Our Demons

Ezra's Backstory

"When will they leave?" Ezra whispered, curled up in a tight ball in the darkest corner of the empty, empty room.

"Light a candle for me," he'd used to whisper in a thin voice to someone, anyone, barely breathing, "if you're out there, please, please, please," his voice would break down into sobs, "please tell me you can feel this fire."

He had a secret side of himself, when he wasn't laughing with Alexei, or collecting seashells. That dark, dark,

d a r k

side.

In this merciless world of his, there were two different kinds of demons, the ones with almost human like looks- with huge night-coloured wings, crimson eyes and gleaming fangs. The ones who actually cared about peace, about finding the goodness within. Those were the ones that weren't filled with as much darkness, but some how, those were the more dangerous ones. The ones that possessed twice more power, they could still easily kill you without a single moment of hesitation or thought, without feeling any remorse afterwards. But then there were the other ones, the truly cruel ones, who were less magically and pyhsically powerful, but all the more dark and twisted. The ones that lived inside your mind, feeding on your darkest thoughts and fears, the ones that set a plague upon your shattered heart. The ones that whispered cruel, cruel things into your ears, laughed when you did something wrong, they laughed that bone chilling laugh that sent spiders scuttling up the nape of your neck.

They crept up on him, quiet and still, sitting by his side in the dark, stroking his hair as he slept, making him feel as if he weren't forlorn, the dim flickering image of his mother beside him.

Illusions and lies.

Stupid illusions and lies.

The demons, so cold and eerie, they wrapped themselves around his bones, squeezing so tight he couldn't

b r e a t h e . . .

Please, he'd beg the demons every time, leave me alone, leave me be,

l

e

a

v

e

But the demons never would.

He had millions of screams caught in his throat, but what was the point of screaming when no one would ever hear him, when no one would ever save him . . .

Scream, the demons would chant in his mind, scream until there's nothing left, until you're a rotting corpse of screams that echoed off into the distance, rebounding of the walls.

Scream until you're so hollow, so empty, you fall and fail every time.

They loved it when he screamed, it was music to them.

s c r e a m . . .

They left lies in his broken heart, leeching the light out of his world. Constant companions, evil companions.

So cold, so . . . cruel.

The demons in his mind were at work, whispering his greatest fears into his ears, sitting on his shoulder, by his side,

Weak, they'd hiss, coward, fool.

Stop.

Stop.

Why

won't

this

s

t

o

p

He never wanted to feel like that again, waking up, to be covered in the blood of your family's bodies, to be at the side of your mother's corpse, screaming, crying, asking the world why, why, why you had to be at the hands of its misfortune, what you did so wrong to be punished so badly.

No one left . . . no one, to tell him he wasn't dead.

"Demons," he hissed, they'd raided his home in the middle of the night, slaughtered his family, and even more terrible, they'd left him alive to punish him.

He'd never forget the faces of such monsters, but he remembered one in particular. The demon in the dark cloak, hiding behind one of the bigger ones, she'd had startling scarlet eyes, long raven hair. How strange it was to see that she didn't look fully demon though, or as if there was something different about her, something different to all the other demons. The demon girl that'd called herself

Eve.