A very short, sort of stream of consciousness bit, a bit more abstract than I normally write...let me know what you think. This is Dean's letter to the emotion Shame.
Dear Shame,
You've followed me my whole life, been one of the main driving forces for my every move.
You've haunted me for nearly as long as I can remember.
You've reminded me every day of the things that I failed to do.
I didn't save my mom, and I couldn't honor her spirit the way she deserved.
I didn't save my dad, and I couldn't live up to his hopes.
I didn't save my brother, and I couldn't safeguard his soul.
I didn't save myself, and I couldn't fight the inevitable.
You, the shame of my failings, drove me forward, made me fight every evil I could find, as if I could assuage the emptiness, fill up the beast in me so you would let me rest.
But you are insatiable.
You will devour me.
I used to be able to drink you away, to drown you in amber, to drift on a haze and forget all the guilt.
But you've taken even that from me and now I can only dull the edges of your presence, can only blunt the sting of the memories.
Because I did the unthinkable, and when I did, you blossomed so thick and deep that I could choke.
You blanket me when I sleep, clothe me when I wake, press down on me like a hand every single hour of every single day.
And now, now after all that I've done, I'm supposed to be a vessel of the higher holy, a tool of the ultimate good.
That, after all the evil I've done.
How can I say yes to that when I know I'm not worthy?
They just can't see that they have the wrong man.
They can't see what have you made me.
I am just a shell.
A husk.
A cup for you to fill.