My Beloved Demon

A simple, dark room with the light off. On the left stands a cupboard with broken doors, and in front of it lies a wooden desk shattered in half. An open window lets in the cold, merciless air of the night.

A young man in his late twenties sits motionless on a modest bed. His brown eyes, filled with pain and suffering, are fixed on the empty space before him. His gaze reveals the story of an unhappy life, one he wishes to end a demand for an escape through death. The gun in his trembling hand speaks louder than words. Despite his flawless features—a broad forehead suggesting wisdom and high morals, a round face radiating the remnants of faith, and a well-shaped nose hinting at a destiny once filled with promise—despair has overtaken him.

He sits quietly, haunted by the memories of how his life unraveled from bad to worse. No family to embrace him with love, no sacred bonds to belong to, no romance to taste the sweetness of affection. Friends? None. No one to stand by him in the storm of his suffering. He has concluded there is nothing left for him in this world. Suicide, he believes, will lead him to whatever peace lies beyond.

Ronald speaks softly to himself, his voice faint and saturated with despair, his eyes fixated on the gun. It is the only solution left to him after doctors failed to heal him and priests could not cleanse his soul. Excommunicated by the church and abandoned by heaven, he found solace only in the whispers of dark entities.

Ronald (murmuring):

So… what now? For heaven’s sake…

Suddenly, a deep, chilling voice echoes through the room. It seems to come from nowhere yet carries an unsettling weight. This voice cannot be seen by the human eye—one must be attuned to the spiritual to perceive such things.

Voice:

We both know you’re not doing this for the right reasons.

Ronald (snapping):

You don’t know me! Shut up!

Voice (mocking):

Don’t I? I know everything about you.”

Ronald (defiantly):

Then prove it.

The voice chuckles, a sound dripping with contempt and mockery. Its laughter feels like sharp needles piercing the soul of a man born into suffering.

Voice:

Not yet. But you’ll soon find out that I make a far better ally than enemy.

The cryptic, venom-laced words burrow into Ronald’s mind, leaving him in a psychological maze. His suicidal thoughts swirl like a tempest, urging him to pull the trigger. Will he succumb to the despair? Or will he linger, trapped in this vicious cycle until the reaper himself arrives?

The sound of iron chains dragging across the floor reverberates through the room, accompanied by an eerie, bone-chilling moan. Fear grips any listener. But not Ronald. For the first time in ages, he smiles. Then, he laughs—a hard, defiant sound.

Ronald:

Not this time. You won’t get me.

Moments later, the gun fires, and Ronald collapses onto the bed, lifeless.