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Posted on 12th November 2020

It will come again. I am sure.


It asks permission to, I refuse, it persists. My mind cries out for help, but the words won't come out. I am trapped. Trapped within this vesture of insecurity trying to break out but it keeps me entranced, waiting for the next opportunity to grasp hold of my conscience once more. I now know what the truth beholds. I think. It's still a vague image tantalizing me at the back of my neck and up into my head causing to me to believe, feel, see- sight, yes that's it, the sight of it is what makes me feel the presence of it. If it is an 'it'; the crooked, slim character I see through the edges of my eye every time I look forward. Directly, dead, straight forward. My hands start uncontrollably shaking as it approaches me, gliding effortlessly from one side to the other. It tilts its bleeding, grinning smile tempting me to stare, to be entranced in its behaviour and looks. It's behind me now, peering over my shoulder, studying my every move. Slowly staring into my mind, from my side it whispers my name, elegantly, softly, begging for the unknown forgiveness it possesses.


I ignore.

It retreats. 

That is the deal we exchanged. I've come to realise it is part of me, the being which is there when I need a friend. It understands me. But more importantly it understands my needs and the patterns of my mind. It's the version of Utopia my mind desires and thrives for but cannot reach. Others whom I've told about it turn away in disgust calling it possession, an attempt of evil redemption by an unwanted spirit controlled by demons. I don't see that. It forces me not to see that- I can't. However revolting, however chilling the concept may be to others, currently it is the force pulling me together, keeping me human and stopping me from not conforming to the laid down rules of society. It is the figure guiding, keeping me whole.


Sometimes, just sometimes, when I'm all alone, mindless in peace and stillness, I dream of a day. A day where no dark thoughts overwhelm me, control me. Where my mind is pure and free from all evil. I dream of a heavenly purity which could envelop me in its loving embrace, but I am faced with torments of the dystopia of my mind. It draws me in once more from that heavenly idea I desire. Then repeats, like an unchanging loop I am trapped within, no way to break out. Following round and around, spinning around my brain it goes, through the corners and edges of my mind. I dread to think what might happen if I let it. 



Resistance. That's the key to surviving the torment. 

Trust. Whether broken or present, trust is the link to letting it draw you in further. That's how the resistance becomes possible.


Appearing in my mind it is here now, controlling my thoughts. Believing they are my own I carry on mindlessly. I let it take me, have me, it is forcing its way through into my conscience. It has now gone too far, too deep into my mind for me to pull back. Once more it begs me to give in, once more unwillingly. I let it take me to the place I now long to engulf myself within.


The curtains move independently to the breeze of stillness as it shifts in my dreams. I sit there, watching myself shake, muttering amongst my tranced dreamlike thoughts. The shaking intensifies as it approaches me further. Its long, thin fingers reaching out to grab me, encircle me. Dark, grey mists throng the room. Opening my eyes cautiously, it emerges beyond the mist with an air of euphoria, encompassing the pure atmosphere I had tried to maintain. I reach out to it to try and make out the outlines and features of its face more clearly. As I do so, it recoils in distress trying to hide its identity. I call out to it. Gradually, turning back I see it. Its face glowing within the grey mists enveloping it, contorting into positions which would tear muscles and rip joints. As its mouth stretches open a pool of rich deep blood starts pouring from the cavity. Eyes rolling backwards, the white sclera switches to a glistening black. Underneath the facial skin I see the large veins start to emerge from below the surface, carrying endless amounts of black, diseased blood which begins to escape through the crevices in the eye sockets. I'm entranced, captured within the holy vision before me. No screaming, no terror. Pure silence. Frozen within my skin, I stare into its bleeding spaces of dark hope, content with the knowledge it has transferred to me; I am safe.


It will come again. I am sure.


Joni Foster, studying A Level English Literature, Music, and Philosophy and Ethics