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The demon struck me down again. I lifted my head and looked at it. It had no real form – at least, none that I could see. There was darkness – a ton of darkness. I could make out six arms, each with a long, vicious looking sword. The figure seemed roughly human shaped, but it kept distorting and changing that there was no real way to tell. It was like trying to watch something move through rippling water.
I was in bad shape. I was tired, bruised, hurt, and running out of strength. That thing in front of me seemed unbeatable. All I had was a small knife to try and fight this thing. And, to make matters even worse, the more I fought it, the stronger it seemed to become.
People kept telling me that I could beat it, that somehow I’d be able to outlast it, find the strength I need to lock it away, to get rid of it, but now, during the battle, it seemed impossible. There was no hope. All I could do was keep fighting until it killed me.
For years we fought. There were times when it seemed to be losing, where I was gaining the upper hand, and during those times I thought that I had won. That I was finally free. But it never lasted. The creature would gain strength and overpower me, almost in an instant, and I was back a square one. Every single time.
The creature seemed to fear other people. At the very least it backed off a bit when I was around others. It never went away, it kept on lashing out a few times, at least, but it was far calmer when others were around me. It was when I was alone that the creature lashed out at me. It spoke little, but when it did, the words were far from pleasant.
“You have no friends,” it sometimes would say. “Everyone around you hates you, despises you, wishes you were gone. You are a burden to them – just another load for them to carry around. You are doomed to walk this world alone – completely and utterly alone.”
That wasn’t all it said. It also spoke of how useless I was, how big of a failure I was, how nothing I did was ever done well, or ever useful, and how I never will be able to change that. That my purpose was to fail, and suffer. The words alone were hard, but it kept showing me all these examples, and all this evidence that every word it said was true. It was hard – no, borderline impossible to ignore. And with so much evidence, it seeped into my core, until I believed every single word. And yet I kept fighting.
The creature never rested. It was intent on torturing me, destroying me, making me as miserable as possible. Death, it seemed, wasn’t good enough. Misery was this creature’s goal.
As I fought, as I lost hope of victory, death began looking so much sweeter. Many people fear death. I don’t understand why. Death means peace. Death means relief. Death means freedom. I wanted death more than anything else in the world. Society had raised and taught me that suicide was bad, that it was selfish and one of the biggest sins a person could commit. Personally, I don’t understand why. How can it be selfish for someone who truly believes themselves to be a burden to everyone they love, who spends every second in pain and misery, and who only wants to free his loved ones from the torturous burden that he was? Yes, he wanted death for freedom and peace. Of course he did. Everyone wants freedom and peace. But if he truly believed that those he loved needed or wanted him around, he would suffer through it, and live. But being the burden he was, was he not doing his loved ones a favor? He was freeing both himself from the hell he suffered, and he was freeing his loved ones from their suffering as well. How could that be selfish? Yet society said it was, and so I have to listen.
No one else understands my predicament, either. No one knows what the demon is like. Many don’t even know he exists, and those who do don’t understand what he’s like. They can’t help me fight him off, either. If they take a sword and stab it through his chest, it does nothing. The creature just continues his relentless assault, not even the least bit phased by the attack.
Every technique I try gets countered, almost effortlessly, and I end up the one getting hurt. I running out of steam here, and I have only two options: do I keep fighting, or do I end it now and take my life?
William Elliott Kern: Whew. one telling his story, in the Bar, to his friend, who questions some circumstances that need clarity, The Confusion comes from a man, carrying his dead friend Chappies, while conversing with himself, and Chappies, and his alter ego......a broken mind, not yet forgotten..........The Author ...
Sarge: This is very interesting. But you say that your heroine is 17 years of age. Then you say, "Until she reaches that age..." What age? You need to say which age that is. You might want to set it for the age of majority for the state in which your heroine lives. Some have left 18 as the age of m...
Patrick Johns: The Prince was an exciting read. I enjoyed the spoiled bratty protagonist and his drastic change through out the story. The world building was well though out and clear. The author did a great job painting a picture for the reader without having a map. I liked the connection to real life leaders....
Colin Milroy: To begin, I don't think that the first review of this story was fair at all. Based on the popularity of this story, I would say the one-star review hasn't done much harm, but I still felt the need to address it. Now I will do my best to be constructive.I liked the concept of this story. I found i...