Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28754051-20160615072326/@comment-28754051-20160615143558

I really appreciate the critism and quick replies! I need to run off to work in 10 minutes so I can't really discuss much about it right now, but I'll post the second half.

6/27/14

Everything has been fine for the past week. I've been spending a lot of time with Laura, and while I'm with her, nothing speaks to me. I feel completely normal with her, and everything is fantastic. We went bowling together and by all metrics we seem like the perfect couple. We laugh, we joke, we smile, we kiss, and everything is perfect. My insomnia has been mild, but completely manageable and I've been spending more nights with her. It takes me a little bit to fall asleep some nights, but I still trail off within 10 minutes of Laura. Thankfully, the shadow has not returned in all this time either. I hope and even pray that I never see it again, and I'm utterly terrified of the entity but a part of me thinks that it will come again some night. It's the same part of me that misses the siren song. I'm worried that that particular part of me is the honest one.

7/3/14

Laura is out of town for the next week, she's staying with family for the 4th somewhere in the middle part of the country. I try to talk to her whenever I can, but my mind is starting to go south. I'm having a much harder time sleeping again and I've been trying heavier and heavier remedies. Whenever I'm about to fall asleep I'm reminded of that apparition that visited me weeks ago and I bolt awake. Last night, I ended up drinking until I felt nothing at all and then stared at the corner hoping that my shadow demon would not return. Eventually my consciousness slipped away. My vigil will likely be identical tonight, unfortunately.

7/4/14

He came to me last night, clearer than before. He seemed shorter this time and more human-like, but no less terrifying. He spoke to me again, expressing disappointment in me, “why do you consistently refuse to live up to your potential?”

“I don't know,” I stammered back, “I'm sorry!”

“Show me then. Show me how sorry you are. How can you possibly deserve everything you posses? You need to make this right.”

I was in bed, I looked down and the same knife from earlier was now on the ground. I looked back towards the shadow, he had not moved at all. His invisible stare bored in to my soul and I had to avert my eyes downward before my heart froze within my chest. The knife was now in my hand.

“Show me that you are sorry and you will feel better.” It was not a voice, it was a thought within my own head. I raised the blade to my wrist before slowly elevating my eyes towards the apparition once more. He seems to encourage me, pleased at last by my action. “You will feel better,” I heard in my head. My right hand slipped and I felt a cold drag on the skin of my left arm before a warm moisture. It hurt, but not for long. As my blood flowed, I finally heard the choir clearly. The music I had been chasing for months, as clear as water, as crystal, as life. There is no describing it, or the way it made me feel. My eyes slowly closed and my troubles left me. The demon was gone, insomnia was gone, financial troubles were gone, familial pressure gone, my future gone. I worried about nothing.

I'm...still here obviously. I woke up in my bed, sheets now stained with blood that came from my wrist. The gash was deep and the edges of skin looked like a rubber mask that didn't mesh quite right at your neck. The interior of the crevice glistened with fluid and a dark, ugly scab was just starting to form. I don't know why I did what I just did, but I know one thing: I can tell nobody. Nobody would look at me the same way knowing that I had almost died because a shadow told me I wasn't good enough. Laura can't know, there's no way she'd stay with me. A perfect girl like that would leap from her broken man and find one more in her league in an instant. I'll be okay, Laura is coming back soon and everything will go back to normal. I'll remember this pain though, my arm hurts beyond all belief. I'll remember this if that demon ever comes back and use it to halt his advances. I'll use this like an alcoholic might use the worst hangover of his life to stop the booze. It'll work, I can be strong, I know I am. I'm going to text Laura now and see how she is, it's probably around lunch time where she is.

7/7/14

Laura came back. We went out to dinner after I picked her up from the airport. She asked me why I was wearing long sleeves in July. I responded with something about light and airy clothes being used in deserts to reflect the glare of the sun and keep cool.

“Oh, so you’re going for some chic sheikh look huh?”

