Dark side

3

The voice needs to leave my broken body behind.

But my mind and soul are in little fragments now. Barely any left to use anymore. My soul eaten up by what I had to do to survive the voices constant echoing.

I am vaguely aware that I am kneeling on the ground, with the now useless, blood-drenched spork clutched in my grimy hands.

I try to muster enough power within me to cast out this disease from my head, from my very being that it's molded itself to. But the voice persists.

"I am your friend" echoing in my brain over and over. I begin to calm down. This is my friend. Why am I being so mean to my friend? He's just trying to help.

I close my eyes.

I stand up.

I tighten my crimson hands over the wilted spork and take a deep breath.

I open my eyes.