Short Stories

Evan's Demon

Cold metal digs into warm, pale flesh. The metal breaks the barrier of skin, reaching it's target. The warm and comforting liquid seeps from the deep wound, bringing a smile to the blade bearer's lips. The blade decides to remove itself from the trench it's carved in the innocent skin. The blade is cleaned by it's owner, who bids it adieu, and is replaced back in it's home.

No one notices. No one really ever notices, but Evan thought that maybe someone would notice the large cut on his arm, but it's never once questioned. It's all but a scar now, a fading memory of a moment of weakness.

But these moments turn into days, turn into weeks, and soon Evan is falling into the depths of his own mind, barely holding on to what little grip he has left of reality. His sanity is questionable, to say the least, eyes stained with lack of sleep, hands always shaking. Hunger and pain have become his new best friends.

It constantly talks to Evan, pointing out his flaws, picking him apart piece by piece, until there will be nothing left of him. It's always there, and seems to only be getting louder with time.

Evan is taken to A&E by his sister after collapsing onto the kitchen floor. He remembers his head hurting, and cold white tile, But every day has been a blur, fading in and out, muffled and also too loud and everything is too much but not enough.

When Evan returns home, the world becomes increasingly more overwhelming than before he left. He begins with trodding down the stairs, body heavy from lack of sleep. The 'magic bottle', as his mind refers to it, is removed from it's cabinet, and hidden underneath Evan's shirt. The tub is filled, dread intensifying as the water grows higher. The contents of the 'magic bottle' are downed, all at once, and as his mind slips away, his body slips into it's watery coffin.

The much needed sleep will last him an eternity.