Wednesday, 19 November 2014

Not even the Monsters

  I risk sounding a bit like a psychopath by writing this. But sure, why not.
  When I was younger I was scared of monsters. That is not unusual. A lot of kids are scared of monsters. The monsters I was scared of live up stairs. And on the stairs. Or in the stairs. They could come out of the wall, the head of a lion with the skull of a goat and rotting flesh. They would come through the walls and grab me.
  All this, does not sound too out of the ordinary.

 Next part of the story.

 So years pass, and occasionally when I am home alone it is as though I can hear the ghosts of these monsters laughing at me, because I never really got over them. They sit around in their hellish circles and stare at me through the walls, because I give them the power to do so.

  I remember one time coming home after the worst day. One of the many worst days. I can't even remember what had happened now.
  I came home to an empty house, and I remember feeling so fed up, so angry and so scared all at once. I was sick of their hellish laughter. I decided it was time that I face my demons. I was a grown-up for goodness sake. And so I made the adult decision. I stood at the end of the staircase and shouted:
  'Take me!' at the staircase.
  'Come on, I want out. Take me! I'll go.'

  Naturally nothing came.
  Not even the monsters came through for me in the end.

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