Why in fact, life seems no longer something to be lived.
It was a rainy night; a rainy spring night, almost dawn in fact. The lovely smells of the new season were everywhere, and even the muddy ground seemed to live, despite the squelch sound as feet pounded through them.
To say that the girl was sad would be an understatement. To say that she was torn by a heartrending ache of agonizing sadness and despair would be closer to the truth, as the wild but hunted look in her eyes told. As she stumbled through the rainy night, the fresh water soothed the bruise on her cheek, but did little to aid the wounds of her heart.
Home had become a different kind of noun to her now. Instead of a place, it was nothing but a thing; a thing she somehow knew she would be forever barred from. It was heartrending, but a triumph came with it as well.
Triumph at what? her conscience whispered sharply at her. Is it the filth on your soul? The hatred and anger you brought upon yourself by those you know and hold as dear?
She cursed her conscience, hating it with every once of her being. It was a prick in her pleasure, one that sometimes drove in punishment better then any parent could inflict, and held on even after she threw it long out. It was better to ignore it, and as a slimy but pleasant - although repulsive at once - feeling enveloped her, she realized that the Other Voice had come. Where her conscience harmed and repulsed her while at the same forcing her to turn towards it, the Other Voice drew her in, while at once feeling her with repulsion; even yet, she loved it far more.
Why are you so sad about this 'filth'? What have you to be sad about? You are no slave to the ancient system. You are free, free to do what you will. The voice was soft, its words soothing as she listened to it. But the first voice cut it off.
He's lying, you know. His delusions of freedom are nothing. When it comes down to the truth, you'll find that you are still a slave, a slave to the pleasures and delights of this foolish world. Like an animal, who has no thought of the future. The words were cutting, although in their hardness a softness glowed, as that of a punishing parent. The wrong analogy, as a streak of anger flashed through the girl's head. She would not be talked to like a child again!
Yes, that's right. You don't want to answer to anyone. You want to be free of those chains. Again the second voice sounded. It was soft and tempting, but if the girl had been in a calmer state of mind, she would have noticed the undercurrent of coldness in it. But she did not, and her attention became even more fixed. A smile crossed her face as the voice of her conscience grew more desperate.
You don't get it, do you? You're being offered the forbidden fruit. What lies at the center of that fruit? It is always like that. The bitter cup is sweet, yet what seems the sweetest is always foul at the core. It will seem good now, but when you're lying awake one night, years from now, wondering how you could be so twisted. Will it seem so good then?
The second voice was quick to counter, regaining the girl's ear.
Pah, listen to him. Since when has a bitter cup been sweet and a delicious fruit sour? He's feeding you fairy tales; a bunch of rubbish. He's treating you like a wayward little child. Is that what you wanted?
"No, no," the girl murmured, but she didn't look quite so confident now. Her conscience's remark about the future had gotten her thinking. But to her thought, the second voice was quick to dispel it, cutting off her conscience again.
And what of the future? Live for the moment, I say! And let the devil take tomorrow. Why are you worrying about the thoughts you might have on the sickbed, some forty years after this? He's robbing you, robbing you blind. Feeding you with the rubbish of your life after you die. He's a wishful daydreamer. A fool. Not like you and me, oh no. we're sensible, aren't we?
The girl nodded absently, still not quite reassured.
"Yes, yes, of course."
You can't listen to him. It's all good at the moment, but trust me. It won't be like that. If all you live for is pleasure, then how are you anything different then an animal?
Her conscience would have to find a weak spot. The second voice however, quickly countered.
See? There he goes, acting like a parent, telling you what you can and can't do.
You talk as if parents were some sort of blight. They aren't. Perhaps it's you that is the blight, and your parents are merely the blighted.
Her conscience had used the wrong words. A string of curse flew of from the girl's mind as she told her conscience in no uncertain terms to shut its mouth.
The second voice continued, its soothing tone relaxing her.
See? He's gone. He's not like some dolt of a parent. he can be shut up. Now, you're free. Utterly free.
The girl nodded, almost trancelike. the second voice was so absorbing. It dominated her entire focus.The spiritual slime around her entered as the Other Voice took full control: she no longer had any control over her body. She had surrendered to him. She found herself turning around, walking back towards her home, grasping a knife in her hand. A demonic grin spread across her face.
By the next morning, family had changed, just like home. It was a thing she had none of. A thing she had caused the death of.
But the second voice had left her; left her broken and empty.
She was no longer a person.
She no longer was a part of this world. She was a ghost, a demon, and she almost smiled at that - if she had the power to smile that is.
People walked by, enjoying the lovely morning. The girl glared at them, her eyes full of bitter hatred.
They were alive, she was nothing more than a ghost.
A living ghost?
This time she did smile. The knife she had used to butcher her family was still on her, and she drew it out.
This was one problem she could change at least.
Blackness filled her, filled her mind, filled her spirit.
And all was left was a pale corpse, a knife buried in its chest.
There truly was nothing left to live.
Edited by Zarayna, Nov 18 2012 - 07:19 PM.