Demons of the Soul

I stand in front of the mirror, my hands gripping my cheeks and tears running down my face. "S-stop...stop...can't you see I'm dying?"

I suddenly withdraw my hands with a twitching movement and cackle loudly. "I'm dying, haha! I'm killing myself from the inside! Heeheehee!"

The demented sound reverberates through the small apartment, bouncing off the cold gray walls.

My hands return to my cheeks and I start sobbing again, in more pain. "Please, stop, get out, get out of me, stop this...!"

My hands start jerking uncontrollably and I scream, scream, keep screaming until the sound is abruptly cut off and my hands fall motionless to my sides. "Don't worry, darling self, it'll be over soon~" A sweet, hissing voice emerges out of my throat and I laugh through my tears.

Footsteps are at the door and I hear gunshots. "Where are you? Get out! Come out here!"

A mob of reapers, coming for me.

I laugh again and the shots come nearer. I slowly inhale, the breath rattling through my windpipe. "Goodbye, world~" the sweet voice says.

Then I return to myself and my world and scream again, desperate to get out, out, out from this madness and wake up and find myself in my bed with my blankets and pillows and perfume.

I blink, sobbing, and blink again, trying to escape, but no! the hissing voice is back and my arms twitch up to my hair, stroking it and braiding it while the gunshots are next door.

"I'm beautiful," I hiss, shedding my worn coat and slowly stepping into a red dress, pulling up over my breasts.

"Come out here!" the reapers yell as a bullet goes through the door. I collapse to the ground, screaming and crying and ripping at myself, blood everywhere. While they try to get the door open, I stand shakily and look in the mirror. My face is pale and distorted, my mouth stretching to my ears in a black moan of despair. My eyebrows have turned pointed and high, my eyes large with the bags looking like mascara running down my cheeks.

With one final scream of fear, despair, and horror, I fall to the ground as the bullet runs a clean path through my heart.

A reaper rushes to my side and pulls the bullet out along with my tortured, demented soul. He carefully sets me to the ground as my face returns to its original natural beauty and inspects the bullet closely.

"Demons of the soul," he says emotionlessly, adjusting his glasses. My lips curve into a final, peaceful smile as my haunted, used, torturous soul is disposed of, never to cause pain to anyone again.

______________________________________________________________

I'm going to have nightmares.

Picture (c) LightningStar, 2014