Vanitas Means Empty
The voices won't stop. I grip my head, my eyes open wide. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. The voices won't stop, they roar, getting louder, screaming in my ears everything I did wrong, every death I'm responsible for. They curse at me, my hear pounds, it might crack open at any moment. Behind all the accusing voices, ever growing louder, is the laughing entity that is me. The screaming gets louder, it soon drowns out the laughter. I clutch my head, pulling my hair out. I close my eyes and I see every horrific murder I have committed. I open my eyes, screaming incoherent words. Voices scream and whisper, calling me monster, murderer, telling me to end my life, and I kind of want to.
The voices never stop, I can't sleep. It's all my head, literally. I have the power to make it all go away, but a part of me knows I deserve the pain, if only brief. I lie on my bed, screaming at the ceiling, sobbing, my head feels like it's being stabbed all over, over and over. I pull my hair out in clumps, a dull pain compared to the rest. I can't sleep, the pain is too much, I can't find the energy to move after awhile and I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, eyes closed, embracing the scenes I've etched into my mind. The voices never stop, I feel sick to my stomach, but I have nothing to throw up. I haven't eaten since a few days before I killed my mother. The beast speaks with my mouth, "Just let me have control. Just sit back and let me rule. I'll do everything for you, you won't be in pain anymore."
"You are me." I growl, "So shut up."
The voices continue. I know he's doing this to me, or rather, I'm doing this to myself, but I can't find room in my mind to care. I scream, I cry, then I scream some more. What have I done to myself? Kill yourself they keep saying. The more it's said, the more I want to do it. I'm not immortal yet, I can still quit while I'm ahead. I shake my head violently, I want the voices to go away. Just tell them to go away. It's that easy. I know the words, but I don't fight the war in my head. I want to crack my head open and bleed to death so it will stop, and I don't want it to stop at all.
Is there something wrong with me? How many times must I ask that question before I know the answer is "yes." I know the answer, but I still ask. What am I trying to accomplish here? Let my emotions die out. Become hollow, that'll make everything easier in the end, won't it? It's not worth it, is it? Nothing in me is worth anything. I know there's something wrong with me, everyone knows. I kill people after all. What's left for a murderer? Death. Not for me. Imprisonment? No cell will hold me. It hurts, everything hurts. I want to smash my head against the wall. I should do it, but I know I won't. I won't kill myself, I want to win this war that I'm raging on humanity.
"You won't do it." I laugh at myself, tears run down my face and I laugh harder, "You'll never do it!"
"You're weak." A figure robed in shadow smirks, speaking with my voice, "You don't deserve life. But you'll never let yourself die, you're too proud, despite your pity parties, Vanitas. You're a dumb, weak boy. You don't deserve the power I give you."
"Shut up!" I laugh, "You're me, idiot! You're weak, too!"
"I'm much stronger than you, let me show you."
It grins and I shake my head, giggling uncontrollably, "No way, you already have enough control of me."
"I am you, well, what you will be, so just give in." is spreads its arms out, like it wants a hug. The shadows swirling around the shadow of me makes me sick, its golden gaze piercing my soul. A feeling of dread washes over me. What time is it? I keep giggling, "The day of the prophecy!"
"Welcome to immortality, Pravatus Daemoniacus, now let me show you how to use your new title!" its grin becomes more sinister by the second.
I wipe the tears from my face and it's blood that comes off my face. I stare at the blood on my hands as I keep wiping my face, fully laughing again.
"I'm bleeding!" I cackle, "My tears are blood!"
I can't stop laughing, and then I can't find air to breathe. I keep wiping the blood off, only to smear it back over my face. The voices roar, but the pain dulls as I laugh breathlessly, stumbling towards the shadow I'll become. I think I'm sick, sometimes I think I get like this. I fall to my knees, collapsing into the shadow. I catch myself just before my face hits the wall. The shadow is gone, as if it was never gone. I'm not laughing, I'm barely allowing breath. Wet tears fall to the floor, clear as can be. I smile slowly, "I'm definitely sick inside."
I sit there, in the corner, staring at the wall as my tears dry. I can slowly feel myself becoming hollow. A different feeling resonates inside me, something I can't explain or name. I just know it feels wrong somehow. As I sit there, I realize something. I no longer hurt. I no longer feel anything. I pretended to be empty before, but now I truly match my name.