Scribbler
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- Dec 23, 2018
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Yo, I really want people to tell me what they think. It's only 2 pages (600 words)! I think I'm really feeling this one.
Michael Anderson was an average man who lived an average life. He would spend his days going to work, coming home, watching tv or gaming, and then sleeping, and repeat. He neither loved or hated his life, he simply accepted it as the natural way of things, how his life should be.
How else would I live?
He had tried hobbies like painting or miniature assembly, but painting was so messy and he seemed to always lose integral pieces for the miniatures. It was always so inconvenient, and even if he were to complete a piece, so what. Watching tv and gaming was easy, and it was fun.
What more could there be in life?
He had tried dating in his younger years, but it never worked out. It was always, “There’s another guy.” “It’s not you, it’s me.” “I just think we need a break.”
Michael was tired of it. Not of heartache or heartbreak - that would have required him to be attached, and that never happened - but the work. He already had a job, he didn’t need a second one. Instead of working to understand something incomprehensible -
I could relax, enjoy myself.
Michael would tell himself he enjoyed his life, but that wasn’t true. The truth was that his life felt like a slow death, like someone was strangling the breath out of his body, and he had not the strength to change it. The world was grey and empty, and he was alone.
And one day, exactly like any other, he went to sleep.
Malevolence, mana born from those who have died in agony and the purest of hatreds, collected and formed itself into the shape of a hulking figure, a minotaur with the bottom half of a horse, a lesser wrath demon, an armantaur.
He jolted his head up and opened his eyes to see darkness, nothingness.
No, not quite, he blinked and his eyes adjusted. Everything was gray in shade and he could only see 30 or so feet (nine meters) in front of him, the rest becoming total darkness at a further range. He was in a seemingly endless cavern with no light source in sight.
The newborn demon got a sense of his barings, breathing in and out - first through his mouth - then his nose, rolling his shoulders, standing on his four legs at first gingerly then with greater confidence, and finally, tilting his head downward with his arms outstretched, he looked at his hands.
This isn’t right, he thought, yet exactly why, he did not know.
And then it happened, a torrent of emotions and memories, nothing concrete, but all too real assailed him. Someone tortured and left to die a slow death, cursing the existence of all. Tricked by her lover so he could gain a higher position. A village pillaged and left burning. No survivors.
The angry mournful wails of those long dead, forming into one consciousness: him. It was too much, the pain of their sorrow, of their animosity, and their one wish, their hatred, their one need for wrathful vengeance; it was all he could feel.
The demon began screaming as the foreign memories and turmoil assailed his mind. He fell over and writhed on the ground in agony for minutes. There was no end, only suffering. That was all he lived for.
I am a demon.
Once he came to that conclusion, the voices and the images stopped. He brought himself back up on his four legs, and his mind was lost, all that was left was wrath, a need to destroy.
The mindless thing, the dead thing - it wandered forward. Not fearful or curious of anything, only anticipating what would come in his way, what he could destroy and be unmade.
How else would I live?
He had tried hobbies like painting or miniature assembly, but painting was so messy and he seemed to always lose integral pieces for the miniatures. It was always so inconvenient, and even if he were to complete a piece, so what. Watching tv and gaming was easy, and it was fun.
What more could there be in life?
He had tried dating in his younger years, but it never worked out. It was always, “There’s another guy.” “It’s not you, it’s me.” “I just think we need a break.”
Michael was tired of it. Not of heartache or heartbreak - that would have required him to be attached, and that never happened - but the work. He already had a job, he didn’t need a second one. Instead of working to understand something incomprehensible -
I could relax, enjoy myself.
Michael would tell himself he enjoyed his life, but that wasn’t true. The truth was that his life felt like a slow death, like someone was strangling the breath out of his body, and he had not the strength to change it. The world was grey and empty, and he was alone.
And one day, exactly like any other, he went to sleep.
— — — — —
He felt empty, so very empty, and then, suddenly, he awoke.Malevolence, mana born from those who have died in agony and the purest of hatreds, collected and formed itself into the shape of a hulking figure, a minotaur with the bottom half of a horse, a lesser wrath demon, an armantaur.
He jolted his head up and opened his eyes to see darkness, nothingness.
No, not quite, he blinked and his eyes adjusted. Everything was gray in shade and he could only see 30 or so feet (nine meters) in front of him, the rest becoming total darkness at a further range. He was in a seemingly endless cavern with no light source in sight.
The newborn demon got a sense of his barings, breathing in and out - first through his mouth - then his nose, rolling his shoulders, standing on his four legs at first gingerly then with greater confidence, and finally, tilting his head downward with his arms outstretched, he looked at his hands.
This isn’t right, he thought, yet exactly why, he did not know.
And then it happened, a torrent of emotions and memories, nothing concrete, but all too real assailed him. Someone tortured and left to die a slow death, cursing the existence of all. Tricked by her lover so he could gain a higher position. A village pillaged and left burning. No survivors.
The angry mournful wails of those long dead, forming into one consciousness: him. It was too much, the pain of their sorrow, of their animosity, and their one wish, their hatred, their one need for wrathful vengeance; it was all he could feel.
The demon began screaming as the foreign memories and turmoil assailed his mind. He fell over and writhed on the ground in agony for minutes. There was no end, only suffering. That was all he lived for.
I am a demon.
Once he came to that conclusion, the voices and the images stopped. He brought himself back up on his four legs, and his mind was lost, all that was left was wrath, a need to destroy.
The mindless thing, the dead thing - it wandered forward. Not fearful or curious of anything, only anticipating what would come in his way, what he could destroy and be unmade.
