wickedly primitive rebellion.

 

My mind a slave, bound to some unseen passenger of my own, I am compelled to distance myself from my dear family and friends. Retreating to my place of privacy, I sit alone, listening to it murmur in its rotten tongue. No matter how tremendous my efforts, my inability to drown it out remains evident, but no longer can I stand to listen to it tapping against my head. Its sounds grow louder and blur together, creating a sickening twist of acoustic noise, unable to be hushed even by my agonized screams for mercy, until I long for nothing but silence, even if obtained through death.  

 

These bouts of obstreperous noise sometimes last all night. It only quiets down when I’m at my worst, as if it wants to trick me into thinking this incomprehensible suffering is over, before it starts up again, clicking its teeth against the inside of my skull and murmuring it’s foul gibberish. No matter how loud its whispers get, the words remain inaudible. It feels almost as though if I were to strain I could comprehend a word or two, but despite this theory, I have never tried as I have never wanted to know what awful words it utters. I feel as though if I could understand them they would be forever ruined for me as I would only think of them as oozing from the mouth of this festered demon.

 

I can see its glinty eyes peering out from my own, the corners of them curved up as it smiles it’s sadistic grin. As one, it hisses and whispers to me while it runs its decaying claws along my scalp, peeling my flesh away and sending pain shooting through my every nerve as it hushedly sings its repulsive lullaby, leaving me on the floor to cry as if I were a helpless child. My ears ringing, I try to think happy thoughts, but the only thing that remains in my head are the useless remains of what I used to be. What a sick and disgusting trick, leaving just enough of them to remind me that I used to be happy once. I used to feel as if I had a soul, but I am not so naive, I know the truth, the ever so brutal truth; my soul is no longer with me.

 

Some facts in life are difficult to accept, others are impossible. Sometimes we spend our whole lives trying to disprove what others tell us to be true and many times, we are able to talk ourselves into believing our own lies. I, for one, have been very consistent with that, always telling myself what I want to hear and believing it as if it came from the mouth of a lamb. But this time, no matter what I say, it’ll make no difference, my thoughts having been lost - pushed aside by my captor’s demands. So I guess that leaves one option, I have to admit it. I have to admit that I, the once innocent child, am what I now fear the most. I have to admit that I can see the savage brute - but how astonishingly similar its looks are to my own. How difficult the confession is, how ashamedly I accept that this is what’s staring back at me when I look into a mirror.

 

Have I really become the thing that once so gracefully numbed my mind and body with an unremitting terror? Have I been so long under the rule of my unhinged mind that I have completely lost myself? What have I become that I so willingly, and with haste, block out my windows for fear that peeping eyes may see myself in such a wild state of self-destruction?

 

I curse the sunshine and the rain, all of life is lost on me. My only friend is my own depraved mind, it’s wicked fingers twisting their way into my heart; it will tear it to pieces until there is nothing left of me save for the exception of my sparse and degraded belongings. May God find my soul before it is too late.  
 


© Copyright 2017 Quinnlynn. All rights reserved.

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