Chapter 1
The Devil Inside Me
I stare up at the incoming storm clouds. Grey, thick and sparking with energy. The wind swirling around me, tossing leaves and dirt up at my legs. The air is so much harder to breathe when it’s gusting into your lungs, yet that doesn’t deter me. Nothing can.
Walking a slow pace, leaving a trail of my own blood as I trudge on. My head pounding hard, as if a freight train has crushed it, and for all I remember, it could have. The pain all over is so immense I wouldn’t doubt anything… Because for the little I do know, I know something bad happened.
I just can’t seem to remember what for the life of me.
The first drops of rain begin to fall down onto my head, gathering in my hair before running down my forehead. Wind picking up to a howl around me. Just my luck.
It’s cold too and with the sun getting lower, it’ll only be getting colder soon.
One of my arms hangs limp and unmovable at my side. The other wipes at the rain on my face, smearing caked blood and dirt on my face. All of it my own gore. The rain rinsing some down into my eyes blurring my vision so I have to run them or blink it away to see.
When did it get this bad? It’s never been quiet like this before.
There’s what seems to be a forest up ahead. Something to take shelter from the elements in. Better than the fields I have been making my way through for the last hour at least. Though they are a ways out still, but I can finally see something other than waist high grass around me.
What did we do this time?... Well, what did He do that I don’t remember?
For as long as I have known, there have been two different people in my body. One a kind and gentle soul, the other a devil of my life’s making. He doesn’t care if I… We… Get hurt or anyone else… But this time I am sure He just may have achieved the goal of hurting as many people as He could by the looks of my own condition.
Or maybe, for the safety of everyone else at least, I hope it was just us.
… …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …. …
You see, my childhood was… Unkind. My mother a mere zombie by the end due to drugs and my father’s abuse. My father? To anyone other than my mother and I? A saint that cared for my drug addicted mother. But to us he was the devil incarnate.
My mother was such a loving, free-spirited artistic being when I was small. Painting murals all over the walls of the house, writing like story books about me and drawing the pictures, playing guitar or piano making up her own songs. Always creating something for my father or I… But then he broke her.
She lost her spirit, her muse and eventually her life when he began to change into something dark and all consuming.
Father was cruel just to be cruel. Or maybe for his personal amusement. He belittled, berated and constantly told her she was useless and so we’re her talents. He’d hit, kick, and break her art supplies or instruments and tear up her hard work all while laughing like it was the funniest joke he’d ever heard.
I remember not only because I was there but because he’d do the same to me and more…
A lot of artists resort to drugs at some point. There’s only so many ways to cope with having so much inside you that needs to come out. Mother was not exception.
Once her spirit and muse were gone, she took to popping pills and downing Benadryl to cope. It got so bad that she’d have to drink bottles of Benadryl and handful of pills to sleep at all… Then that stopped working too.
One day I came home from school and found her on the bedroom floor cold, lips purple. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t mean to go, but there is only so much one body and mind can handle.
It took father hours to get home from work… Especially since he stopped at the bar, I can assume. It have to have been 2 in the morning before he got home.
At age ten, I held my mother’s body, cradling her head in my tiny arms as I rocked and hummed our favorite song over and over. Just like she had when I was little and would fall asleep in her lap, knowing this is the only thing I could do for her. The last kindness I could give to a woman whom deserved a world of it… Till my father dearest came home and lost it.
After she died my soul went with her. At least a part of it did, though sometimes I wish I’d filled her into death. I was left with a hole… And something else… Someone haunting the walls of my body with me still in it. Caged in by my bones and rattling to get out. Just as mad to be alive as I was.
The years after her passing were so much worse that I have huge holes in my memory. My brain trying to save me from trauma… But also the times He got out of the cage long enough to pilot my life.
Holes that could only be filled with the times that my own devil took the wheel. When he’s driving, I don’t remember anything. Hell, I didn’t even know he was in me till many years of waking up in horrible situations and handfuls of people knew me by a completely different name than my own.
Not a devil on my shoulder. No, far worse. A devil with the ability to take over my mind.
If I told you I’ve tried to pull pieces of my own grey matter out to rid myself of him, would you believe me? Of course you wouldn’t… Maybe that’s for the best.
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Hello everyone! Thank you for reading! This is the first chapter of another novel I have going! I hope you enjoyed it and to see you back! I have 1 other chapter of a different novel I am working on currently here as well if you'd like to read more of my work.
Thank you for reading! I hope you have a great day and the Happiest of Halloweens!
- D.E.R. 💕🦝
Word count of story: 1026
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Red Rover, Red Rover
General FictionThere's two people in his body. Him and his devil. When he meets a girl that he is infatuated with he knows his devil will do anything to ruin her. Can he stop it or will his counterpart win?