I smiled back, “yeah, something like that.” She told me all about her trip: talking to her mom and aunt and uncle that she hadn’t seen in years. The huge thunderstorms one afternoon that are apparently commonplace out that’a way but are a complete anomaly here. The feud she still has with her sister, Julie. That woman is so damn entitled. She married some guy in the navy and just stays at home all day without a job and complains that she doesn’t have enough money for things. If she’s not bitching about that, then it’s about how she doesn’t get out enough. Both problems, incidentally, would be solved by her getting a damn job.

When we first sat down, I was pretty tense, but as we talked I just felt my anxiety melt away. At first, I had a hard time looking her in the eyes and only gave quick responses and maybe a well-timed “uh huh” as she described her adventurers in middle-America, but Laura’s charming disposition made me more and more interested as the conversation progressed. By the time she was done venting about Julie, we were both making jokes about first world problems together and laughing heartily.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“I’ve already flipped through all the channels on the TV and watched 4 hours of the people’s court. Now I’m bored and don’t know what to do. Nobody in the world has it as bad as me!”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“I don’t have enough money to get Etsy throw pillows on both couches of this two bedroom apartment that I don’t have to work for.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">We giggled, ordered some drinks, and went mini golfing down the street. We spent all day together and then all night. I’m glad she’s back

<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom:0in">7/19/14

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">My father committed suicide last night. Mom found him at the dinner table, an empty bottle of Jack beneath his chair, his both wrists cut open, and his favorite utility knife dropped near the bottle. She called 911 as soon as she could, but he was long gone. The paramedics called it on the spot and they carried him out. There was no note. Mom is planning the funeral to be held next weekend. I’m going to sleep at Laura’s tonight. I haven’t told her yet. I haven’t told anybody yet.

<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom:0in">7/26/14

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">A lot of people showed up. Dad just had a certain charisma about him and made friends everywhere and anywhere he went. Some of these people had only known him for a few weeks many years ago, but so great was his personality that they still came to pay their respects to the fallen carpenter. When I reminisce about my childhood, I always wondered if Dad was just a bigger person in my mind than he was in real life because he was my father, but this showing of condolences seems to indicate that he really was larger than life itself.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">The wake took place at my parents’ house. Well… I suppose it’s just Mom’s house now. It was hot outside, but bearable inside, even with all these unfamiliar faces milling about. It was all the stranger in my mind, because when I was growing up, the only source of cool air was a result of the attic fan, but that would dissipate very quickly as people entered and left the building. I asked Mom about it, and I did not like her answer.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“The attic fan? Oh dear, that thing died years ago. I wanted to hire a repairman but, well you know your father. He wanted to fix it himself, but he never had time. We found your air conditioner in the garage though. Your father thought it might be broken, but it seemed to work fine. We put it in the bedroom, it’s running right now.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">As soon as she mentioned my air conditioner my blood ran cold. I saw mom’s mouth moving but I didn’t hear a single thing she said. It was like a bomb had just gone off next to me; I felt myself losing balance and could hear nothing but a high-pitched ringing.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“Sorry, I’ll be back, excuse me.” I walked quickly into the backyard, trying to escape the walls closing in on me. There were people everywhere. I just had to hide. If I could hide for just a second everything would be okay. I fled to the front yard, walked to the park down the street sat down next to the tree that was my childhood best friend. This was where I grew up, I knew where to go so that nobody would bother me.

<p style="text-indent:0.5in;margin-bottom:0in">This was all because of the air conditioner. Dad didn’t know what it was, but I did. I knew exactly what it was, but I just left it at my parents’ home. If I hadn’t, Dad would still be here, none of these people would be here, and mom wouldn’t be so sad. This was all my fault. I’m so sorry Dad.

<p align="CENTER" style="text-indent:0.5in;margin-bottom:0in">7/27/14

<p style="text-indent:0.5in;margin-bottom:0in">Laura eventually found me crying against my tree. I had apparently been gone a very long time and Mom was starting to worry. I didn’t tell her why I was crying, it was bad enough that she had seen me crying at all, I was not about to tell her I was the one who had caused this entire disaster. Despite my mortal guilt, just having her next to me was a great comfort. Every time I started to feel a little uplifted though, I would be completely overcome with another wave of guilt. What had I done? What would people think of me? Laura would never hug me again.

