There's something inside of me, but it doesn't have a name. I haven't been able to find the appropiate moniker, but let's just go with 'The Demon'. It isn't the most accurate, but it's close enough for literary purposes.
The Demon has been with me for as long as I have memories. Sometimes he's visually embedded into those memories, standing with me, and other times it's just his voice that whispers throughout the ambient noise. From swimming in the lake as a child to sitting in class, he's been with me. His hands on my shoulders, reassuring and guiding me through life. He's not in control, but he has a hand on the steering wheel.
I call him The Demon because that's what he feels like. A possession of myself, some otherworldly being that has latched onto my soul. A parasite of mind and body, wishing to do evil and harm. But I also say it isn't accurate, because he doesn't feel like a seperate entity. He feels like me, like he's part of me, like he IS me. Simply the voice of some dark and cold recess of my brain. It makes it difficult to deal with, especially with knowing that you're simply fighting yourself. I know I'm crazy, I know I'm not possessed, but knowing simply makes it more difficult.
When I was younger, he was with me but I never saw him then. I never heard him. It's simply within the minds eye that I can discern the difference between us, what influence he had over me. It was only when I discovered what I am, what flavor of insane I am, that I first met him.
He's tall, much taller than I. 6'7 and commanding, his entire frame is boreboding and demands respect, and ultimately, fear. He's dressed in a suit, flowing and black, like swaths of the night sky, cut and draped over him. When he moves, you can no longer see the distinction between his tie and his shirt, the shirt and the jacket, and the entire suit from the rest of him. Pitch black smoke, with a sinister smirk that knows you'll do what you want him to.
I know he's a figment of my imagination, merely a representation of a darker side of myself, but he walks with me during the day. His hand squeezing my shoulder, urging my arm to slide the knife from my pocket and plunge it into the neck of someone sitting on my left. I close my eyes and he paints that picture, how pleasurable and exhilerating it would feel if I could have him alone, to grasp the back of his neck and slide a knife up under his ribcage. How thrilling and intoxicating it would be to steal the life from him, to watch his eyes at they unfocus, glaze over and stare into space, no longer harboring a soul.
Then I open my eyes, and I snap back to reality. I'm still sitting on that bus, watching the buildings blur by, and that man is still alive to my left. Then I notice the girl on the right, and the same thing happens again. A vivid picture of destroying the hopes and dreams and whatever was or could be of someone. And some day, I don't think my own will power in holding back will be enough. I think that someday, I'll stop twisting that steering wheel from my Demons grip. Maybe someday, likely someday, he'll have the wheel to himself and that smirk will break into a grin.
The energy used to fight him, everyday, is immense. It's overwhelming, exhausting, and debilitating to my character. Not only do I have to resist those urges, to stop myself from spilling any blood, but I have to fight him in my head. Whispers in my ear, coaxing me on.
“You know you want this.”
“Why fight yourself?
“Just give in.”
“Why resist anymore?”
And everyday those whispers get louder. Those squeezes on my shoulders get stronger, and I can feel him becoming more real. I fear one day that he will be born into this world, for that pitch black smoke to fill the muscles and sinews in my body. To string me up like a puppet and wreak mayham, panic, and death to everyone and anyone near. I fear this as much as I hope this. I want this to happen, I want that all powerful thrill to extinguish some bastards life for the sake of my own pleasure. I want to have blood run through my fingers, and down my hands, and be soaked to the point that those fingertips prune up. I want to feel that knife slide through that throat, tearing through anything in it's path to stop that being from being.
For now that scale is balanced. Neither way truly more than the other. I only retain control for winning the fight as long as I have, but one day, and possibly some day soon, the needle will tick just slightly over. The lever dropping ever so much on that dark side. And when that day comes, those dreams of rivers running red, of blood in the streets, and screams through the night, will be born, and those dreams will send me to a slumber, under the jacket of The Demon.
The sidewalk glowed in the rain, reflecting the light back from the buildings above it. Streetlights were dim, in a more run down part of the city, and the air smelt of ash and stale urine. I could feel my feet slowly crunching against the concrete beneath me, hear the sighs as people exhaled, no longer needing to keep their chest puffed up as they passed a stranger on the street. I had been walking since the sun started setting, wound up. Been having a hard time lately, and I needed to go out again. “It'll only be one more time” I promise myself, knowing that it'd be broken in a couple of weeks anyway.
The air started to become more still, the city slowing its pulse as it fell into a slumber. The sun had long since fell away, and now the lights above me were clicking off one by one. The rain was still falling, each drop falling with a soft pat on my shoulder, like the world was urging me on. As I took a deep breath in, I caught the scent. Drifting towards me from behind, a deep and heavy cologne, followed with slow steps that clacked onto the sidewalk.
I slowed down, moving off to the side and allowing him to pass me. He didn't just walk, but sauntered past. His hair was short, brown, and stuck purposefully into place. The earbuds in his ears shouted his music, and his bag bounced off his back with each step. The hoodie he was wearing was carefully chosen, accentuating his back and arms, hugging tightly to expose the definition. I only briefly glimpsed his face, but it was a confident and cocky smirk. Perfect for me in every way.
The music he was blasting helped cover my footsteps perfectly, as I ran up behind him. We were closing in on an alley way, and as we reached the edge I grabbed the handle on his backpack. He skidded in place, and I swung him into a trashbin. He crashed against it, and yelled at me, swearing. One of his earbuds had fallen out, the music even louder, but all it did was show how silent it was when he saw my knife. The second he saw my knife, he knew who I was, and what was coming.
I swung down with my fist, keeping the blade away from him but driving my knuckles into his jaw. He collapsed against the dumpster again, his head making an audible crack. Even with the tiny bit of light that managed to shine into the alley, I could see the blood on his forehead. A smile was erupting across my face as I bought up my fist again, breaking into a grin as I swung down, and a bellyful of laughter as I hit him again. His head bounced off of the trashbin again, making another hollow thud.
I am blessed to have some super adorable nephews and a niece in my life. My one nephew is kind of the angry, brooding type, but he's unbelievably adorable nonetheless . . . (This is one of my favorite photos of him. ) [caption id="attachment_349" align="alignnone" width="225" caption="Angry AND Adorable!!"][/caption] Then of course, there's my tiny, but very tough, niece. I took this photo last year. It was just one of those moments when she did something adorable . . . Then, there's my 0ldest nephew/football star. He's turning out to be very charming and easygoing. I still remember having to change his diapers many moons ago. He's still a great kid. [caption id="attachment_351" align="alignnone" width="225" caption=" My oldest nephew back in the day."][/caption] Finally, there's Bubba. I think that, more than any of the others, he's perhaps the most eccentric. He always seems to have a very clear idea of what he likes and wants. He's not shy, and he's a darn good dancer too. Watching these kids grow up is quite a sight to behold. They have their own personalities and opinions, and they can be refreshingly honest about so much. I also have two nephews through my older brother who I have not actually had the chance to meet yet. They live far far away in the Philippines. I hope to meet them someday. For myself, I don't think having kids will be part of my destiny. I have other worlds to explore and other vistas to behold. In the meantime, I'm having a wonderful time as "Uncle". -g