Demons

We all have our demons; but could some be worse than others?

 Tonight is the night. December seventh is the date; my birthday, and the day of the accident. But that doesn’t matter now. My mother is out of the house, the date is just right and I have confidence to do it.

It does matter; it always mattered. This will be my last story before it’s done. Last year on this day my father took me to the movies. I don’t remember what movie it was or what it was about, only what happened afterwards. It was late when we drove home. The house lights were out and we thought that mom was asleep when we snuck in. No, she was sitting there with flames in her eyes. “Why do you baby that boy?” and “That kid’s a demon!” were some of the screeches that she made in my father’s ears. She didn’t realize she was the demon. My father didn’t want to fight, of course he was too kind for that, but he was still angry. So he went to take a drive so he could calm down.

December seventh my father died in an accident involving alcohol. I knew my father never drank, so it wasn’t his fault. It was hers for driving him out. So I’m here now. I’ve been living in Hell ever since, but no more. The sun is setting and colors remind me of a pallet. I wanted to be an artist you know, when I was a child. My sketches made me a known name, but she’s even ruined that. She yelled at me again, pinning my father’s death on me. I drew something in my rage, something so vile and grotesque that I was sent to the counselor. I haven’t been able to sketch anything like my angelic drawings from before. She poisoned me, like she poisoned my art, and she murdered my angel. She’ll remember how she ruined me… Blade in my trembling hand, method and madness in my mind, and my heat beating like an Africa drum. She’ll be back soon…

I can’t do it. I just thought, if I do this, I’ll only be another victory to her. As I set the knife down I hear the closing of a door. I steel myself and raise my guard. I’m ready to face her. Later, when I look back, I realize that what she did was something I had not expected. She walked into the kitchen with a pistol in her grip. No fire in her eyes, no life at all… they were cold stones…. orbs of ice.

“So it comes down to this,” I whisper as she raised the pistol toward my head. Silence. She says not a word, and we stand frozen. It would’ve been a perfect image in my art… and it was I who broke the silence. My lips made the first move. The sound of my words were the first to cut the air.

“Goodbye… demon.”

 

BANG!

Reviews

[Desiree O'Neal]

oh dang...this was really good

[Vertu Rose]

This is such a tragic story, there were many details that could be expanded. And I know that because it is a short story you can't really develop the causes of all the tragedies. Because it makes me wonder if the woman is literally a demon or just a terrible person. Did she have any motives for doing the things she did. I Do admire the images of angels and art. And the fact that his art was "poisoned". I think this piece has a lot of potential to become a sort of short novel. Maybe 5-6 chapters. Because there are a lot of details that could, again, be expanded with the depth of emotion you put into it. The accident with the father was the main conflict with the protagonist, so it should have been better developed. But once again this is a short story so that may limit how much you put into it. (But remember some short story's have been 60 pages long. ^_^)