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Devil's Descent

Tags: dark

We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell. Oh, how dark a place the mind can truly become.

Everyone has a dark side. Most of us don't go to, show, or even acknowledge this unilluminated place but it is there all the same, inside each and every one of us. It itches and claws. It scratches and delves. It pulls and pushes. It constantly asks questions of you and you hear these questions being asked whether you know it or not. You hear these questions whether you want to or not. You may even answer these questions on a daily basis while being totally unaware of what is actually happening.

If only you knew the truth. It may disgust you. It may horrify you. It may even feel good. It may feel great. It may be unnaturally natural, and you may just enjoy it too. You do enjoy it, going to that dark place and hiding, lurking in the shadows.

There may be lines that you will never cross, lines you never want to cross. What if you become tempted? What if you cannot resist? What if you not only walk up to those lines but cross them? Cross them as easily as you would cross a street? You see a green light even though you know it should be red. It is red. Red is the colour of blood, the colour of passion, the colour of desire. Red is anger, red means stop, we cannot always control that with which we do not understand.

The boundaries are clear and obvious, but you do not care, at least not when it matters. Then there is the biggest of what-ifs? What if you are not completely aware that you are crossing that street or have ever crossed it?

She walks up ahead of you, fifteen, twenty feet away. She knows you are there, following, watching. She teases you knowing full well she has your undivided attention, right? It is her fault, not yours. She shouldn't taunt you like this. She should not tempt you, definitely not like this. It is not ladylike. She is to blame. Her dress is revealing. Her hair is sparkling, glowing, flowing in a brief and cool breeze. Her scent fills your nose as you take in a lung full of her beauty.

Control is slipping, or is it? You are empowered. You hold so much in the palms of your own hands. So powerful that you have never felt this strong, not ever. You like it. You love it. A first taste of a drug, a self-inducing drug that sets you free, frees you from the chains of constraint. Maybe this is not a first taste. You are everywhere all at once, un-impotent. The gates of heaven open up.

Her lips red, luscious, call you, they need you. Who are you to refuse that call? Who are you to turn away? Her body, her bosom bulges. She moves slowly, almost in slow motion. Her head lifts and falls backward. Her long blonde hair drapes from her head. Surrender, a sweet surrender. You sit in a perfect moment, perfect in every way. Her eyes glow a bright blue with a tint of green then close over.

You kiss her eyelids and lay her down. Your tongue moves up and along her bare body. All is calm; all is well for you could not hear her screams, at least not in time. When you do hear any screams, they are an echo of what has been, an echo of what was real. For you, they are a delayed reaction, seen and heard after the fact. They come in dreams well after the fact. In this moment it is too late, what have you done?

No. No, this cannot happen, it did not happen, it cannot be true. It has happened and not the way it first appeared. Yeah, you see it as if it were a dream, though it is a nightmare in reality, and a waking nightmare at that. You remember this has happened before. There have been others. You see your reflection in a mirror. Your hands are dripping. Your hands are stained, stained with blood that is not your own. You did this. It was all you. But it is not happening, it’s a nightmare and nothing more … if only.

You must be dreaming. It never happened at all. The gates of heaven did not lead to the heaven you thought; for in actuality, you have walked right into hell, you have descended right into hell. A vortex engulfs you; you awake from a dream; a nightmare and another day starts anew. You feel fresh, you feel alive. You have a day to live over.

A chance, a new beginning has come, until she is once more up ahead of you, fifteen, twenty feet away. This is becoming all too familiar but yet you cannot resist. You must resist. Those lips, her bosom is calling you. It is her fault, right? You are bringing a beauty to life, right?

Is any of this real? It is real and you know it is. What is real is that you are a monster in an unending cycle, a cycle destined to continue for the rest of your life, a monster who cannot resist the Devil's bidding, the Devil's call. You can get away from this. There is only one way to deny the Devil, one way to take away the grasp he has on you.

At home, you see the news reports. Yet another young lady has been found, naked, assaulted, and gutted, found in a shallow grave down a ditch close to a rarely used winding road. You have only heard and not seen these reports before this moment. Your hallway is muddy. You are muddy. You did not see this mud before now. The report shows her photo. You recognize her. You recognize the images shown of where she had been found. Images of her beauty, images of her death flash through your mind. It is true. It is all true. You killed her; you are the monster…

You go upstairs to the attic. The door sticks and you struggle. There is no key, not on your side of the door. Eventually, you get inside, you force your way inside. There is movement, dark shadows all around. They hold no fear. You know no fear. The thoughts of what you have done, what you have really done aid you to find your way.

Everything, all of what you are has brought you to this moment. The thoughts, the memories, they have led you to this moment, a moment you know must happen. A rope hangs from the rafters. You tighten the noose around your neck and fight a moment of resistance. You kick away the stool beneath you...

 

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