It's so easy to be bad. My mind is clouding with the Insanity. But it won't ever take me alive. It won't take him. It won't hurt Frank. Only I can do that. "This house will consume you." Only She c...
Translucent beads of sweat dribble down the smooth planes of my face; burning tears prickle the thin layer of my eyes, and I find myself sobbing; my body wracking with desperate wails. I am devoured by the pain, and soon my vision blurs with the searing sadness. Ragged breaths exhale from the raw airway in my broken throat.
An intense smell of saline fills my nostrils; the crisp air brushes past my ears, and the fog mists around my thin frame, hanging in a heavy blanket beneath my neck. I peer through heavy-laden eyes at the beckoning water beneath my bare toes. I convey the anticipation into a dark place, trying with all my might to rid of the luring thoughts that want me to jump. But the emotion is overcoming me quickly.
My mind floods with urgent, impulsive thoughts, and I relish in the futile shelter my torn shirt provides.
But the stabbing chill of the wind is too strong, and I begin to shiver uncontrollably.
The waves amongst my legs are urging me to join them, begging me to enter. Their whispers echo 'round, and their snarls ring in my ears.
Come, come, come inside.
I shake my head, droplets of rain drifting into the atmosphere with slow pace. It is too overwhelming, that itch, that dirty fingernail scratching at the innocent flesh within me.
It's voice is hoarse, is inhuman, It's cynical, It's sinister.
Gerard, Gerard, Gerard. Come here, my darling. Come to me, my precious.
Yet with Its every return, I ignore Its insistences. I want It to go away. I want It to leave me alone. I want to be left alone—to rot and decompose in my own menacing situation.
This situation that never seems to get better, only seeming to worsen with each passing day.
The sinking depression is gripping; it refuses to release me from it deafening grasp. I try to hold onto sanity, my nails digging desperately in order to stay this way. But it is extremely difficult; it overwhelms my being; it's killing me.
This thing within me is clawing at my conscience, at my thoughts—at everything in my being. I'm being invaded; I am becoming a host to the ravenous savage dwelling in me. It isn't real; It is not a physical thing—It's something else. Something not from here—this dimension, and It is devouring my person. But I reject the idea that this might be the object of my demise. Though the only escape of mine leads to my own self-righteous suicide, I won't let it happen; this cannot lead to my self-destruction.