They call me Lucifer.

That face; the face of a murderer, a fiend...of Satan himself. It was twisted with corruption, flames of evil burning in the soulless eyes that stared back at me. The wretched beast that brought pain and despair to the world, the tempter of the pure and the punisher of the wicked, the beast that rebelled against God. The one that was loved the most, the one that questioned, and the one that was cast into the eternal fires of the Godless hell.

That face lived inside the shard of mirror that rests upon the leaf-covered earth, protected from the harsh rain by gentle trees. The wise branches allowed the looking-glass sanctuary from the elements.

That face was mine.

I stood over, staring back, first in bewilderment, then rage. I shook my weathered skull, inhuman fangs showing, as the anger built up inside me. My left foot, covered in scales of deep rouge, crashed down upon the mirror, sending it to oblivion as I had many souls over the eternity I have been cast out, no love to shelter me from my own guilt.

The mirror smashed.

So did the illusion.

The smaller pieces reflected back my true face.

That face; the face of an outcast, an orphan...of Derren. It was broken by life, the emotion of fear whimpering helplessly in the blood-shot eyes that stared back at me. The bipolar freak that brought pain and despair into the world, the tempter of the innocent and the punisher of those who fell in love with him, the beast that rebelled against the medication. The one who was cared for the most, the one that questioned, and the one that was cast out into the everlasting plain of untouched nature.

I quickly looked away from the mirror, the reminder of my past, and I limped away, my bare foot stapled with glass buried slightly into the flesh, allowing blood to slowly ease out of the wounds.

I knew that these episodes were my condition trying to take control again, trying to turn me into the being that man feared most. It succeeded the first time 2 years ago. I lost my parents that night in an unholy ritual to the darkening shadow. I burnt the house, turning it into a gateway to Hades. And I roared, one that tested the vocal cords of a human to the limit. After the demonised scream finished, everyone knew.

All I have left of my parents are the cuts and bruises they gave me.

Religious fanatics were held off by polices, exorcisms were issued from the crowd as I was hurled on to the ambulance, laughing as the souls of my mother and father descended downwards, spiralling towards the abyss. The gaze of my sweetheart was the only thing that brought me back from the possession.

They called me Lucifer.

I was given psychiatric exams, sent around the world to clinics. And I sat paralysed by drugs and horror of my actions. I was a monster in everyone’s eyes; expect those of the person I loved most.

After being labelled ‘insane’ by the Judge through disguised words, I was shipped off to the asylum. I was treated with ‘extra’ care. Medicine replaced my blood, and needles became new limbs. I was force-fed like an experiment.

No, I was a symbol. A warning to the world that the mind can never be defeated, that it could never be understood.

Then the cameras fell upon me.

I was a sacrifice to the media, an item in a debate between the unstoppable force of science against the immovable object of religion. I was bipolar to one, possessed to the other. But none cared about me, only the symbol of me.

Only she cared. The one I loved.

When the claws of the media unhooked their claws from my flesh, my health improved. And she stood beside me.