<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom:0in">8/13/14

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">The shadow still visits me some nights, but I’ve been strong enough to resist him for the most part. He comes when I’m by myself, so I try to spend as many evenings with Laura as I can. I feel him before he comes. When I sense him, I brace myself mentally and take a swig something. For a while, it was gin, but that’s gone now. I went to whiskey after that, but that’s gone too. Next in line was rum. Laura noticed an empty rum bottle on my table a few nights ago and asked me “what happened to the rum?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Without missing a beat I told her, “rum is a vile drink that turns respectable men into complete scoundrels.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Then Laura shot back just as quickly “Yes, I know, but why’s all the rum gone?!” in her best Jack Sparrow and we both had a laugh. The shadow did not come that night. Somehow, I always seem to be in the kitchen when he does. I’ll be sitting down at the table, my willpower fortified with liquid courage; I’ve worked myself through my favorite spirits to vodka now, which I think makes this Russian courage. He’ll appear in the opposite seat and our battle begins. I stare him in the eyes and try my best to not look down. As time has went on, the demon has been slowly coalescing into a more definite human shap now that I think about it. I can't look down at the table, because I know that the knife is there, waiting patiently for me to take it up. If I don't avert my eyes, I have a good chance of winning. He'll tell me of the things I've done wrong, of the things I should have done by now, of the things that could have been before informing me that I could make it all right again by listening to Him.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">I made the mistake early on of glancing down at the table. The knife was beautiful the way it reflected the pale light above the table along its surface. The way the blade tapered to a point both length-wise and from spine to edge. It was a forged blade, amd had a full tang which the handle was constructed around. I ran a finger from the tip backwards along the spine to the handle, feeling it grow slowly thicker. The next thing I knew, it was firmly in my hand. Then it was on my wrist. Then I returned it to the table, after having used it. The monster had won because I had become mesmerized by the elegance of the weapon. Worse, He rewarded me again.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">I sliced a different part of my arm each time, and the pain seemed even greater than the first incident, but the euphoria was equally greater. My eyes rolled back and my lids shuttered. The feeling of blood slowly leaving my body was cathartic, like I had finally done something right in my life. I deserved the pain because I was imperfect, but the pleasure I experienced more than made up for the cost of admission. When I came back to my senses, I looked across the table and He was gone, having left me to my pain sometime after I had committed the act he had been sent to observe. Shame would then come to replace elation.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">I spend most nights doing battle. I win many times and he simply returns to whatever dark place that had spawned him, but my victories are hollow. My surrender is the only thing that actually feels rewarding. I’m relieved when I stay with Laura, but there have actually been times when I slept by myself purposefully to incur this combat. Every time I lose, I feel a little bit better. However, I know that a piece of me was now gone forever. I don’t know how this is going to get any better, but something will have to happen at some point. Right now, I don’t even know which side I want to win my soul, the selfish gratification of surrender or the dull and normative existence I had been enjoying before He came in to my life.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Laura is calling me, I think I might go over tonight, but I’m not entirely sure.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">

<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom:0in">8/18/14

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Mom called this morning. I was still in a complete stupor from my vigil the prior night and missed it, so she left a message.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“Mark, honey, are you okay? I think I talk to your girlfriend more often than you these days. You know, she’s worried about you too. I know how hard you took what happened to your father, but we’re here for you. We love you; you can talk to us whenever you want. Sometimes I worry that you have a little too much of your father in you, please call me back.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">I think I should call her. But I know I won’t. I don’t want to hurt anybody else I care about like I did Dad.

