I thought they could only destroy the warmth: pull darkness over town squares. I had no idea they could be parasitic,
take up lodging in a previously private soul, and commandeer a body’s thoughts and movements.
I should never have gone on that diplomacy mission; they are incapable of diplomacy. Their government consists of the strong and the weak:
the conquerors and the conquered. I was the conquered, now I am the conqueror.
And my people will suffer for it.
My vision is tinted with blood. I shield my eyes from sunlight; that king, that first shadowy conqueror, doesn’t like the light.
Yiyal asked me what was wrong. Why I am molding our peaceful people into an army.
Why I am hiding my cerulean irises.
I had her imprisoned.
She escaped. So I hunted her, caught and imprisoned her again.
Only at night, when all has gone quiet long before, am I able to reflect.
Always, I am carried back to the dark lands,
healing my own chest,
unaware of the infection I had sealed in.
I hear my heart beat those dark particles further through my capillaries, further into my muscles.
I feel it creeping up the side of my throat, seizing the side of my face.
Then the sun rises, a new day on the near horizon.
“Please,” I say, “destroy me, but leave my people alone.”
I know it hears me, but my plea goes unheeded.
And I stand from my bed, wash my face, change my clothes, don my royal coat,
and put on my tinted glasses.
A/N: This is probably the first story I ever wrote about possession. Now I have an entire novel on the topic. I don’t know what that says about me.
Anyway, this is an old little story. I turned it into a longer piece of fiction. Maybe it will make its way onto this blog someday.
Interested in demons and bad decisions? You might like this.