P/N: So, this started as a simple poem, and my fingers kinda just let all this out. It's rather descriptive (and somewhat violent), so if you do not have a strong stomach, don't read. Yes, it's an allegory. Yes, I think more things like this need to exist for us to see just how dark and troubled our world, and we, are. It makes the hope that much brighter, our faith that much clearer. I'm done. Read and review if you like what you see.
The Battle for A Soul
Some days I feel so
useless.
Nothing I do matters,
nothing I will do is going to matter.
I feel worthless,
lower than low,
like I'm falling into a well
that's so deep
for so long
that I don't know if there's a bottom.
I close my eyes,
praying to stop,
to feel something other than
this nothingness that engulfs me.
I open my eyes to black;
pure, solid black.
I can't see my hand in front of my face.
Is this what my life is? Blackness?
For the rest of my life?
I am angry;
angry that I was in this predicament,
angry that I couldn't get out,
angry—
Angry at myself for allowing this to happen.
But what am I going to do?
Fight? Fight what?
There's nothing here.
Or so I think.
Something slimey touches me;
scaley, like a snake.
I reach my hand out,
touching hard scales.
I draw my hand back.
What was happening?
A deep red light slowly rises,
giving me just enough light to see
what was going on. The scales
I felt
belonged to a something I'd only read about
in fairy tales.
The dragon swings its giant head at me,
its eyes glittering madly.
I could hear a deep, scratchy chuckle
coming from his mouth.
It's going to eat me.
I swallow, a lump in my throat;
I had no way, no means to protect myself
from this beast.
"You dare to think I'm separate from you?"
the creature growls, his voice rushing
like wind against my face.
It was hot, like a furnace.
"I am you, pathetic boy,"
he spits, small shots of fire
littering the ground around me.
"All the evil,
all the wretched things you've done,
have made me who I am.
Your ignorance and hate,
your lies and betrayals—
all of them gave me life,
your life, a soul to rise and take hold of.
"And now, now dear boy,
I've come to have you whole. It's time
to become one, to embrace me fully,
as you've done so well already."
The beast eyes me like candy,
like he wants to tear into me as a meal.
How had I become this?
My fear takes hold;
I am rooted to the ground,
unmoving and unresponsive.
I don't know what to do.
I squeeze my eyes shut,
waiting for the beast to consume me, all of me.
Seconds pass.
My breathing slows.
I am afraid to open my eyes,
but I need to know why the dragon
hasn't gulped me down yet.
A bright, hot white light pierced its way
into the dark and gloom
that surrounds me and the dragon.
I can't see, it's so bright.
When it dims, I see a man on white horse.
Who in the world was that?
Why would someone dare to take on
my dragon? It should be me.
The man wears white armor,
with gold bracers and a gold helmet.
His sword slides cleanly out of its scabbard,
the sound a welcome one to my ears.
Then he looks at me.
His face is a mixture of—
I couldn't explain it.
It was hope, goodness, faithfulness
and love,
but it also held sorrow and pain,
like they were constant companions to him.
"I want to help, but I can't fight if you don't want me to.
He will consume you, as you consumed him in your life.
This battle is not mine to fight if you don't want to fight it yourself."
I blink. What was he saying?
"I cannot begin if you do not want me here.
You can't beat him on your own."
My anger flares. Beat the dragon? This man was
going to tell me I can't beat the dragon on my own?
"You're wrong!" I shout, rage rising up in me.
"I can beat him, and there's nothing you can say!"
I find myself armed with a sword and shield, another sword in a scabbard on my back.
This is going to be fun.
I launch myself at the dragon, at my dark and morbid soul,
in the battle of my life.
I slash and parry,
swipe and draw blood.
But no matter how many slashes I make,
no matter how much blood I shed,
the dragon doesn't tire.
His claws find their mark more often than not,
my armor tearing and tattering til nearly gone.
Not only did he use claws, but his breath
scorches me more than once,
burning fabric to my bones.
I have one eye that isn't swollen,
but the burns, cuts and blood loss
become too much for me.
How is the dragon this strong?
I fall, my sword clattering to the ground.
I am on all fours, trying to muster the strength
to stand.
I will myself to try, one hand on my knee.
I push up and fall down just as quickly.
My mind swirls in confusion,
the room spinning madly.
I reach a hand out,
trying to find my sword,
my arm twitching from the severed muscles
the dragon gave me.
"Do you want me to help?"
the man asks again,
his eyes burning with rage at the dragon's treatment of me.
"If I've failed,
what makes you think you'll do better?"
The man gives a roguish smile.
"I'm not from around here,
and I was born to fight."
"Hel—help me," I whisper, my head thunking lightly on the ground.
My eyes see everything.
The man is fighting the dragon with moves I never saw before,
his blade going through the scales like butter.
The dragon gets him too, but he is lasting much longer than me.
The last slash the dragon gives rips through his shirt,
tearing it from his body and leaving a big gash on his chest.
The man snarls and leaps up,
higher than any man I knew,
and grabs hold of the dragon's shoulder spike.
He slices it off, and leaps
for the head.
"You cannot have him!
He called for me!
You heard it!"
The beast thrashes about,
trying to buck the man off.
The man jumps, bringing his sword down with
a sickening crack through the dragon's skull.
The beast roars, blood seeping through his nose and mouth,
drenching the floor with his sickliness.
It slumps down,
coming to rest a few meters from my body.
I tremble;
my body is still ravaged and bloodied.
But the dragon is dead.
Gone.
The blackness that had consumed me,
that had built up inside me
is now lying in its own filth,
destroyed.
The man slides off the dragon's head,
his feet slapping the floor as he runs towards me.
He picks my head up gently, trying not to aggravate
any more of my body.
He kisses my forehead.
"I told you that you needed me;
why didn't you let me fight him first?"
he says, his voice catching.
I feel drops on my face
and look up.
He is crying.
For me? He's crying for me?
Hot tears burn my cheeks,
gouging deeper than anything
before.
Something behind him moves.
I blink away the tears,
seeing the dragon moving again.
But it was dead! I saw it die!
The man sees my face,
and turns his head, spotting the dragon move.
"Stop! I order you to stop!"
With one last swipe,
the dragon tries to take me out.
The man jumps into it, his body sacrificed
for my own.
The man's blood
splatters on me,
dousing me fully.
The dragon's cries reach my ears.
What was going on?
I watch as the dragon's skin and bones
melt from the man's blood,
puddles forming of the decaying matter.
I could hardly believe it.
I sit up slowly—
wait? How is it that I—
I'm whole? How?
My muddled mind
is numb from the whole encounter.
The next thing I remember
is the man who made the sacrifice,
the man who gave himself,
was standing next to me
as if nothing had transpired.
There were no more cuts,
no more bruises and grime;
nothing to indicate he'd just waged a war against a dragon.
"Are you ready?"
he asks me, extending a hand towards mine.
"Ready for what?"
He gives me that roguish grin again.
"For true life."
