Some days she was a monster. Some she was a marvel. She could never chose between the two. Perhaps one day she would wake up, with the sun making rainbows on her face, and know which one to be. Perhaps one day, when she made that choice, it would stick.666Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHazOo2LG5P
The monster spoke to her at night. She would lie awake, a small child held in place with fear. The voice would come from nowhere; it had no body, no corporeal form. But yet it was there, in the darkest recesses of her mind. Whispering. Always whispering. It’s voice was soft and seductive and it would make her bend to its every will.666Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZRZYggY3Dx
It started small. First it would tell her to turn the light back on again when her parents had turned it off. It would command her with a voice as cold and as black as the waters of the river Styx to push over her mother’s favourite vase. She would try and resist with all of her might but always she would submit. Her small, baby-like hands would reach out before her and push the porcelain off it’s table. It would land on the hard wood floors and shatter into a thousand tiny pieces and she would begin to cry. She would cry because she did not want to do it. She would cry because the voice had scared her. But she would cry because secretly, she enjoyed the thrill of listening to it.
But then some days, she was strong. Some days, when she could feel the light on her face and the wind in her hair, she would stamp her foot and say no. The voice was always weakest during the summer. She remembered one summer distinctly. It was August and she was in her garden. She had a rubber ball, and she was bouncing it off the low wall that separated the grass from the wooden patio. The ball bounced harder than she had intended and it hit the wall and reverberated off of it with much more force than expected. It rolled past her and to the bottom of the garden, near the old oak tree. She ran to retrieve it, and beheld as she did a small creature lying in the grass. It was a tiny bird, only a baby. It had fallen out of the branches of the tree and broken its wing. The girl wanted to help it, but the voice inside her head did not.666Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqpOUhnsEdC
The voice crawled from its dark cave in the back of her mind and urged her to kill the bird. But the girl did not want to. The girl began to cry and as she did, the sunlight shone upon the bird and the girl found strength within the beauty of nature.666Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGVANnbsim9
She battled internally with the voice, this monster that plagued her waking moments and haunted her dreams. The voice retreated, stalking back to the deepest pits of her mind.666Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡneYODA7xpa
Most days she was strong. Most days she was a marvel. But some days the voice was too convincing. Some days the voice would tell her to push the boy on the bike from down the street over. Some days she would do so. Some days the voice would tell her to scratch her father’s car with the keys, a big scratch spanning from the headlights to the back tyre. The voice would tell her to refuse to go to church, because, the voice said, it was lies and she didn’t need to be told lies. But the girl always go, because church was the only place where the voice could not reach her. The silence in her mind was blissful. She longed for Sundays, when she wouldn’t mind getting up early, and when she could wear her white shoes that her mother reserved for Sundays.
The final day the girl resisted she was still a child. The strength of the child astounded the voice and as it packed its things and left its residence in her mind, it did not mind, for she was clearly too strong to be on his side. And on the great chess board of the world, the Devil made his final move and our God, whichever one that may be, knocked over the Devil’s pieces and declared himself the winner. But there will always be another game. There will always be another monster, and there will always be another voice, hiding deep inside and begging for the moment when someone else doesn’t decide to be a marvel. It will always be waiting. Waiting for one someone to finally join him as a monster.
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