To My Demons, from My thoughts.
Eric Turvald, a young man of 28, walks into a moderately furnished study and sits down on the window seat facing west and looking out the window at the lightly falling rain. He breathes deeply and angrily wipes his face.
He Whispers
Who should I condone if not myself? Who should I hate, torture and scorn? Why should I believe in good and evil when it seems nothing is simply black and white but grey?
His eyes start clouding over again and his voice become louder. He clenches his heart as if it's the reason for his hurt.
Why should I put myself up to the hurt and the pressure I'll begin to feel as I let go of everything? Why do I mourn those when those who mourn are simply fools? Why should the crystalline tears drip from my face and yet cover my cheeks in betraying streaks? What is special about…
He sneers.
You?
He Looks at his reflection in the mirror opposite and grimaces. He seems to deflate. He becomes quiet once more but his voice shakes, just as bad as his hands.
You are my demon and my angel. My attacker and yet my defender.
You shield my heart from the weary blade of others yet pierce it with the tarnished blade of your own.
He becomes more active and agitated. The air around him changes and his hackles seem to rise. His fists clench and unclench and his breathing becomes laboured.
You haunt me day in day out and if your visage is not in front of me, it is burned into my eyelids and scorched into memory.
I see you in the gaze of the blinding sun but also in the covers of the darkest night. Why do you linger around me?
He sounds weary but he pronounces each word harsher than the last. He throws glances at his reflection as if he was paranoid.
He rakes his hand through his dark, curled hair and sighs.
Have I not paid my sins in all that I do? Do I not have any reason to feel fallen? It is as if my wings, these piteous and broken appendages, have been bound and torn and dirtied, no longer the pure white but a hollow grey.
Chuckles to himself, before looking into the mirror once more. He Turns his head away and watches as the rain drifts down the clear window.
Hollow. The memory. The feelings. The heart. Myself.
His tears start to fall finally. He rises and keeps looking out the window and throwing fugitive glances at the man in the mirror staring back.
How could this be so? I hold a smile, I talk free with a sense of sound and a touch of compassion, I feel with this beating heart and think with my resounding thoughts and yet, my smile is porcelain etched onto my face and my voice holds a whisper of despair and a hint of sorrow, This beating heart, as beating as it is, is not red. As unsure to the colour it is in reality, it shall not be red, I can vouch for that.
He raises a clenched fist and hits the wall by the window with the side of it.
For once my work is right. To feel emotion is to feel weak.
He scrubs his face once more and finally faces the mirror.
Shall you be who carries me when I cannot walk or lifts me in my darkest hours? You shan't! I will not last; if you carry I'm bound to fall. If I'm lifted I'll tremble.
Raises his shoulders defensively and as the mirror man does it his eyes widen and his breath quickens.
Why look so inquiring? Why glance with a scared abandon? Why do you study me intently?
Reaches and yanks his hair. Looks lost and abandoned. Mirror Man looks the same. Suddenly fury sweeps through him and he walks towards the mirror rearing back his fist.
Why! I tell you demon! Answer me! What are those looks? Am I your prey or merely your pet? Am I so hideous or is it my soul that you can see?
He punches the mirror with such force that it smashes, breaking pieces into his knuckles. He looks at his hand and flexes it before wincing.
He looks at the biggest piece left and watches as his tears blur his vision.
Demon I ask you. Why you look upon me as if committing me to memory? Do you try and match it to a me you've seen before?
He breathes in and tries to blink furiously but to no avail. Crystalline tears are flowing down his cheeks. He sobs out.
This won't work demon. Your blood may tempt and rush in my ears and your thoughts maybe shared and resonate around my head. But I shan't let you in again.
He crouches and lifts the piece of mirror and stares defiantly back at the man he sees.
For what it's worth I do applaud your attempts at breaking my shields. But I placed them their so I know how they crumble and when they do and you try to fight your way in I'll fight back. You can't have me again demon. This is the last warning.
He stands and let's go of the mirror, it smashes and he watches as it catches the light of the rain clouds. He walks towards the door and sharply opens it. He walks into his bedroom, which again is comfortable but not luxurious. He sits on the end of the bed still openly crying. He closes his eyes and murmurs out.
I hate you demon. But I love you. I'm torn and betrayed but I still stand up high. My eyes are clouded and my lips are sealed. But I can still breathe and see. My thoughts maybe locked up. But as locked up as they are, they are mine.
He lies down, feet still planted firmly on the floor. And opens his eyes and looks at the ceiling.
Demon, for this is the last time we'll ever meet. I shall tell you as you fade that if nothing is perfect then I am nothing. If I have flaws which are both inside and out. Then my flaws shall be taken as scars of battle.
He turns towards a bedside cabinet of a picture of him and another person. He hears someone running up the stairs towards his room. The door opens and they're there.
He rolls, stands, and steps forward to be met by them. Guilty eyes look at his hacked hand. Arms wrap around him before a wet face is pressed into his neck and warm droplets hit his shoulder. Eric stills and becomes rigid. The arms clamp tighter, Eric wind his around them and breathes in the scent of them. He rests his head on theirs and sighs.
Demon. You thought you won. You shall never win. They're here with me. This maybe a foreign feeling but They're the reason I shall stand with my head up. They are the ones to free me and they'll be the ones to help me.
My demon. I've learned love. Though it will come with scorn and disbelief I shall still love them.
I've won my Demon. I've won.
Eric smiles down into their hair. They look up and he smiles faintly. They wipe away his tears and give a shining smile back.
He may hate the him in the mirror but he loves the person in his arms and for that reason they're all that matter.
This belongs to LexTheVampiresSaviour.
Eric is MINE heh.
Uhh I wrote this for my English homeowrk. It's a Monologue from Eric's POV about how he's confronting this Demon (which is actually Love) so yeah.
This monologue got based off my own emotions a while back and so this was formed when I needed to let them out.
Lex =3
xx