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My Journal for the Writing of Things
I like being able to have something to write in and would love comments of anyone reading the stories I may post in here.
My Devil.
Bloody hands touch the wet face, covered in mud, tears and more blood. Her twisted, smiling face showing the madness within her. She touches the hot water of the sink, closing her eyes. ‘What have you done?’ is all that enters her jumbled up mind. Her heart races as the memories flood back into her head. A man standing over her limp and frail body with a rock in his hands and a smile on his face. A smile of hunger, of lust, of something that isn’t human but is. He hit her with the rock, knocking her out cold. When her eyes opened again, she was seeing red and looking at her reflection of her messy self in the mirror. She scrubs the grim and gunk off of her hands and face. Her smile has faded away now. She is no longer the mad woman she had once been. I am myself, and I’m taking control once more. I think about what happened and frown, the action of my muscles moving stinging and burning with the pain from a bloody red bruise forming on my cheek. I turn away from the bloodstained fiend in front of me and turn to my shower. I turned the water on, making sure that the water is blistering hot as I step in, clothes and all.
I scrub my hands and arms for hours. I scrub my skin raw until its all bright red and near bleeding, but my skin holds. I turn off the shower and stare down lifelessly at the drain. I watch the twisting of the water mixed with the blood and leaves that had been in my hair. I start to shake and fold into myself, sobbing uncontrollably into my hands. I might have killed someone. I might have just killed someone in cold blood. I can’t stop the shaking in my spine that shoots up through my body and rattles my brain “Stop…”, my voice croaks as the Demon just cackles and relishes the screams of the man as it ripped his fingers out of their sockets, as it tore ff his fingernails, as it smashed his face in with the rock that he had used against us. My fingers somehow find the edge of the shower and my body numbly climbs out. I calm down the sounds that tore out of my chest, but they never stop. I dry my body off and slowly make my way to my untidy bed.
My bed. The only place in the world to me that is an escape from reality. I can stay here and be safe, be free, be careless. I slip into the cucoon of blankets and pillows on my bed and curl up in the protective womb that it creates around me. I stay awake for a few more hours. I look down at where I imagine my hands are and I start to cry violently. The sobs ripping into my body and making even my bed shake. I remember slowly starting to drift off to sleep. I remember the feeling of my nails easing their way out of my flesh. I could feel some blood coming from the p***k marks on my skin, but I don't want to think anymore. I sleep deeply through the rest of the night. I survived another day... For now.



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