<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom:0in">8/22/14

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Laura found out about what I’ve been doing to myself.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">We were at the mall, trying on watches. I enjoy a nice analogue timepiece for the same reason I like wine, the tradition of the whole thing. They’ve always seemed like a very practical kind of status symbol, but I don’t get out to do much shopping for myself, so I haven’t actually worn one in at least a couple years. Laura heard about that and just couldn’t let that stand. We were in the shop, looking at some things that were drastically outside of my price range, some cheap modern pieces that I found aesthetically abhorrent, as well as more than a few Goldilocks choices. She noticed though, that I had been putting them on to my right arm, while the sleeve on the left was still in place.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“I thought you were right handed,” she remarked.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">I knew where she was going with that statement, but I tried to play it cool. “Yeah, I think it’s easier to look at my dominant hand,” I told her.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“That’s silly; you know it’s supposed to go on the opposite hand. You love watches and tradition and nonsense, you should know that.” She moved faster than I could block and pulled up my left sleeve, revealing the tally of my defeats at my demon. I saw the joy leave her face to be replaced with a mix of worry and horror. “What happened?” she asked barely above a whisper. I told her that I was watching TV and making dinner and accidentally cut my arm because of my lack of attention. Laura didn't believe that for a second. She dropped my arm and embraced me tightly, keeping me in her arms long enough that people were starting to notice. I ended up pushing her away.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“Look, I'm just a normal guy okay? You don't need to pity me.” I wiped from moisture from the side of my head where Laura's had been resting.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“It's not pity! I'm just worried for your well-being. You've always been down on yourself; I thought you were happier with me. I'm worried that your self-deprecating side is going to get the better of you unless we do something about it.”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">I wanted to tell her about the shadow, but I couldn't. This wasn't because I was just some weak minded kid; something was making me do this to myself. But if I told her about some supernatural shadow that comes in to my apartment at night when I can't sleep and plays music for me if I hurt myself, that pity in her eyes would only become worse. I couldn't stand the thought of that.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">I smiled back at her weakly, “you're right. I'll get help. First thing tomorrow, for now, I think it'll be best for me if we can just enjoy our time together like nothing is wrong. Is that okay?”

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Laura stared at me for a while before nodding. I pulled my sleeve back down and we tried on a couple more watches before leaving the store without purchasing anything. Things weren't the same anymore. She walked me home afterwards and asked if she could stay with me for the night, but I turned her down. She pleaded with me, tears began to stream from her eyes. “Please let me stay. Just let me in, I want to help.” I almost conceded too, but I had to do this for both of our sakes.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">“I'll be fine, I'll call you first thing in the morning and everything will be fine.” I closed the door with her on the other side. She was openly sobbing now, then what must have been the palms of her hands hit the door as she used it for support before she slowly fell to the ground. I heard as her hands slowly slide downward as she cried outside for almost 20 minutes. I had to remain strong though, I had to get that proof that I wasn't crazy, that I wasn't needy so that we could be together as equals. This was for the good of both of us.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">I needed to fight this creature alone and win so that I could stay with Laura. Tonight, I will show everybody that I'm strong, including that monster.

<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom:0in">8/23/14

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">This is nobody's fault but my own. To anybody who cares about me, I'm very sorry for this, but I'm sure this is for the best. It may hurt in the short term, but you'll be better in the long without me dragging you down. We're told from a very early time to always try your best. I tried, but I came to a horrible conclusion: my best is simply not good enough. I am not, and never will, be good enough for anything meaningful. I don't deserve to be influenced by wonderful individuals because I realized, that my aspiration to somehow grow, to be proud of my own growth, to possibly encourage growth in somebody else, is nothing but lies and platitudes.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Some of us lie to ourselves of our importance. We may say that tomorrow is going to be a better day. The next day, that's when things will change. They don't. They can't. I have been, and always would be nothing but a burden on those around me. You would all have to deal with my shit, slowly growing to resent me as I use up your hospitality. As time goes on, I would feel entitled to that attention until you, utterly sick of me and completely justifiably would seek to be separate from myself.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in;font-style:normal">I know what to expect, and I don't want to put you through any more than you already have. So, I give up. I wish you all well. Good bye.