I don’t write anymore, I’ve lost my will.
You’re with me right now, in my head just like he is.
If only you could see what I see, and hear what I hear.
I’m currently laying on the grass in the middle of the night, it’s not important exactly where I am, or how I got here. I refuse to fill in the needless details of this already dreadfully boring story.
I want your imagination to run wild, but I will share with you the reason of my being here because I believe that it’s important to the story, to my story.
When I was a kid, I confided in my mother. I trusted her to protect me from all the evils that I shouldn’t have had knowledge of. She hated to see me so torn up by my own fears in a way not even the wisest man should ever be.
I was afraid of beliefs. I’ve always been told and taught of the higher power, of God and what he can take away. My mother didn’t understand my fear.
She told me that I should take everything that’s evil and shove it off into the sky so it could become a star. She said that terror wants to shine just as brightly as joy, she said that it’s not his fault that we see him in the dark under our beds.
I understood a little better, she helped me to understand him. What I still didn’t get was her faith, and I was scared because I didn’t have it. I thought that my indifference was the reason he was stuck with me, forced to create hell on earth in my once happy and innocent mind.
He filled my thoughts with many nothing’s, saying that there’s no one up there and that no one is watching us make mistakes but him. This only made me ask myself one question, if we truly are on our own, then why do I have the urge to pray to something that was never there in the first place?
I want more than this dead end life. Where could I go from here, there’s so many possibilities yet only one can reign true.
So many people believe in so many different things, in so many different Gods, but who knows the truth? Imagine living your whole life praying to the one thing that you believed could never let you down, could never be anything other than the perfect self that you strive to be, only to find out that it didn’t exist, that he didn’t exist...
It would ruin the purpose of your whole life, at least the one spent in the living. I mean, who knows what happens after death?
Everyone has an idea, maybe even a hope. For me as you know by now it’s a fear, but who is right?
I want my mother to be right. I want her dream to be a reality, she deserves it.
I don’t want my fear to be the only one who knows what happens after life. It would force me to believe that this whole charade that he’s putting on in my head is just to prepare me for the evils after death, and I don’t want to believe that there’s anything or anywhere worse than this.
I don’t want to become him. I want to be a star, I want to shine in the sky and look down on everyone as they pass through life, never knowing what comes after. I want to consciously know what happens after your soul leaves your tired body, after everyone thinks of you as if you cease to exist.
I understand what my mother was trying to tell me. The evils of the world don’t always know they’re evil, they don’t know of the pain they cause.
Terror’s only want to be seen for their color, not for their darkness.
They don’t want to seek permanent refuge in the shadows of a child’s bedroom, they don’t want to hurt anyone but themselves.
That’s why they do it, that’s why they hurt people. They want to damage their souls, because the guilt they carry from their past life forces them into this one- into this unending nightmare for both terror and it’s victims.
Is that what my fear feels? Is he just misunderstood, or does he have total control over himself as well as me?
I don’t want him to go to anyone else, no one else deserves this.
No one else but me, I’ve already been broken.
It seems as if the questions will always outweigh the answers.
Was he human? Did he kill himself like that guy did when I was little? I remember it like it’s happening right in front of my eyes. He couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than I am now, yet he looked as if he’d lived a thousand lives along with their untimely deaths.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d caused those too.
He gripped the brick in his hand and used it to create an explosion within his own mind. I watched it as if it wasn’t real, and in all fairness it never really will be to me.
Even though his skull was caved in, he slowly lowered himself to the ground in an almost graceful manner, as if he was trying to be careful not to startle his own mind. Now I know, he didn’t want to wake the terror.
He found peace in that slow steady moment in time between life and death, all he heard were his own thoughts.
Or maybe this is just what I want to happen if I were to do the same to myself.
Here comes the question again, am I right?
I hear him shouting in my head, saying that he will always be here, even as my soul leaves my body he will stay behind to make sure the rest of my mind rots. He will watch from above as my body decomposes into the soil, and he will be trapped there like he was in my own head.
I don’t want to be in someone’s head, I don’t want to ruin someone’s life.
It already feels as if I’m ruining my own already, maybe my fear isn’t the problem at all, maybe I’m the problem.
Giving up wouldn’t be easy. It’s basic human nature to fight for your life and I am consciously aware that giving up would most certainly bring my somewhat timely demise. The only thing harder than throwing in the towel to the devil is fighting for your life against the very same enemy.
Someone knows how this will end, and I just hope its not him.