Exorcizing Demons I

Expletive. Expletive. Expletive.

I cock my hand back, think the worst thought, and swing. My fist lands hard against the plaster. Barely a dent, despite the deafening echo that reverberates through the empty Hall. What’s the point of working out every day if one can’t punch through a wall?

Then suddenly the double doors at the front of the Hall burst open, and I see a silhouette standing at the entrance. I ask: Who goes there? (Note: Even as the adrenaline rushes through my body I can’t help but smile, because how often does one get to say “Who goes there?” Honestly, it’s one of the most antiquated sayings of our time)

But my smile fades as the silhouette gives way to the outgoing light from the Hall. The light lands on something that looks like more of a beast than a man. I see all of It’s features at once. Hair dark and long. Eyes narrow and red. Teeth yellow, crooked and sharp.

I stare into It’s piercing eyes and find myself gazing into all the fear, anger, and loathing I had ever felt in my entire life. The eyes give off an invisible radiation that permeates my entire body. I suddenly remember the first time I became embarrassed. The first time I became jealous. The first time I become angry.

Almost reflexively, my mind strikes a current to deflect these memories. Synapses flare, gears move, and my hands begin to clench. But before I can even form a fist, It is somehow right in front of me, inches from my face.

Why am I here?

It speaks in my voice, only distorted, and It’s question is more of a statement.

Almost reflexively, my arms leave my side. Muscles contract and then expand. But my strike is effortlessly deflected away before reaching its destination. Right about now I realize I’m in trouble.

It responds in kind, and It’s target is true. I fly across the stage and crash into the wall I had unsuccessfully assaulted a moment ago. This time I leave a much bigger impression. The blood dripping from my mouth warms my chin. I begin to get up but It is already towering over me. A rough hand grabs my collar and I feel my feet leave the ground.

Why am I here?

This time I say: Because you can be here. I think I see It grin.

Clever, but you still leave the question begging. Why am I here?

It throws me against the opposite wall. My eyes take longer to refocus this time. I look into that menacing face. Expecting clemency, I say: Because my heart is broken.

Wrong! That is the coward’s answer.

I feel It’s leg land hard across my chest. Ribs crack.

There was a time when I could not even get past those doors. So why am I here now?

Resignation begins to set in. Almost reflexively, I say: Because I am no longer the man I wish to be. But… but that’s the price we pay. That’s the chance we take anytime we allow ourselves to become vulnerable.

Unmoved, It grabs my neck and picks me up again.

Was it worth it?

It’s the one question I don’t want to answer. All I can think at that moment is that personification is a bitch. And then I am slightly comforted that at least I will go out on a joke. I close my eyes, and wait for the final blow.

Nothing. I find myself face first on the stage. It is gone. The doors are closed. I get up on my feet and wipe the drying blood from my face.

Alright, let’s call that round a draw.