Harrington's Journal

Chapter 21: June 6th - Sanity

June 6th

I could feel the spreading corruption burn against my skin. As much as I tried to endure it, the pain cannot be ignored. Marok ran out of the ointment as well as the medicine. I even pleaded for him to get more. He had no choice but to get it as he knew that I will die without it. It has been two days since I haven't taken the medicine. Without it, the pain came and my head throbbed. It was too much.

I asked him. "Am I turning? Am I going to become like them?"

Marok shook his head. He told me that I turn when I am bitten and drink the blood of another werewolf. That only works for humans however. Marok was born a lycan, a kind that is pure-blooded and powerful unlike a human-turned werewolf. If I were to turn however, a ceremony needs to be held. I cannot have my own ceremony if I am stuck in these chains. Besides, I do not think that Marok will release me because of what happened to me. It was something I had that I was not aware of. He said that I was screaming presumably from a nightmare. I was screaming for him to go away and it was then that I lashed out at him.

I do not remember what I said when I attacked him. It felt as if he was telling me a lie. Yet, his eyes were not pretending. There was something else that he was about to say. Yet he did not want to tell me. He was trying to keep something away from me.

"Why are you still keeping me alive?" I questioned in a broken voice. "Just kill me."

He shook his head in denial. "I know that you are so desperate to go back," he said with a wide smile. "You be grateful that I didn't kill you. Yet you want to die as well as cling to your fragile life." He knelt down, his face close to mine. "Why did you come back? What is it that you want Harrington? There is a reason for you to crawl back. Otherwise, you would have never come here at all."

I gritted my teeth. My head pounded and my stomach ached. Everything was fading, and I shook my head, refusing to answer. He sighed and then left to search for the ingredients. Yet I saw that look in his eyes. He found it amusing. The moment when I begged for him to fetch the medicines, I'm sure he enjoyed it. It is when we pretend to be strong and yet when we are at the most vulnerable like a vampire exposed to sunlight, we become so desperate, so weak.

Why am I so desperate to live? I can kill myself right here and right now. The nightmares I am having are growing stronger, I do not know if I could sleep anymore. Whenever I close my eyes, terrible, black, long hands would reach out for me as I sat under the crevice of a tree. Then Marok appears, his eyes glow a red and saliva dripped off the edges of his teeth. I was frightened to see him.

Even today, I am that same child, a frightened little boy who does not know what to do. I see these horrors of this world unravelling before me, and these images had stuck with me ever since. I tried to forget. I was pretending to live normally, thought that it would never come back, and everything was made out of pure imagination. When I had that dream, something clicked within me. It was never a dream. It was never really an imagination. I had to prove something and wash away my insecurities. I was self-conscious. I knew what they will say to me if I told them.

"Such pitiful lies. They don't exist. You must be insane!" 

Am I? Am I insane? Is it making me insane? Well, I am. I am going crazy. The nightmares I had never went away, they never did. I feared him; I feared these damned beasts ever since I met him. Throughout my whole life, I feared them, and here I venture into this forest, hoping that my fears would simply wash away. No, it made it worse. I can no longer pretend as if I know things and I can no longer think that they do not exist. They are there real. It is true, and I am crazy to think of it so.

I am cowering behind this journal, but now I am expressing the truth like spilled ink. This is my only way of retaining my sanity, holding onto this journal as if my life depends on it. If there is someone out there reading this, I want you to know of this world. If they know of this world, many things will change. In this place, I have felt fear, hate, despair, love, and betrayal. These emotions are all being mixed around inside of me. 

I am losing myself. My mind is venturing off into places where it should not be. It is as if I am cursed to see the dead or rather death is stalking me. I could feel the reaper's cold blade on my neck. The voices would come in every now and then too. I would see a shadowy figure lurking in every corner of the room, which was not there before. I just want to get out of here away from these monsters, these ghosts.

Please get me out. Marok is killing me. Slowly killing me. In the end, I cannot kill myself. The reason why I came back was because of you, Marok. 

Harrington. H